We're Going to be Fine

Ask them how they're doing and they'll say, "We're going to be fine." I must balance empathy with respect for their pride.

Around noon, I might commute the short mile from Hazelwood (average income: $10,500 per year) to attend a meeting at the regal Duquesne Club. We'll turn off our Blackberries, temporarily relieved of the vibrations on our hips that lately convey a stream of "not now" replies to our requests for support. Sitting in the interior courtyard of wealth, dining on salads to the soothing trickle of a nearby fountain, I'll listen as my mentor eloquently relays our mission. The audience is polite and well dressed. They too have problems. I know many of our table guests have lost millions of dollars and in the context of their own lives are very worried. They will not tell us this, but we know. Some of them have still given generously. At the least, they know as the core of the city's wealth, they have an obligation to listen to our story. Some will hear us and some will not.