A personal story of my experience with bailouts.
Back in my hippie days (as contrasted to my current hippy days), my then-husband and I had a friend I’ll call Bobby (the name is changed to protect the guilty!). It was the late 60’s and the times - they were a-changin’. We were living in a basement apartment at my parent’s house and didn’t have much money. Bobby was a starving student and living in a closet – literally - a closet. He rented it from a friend for a few dollars a week. There was room for a twin bed mattress on the floor of the closet that touched the wall at the head, side and foot of the mattress. On the open side of the mattress was about 12 inches to the other wall. Get the picture? It was t-i-g-h-t. It was s-m-a-l-l.
Stay with me, now. I’ll tie in the bailout issue.
We ate dinner with my parents often. Bobby was over one day and my parents, knowing his lot, invited him to stay for dinner too. We had a great meal (nothing less would ever happen when Mom was cooking!) and shared some laughs and good conversation. The subject got around to Bobby’s living situation. My Dad, with his heart of gold, insisted on giving Bobby fifteen dollars. I mean, really, the guy had nothing. He was a sneeze away from homelessness and object poverty. He gratefully accepted the money.
After dinner, we ‘kids’ sat around bemoaning the fact that we were broke and had nothing to do. Where out of nowhere, Bobby suggested we go to the movies. My husband and I looked at each other and both at each other incredulous at what we just heard. We said to Bobby “But you have no money.”
He replied “I have fifteen dollars.”
And that is why I think bailouts don’t work.