American Nobility

If the American Dream has been mythologized (as I argued in my last post), so has the idea that the United States is a classless society. The data clearly show that wealth is concentrated in the hands of a minority of American households, the one percent of Americans who own about a third of all American wealth. One byproduct of this new Gilded Age is the emergence of an American nobility, the wealthy families who are led by people I refer to in my book as “princes” (since they are largely male). Some are quite well known, such as Elon Musk and Charles Koch, but most of them dislike the spotlight and prefer to conduct their business in the shadows of relative anonymity that their wealth affords. For every prince who makes the headlines there are many others who are not household names, such as Jeff Yass of the privately held global trading and technology firm Susquehanna International Group. (Yass is a registered Libertarian whose net worth is approximately $59 billion dollars and who in the first six months of this year has donated $16 million to MAGA, Inc., Trump’s super PAC.)

Regardless of their taste for publicity, princes’ wealth allows them to operate at a level of influence beyond the wildest dreams of the average citizen, especially since the Supreme Court’s Citizen Rights vs. Federal Election Commission decision. The flawed and ultimately inequitable “money equals speech” logic of the Court has allowed these princes to sway domestic policy through their sizeable and significant contributions to politicians – the ideologically compatible and spineless alike. A favored tactic is to bankroll organizations such as the American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC) to write laws that favor their vision of free-market fundamentalism, which is then handed to state representatives who dutifully introduce the carefully curated legislation.

Even when they aren’t trying to shape policy to protect their wealth or codify their personal ideologies, many princes create successful enterprises which, by their sheer scale, influence the economy the same way heaving a boulder into a still pond creates a ripple effect, pervasively reshaping the water’s surface. Mark Zuckerberg’s dominant Facebook enterprise is Exhibit A of this influence; in the pre-information age world of retail, Sam Walton’s Walmart is Exhibit B.

The Prince of Bentonville

Sam Walton – the Prince of Bentonville, Arkansas – is an economic success story that we Americans love -- an individual whose hard work and ingenuity resulted in spectacular wealth. Walton’s tale epitomizes the American Dream, growing his five-and-dime store to one of the planet’s largest publicly traded corporations. That his wealth wasn’t inherited but instead was constructed from the ground up through hard work, a shrewd competitive strategy, and disciplined execution has cemented his stature in the pantheon of American success because it aligns with the narrative of American economic individualism. And much like traditional hereditary nobility, Walton was able to pass along his wealth (and therefore his princely status) to his family.

Holding the Tension

As I’ve written previously, one of the themes of Riding Through Dreamland is the tension between opposites. When I pulled into Othello (the agricultural community featured in my posts Water & The West – Part II and The New Rural?), the tension between the myth and reality of America — of a society defined by upward mobility vs. one dominated by American Princes — was only beginning to take shape. What I did not anticipate was that by the end of the evening, the Prince of Bentonville’s creation would cause me to confront a personal contradiction unrelated to the mind vs. body tension I had already been consciously dealing with.

That evening in Othello, Joanie and I had not yet found a suitable place to spend the night. The parking spot behind the Mexican restaurant offered to us by the owner where we dined was too close to the 18-wheeled traffic plying the streets on their way to and from the potato processing plants. We checked out the Columbia National Wildlife Refuge Office parking lot a few miles northwest of town, but it felt too exposed. We delayed our decision and returned to Othello, parking instead outside an art gallery and used their Wi-Fi signal to plot a course eastward that avoided the destructive wildfires burning to our east. Eventually, much to our chagrin, the lack of agreeable options to spend the night tipped the scales of practicality to the side weighted by convenience and led us to, of all places, a Walmart parking lot.

We had read on the web that Walmart allowed RVs and camper vans to park overnight. We found the Walmart Supercenter on the very eastern edge of town – a massive squat warehouse fronted by a parking lot of equal size. Despite Walmart’s asphalt and concrete imprint, the neighboring cornfield, anchored by a center-pivot irrigation system, was so large it made the Walmart property look insignificant by comparison.

In the book, I liken Walmart to a morbidly obese passenger who displaces other passengers on a crowded bus. Take Othello, for example. While there are no lack of specialty stores that cater to the niche Mexican market of products from la patria, there are few other commercial competitors for general groceries and home goods in that small city. Perhaps Othello has reached a symbiosis with the giant retailer, trading competition for convenience, but that still doesn’t mean consumers have a choice. If I don’t like the Walton family’s politics (in the most recent election cycle, the overwhelming majority of their campaign contributions went to Republican candidates and conservative PACs), there’s nowhere else in town to go.

I do not like Walmart. Its labor practices are exploitive and its strategy targeting small towns stifles competition. In the almost three decades since returning from Israel, I can count the number of times I’ve entered a Walmart store on one hand (with fingers to spare). As we drove across town, the tension inside me began to rise.

Let’s be clear: I’m positive that offering hassle-free boondocking is not part of Walmart’s corporate social responsibility strategy. It’s an assumed quid pro quo arrangement, one that pays off handsomely for him (more accurately, for his heirs). Convenience is a pillar of our society, and so the commercial gravitational force of his store pulled the boondocking crew inside that night to shop (where it was chilled comfortably for our shopping comfort despite the high-desert heat outside). We too entered the prince’s palace – suppressing our small is beautiful sensibilities – because I required chap-stick and aloe vera to soothe my burned lips and skin and to stock up on fresh vegetables to nourish brain and body. I felt the tension in my stomach for having to choose convenience over principles as we walked into the warehouse.

I could not easily console myself with “it’s the economy, stupid.” After dark on a Sunday evening in Othello, for lack of adequate camping and shopping choices, the prince’s warehouse and parking lot were so annoyingly convenient. And once we crossed the store’s threshold, the scarcity of options outside was replaced with an overabundance of choice on the shelves.

The Parking Lot

We did learn one thing about the Prince of Bentonville’s parking lot – they keep it super clean. At the 11 p.m. closing time, when the crowds were beginning to thin, we had just shut Olympia’s cabin lights and closed our eyes for the night when we were interrupted by the obnoxious roar of a commercial-grade gasoline powered leaf blower. I peeked out the window and spotted the closing crew blowing the trash to a central collection point. Later, right as the infernal internal combustion noise began to fade, the staccato flash of yellow lights began to dance across the interior of the van. Outside, we perceived a distant but heavy brushing sound. These audiovisual hints revealed a Walmart streetcleaner, which, like a tractor harvesting grain, was working its way up and down the parking lot. All we could do was lay there, staring at the blinking lights moving above our heads, waiting for the industrial toothbrush ruckus to die. Outside lay America.

In the pale early morning light, the prince’s parking lot sparkled.

American Princes - I: The Prince’s Parking Lot

American Princes - II: The Prince at the Convenience Store

The American Dream