Too Easy

 I am writing today about the monstrous lie perpetrated on the American public way back around the time I was ten years old. I am talking about, of course, Richie Rich. 

I would not be the first person to point out that young Master Rich was just the back story for the sappy child-ghost Casper. Those stumpy legs. That encephalitic cranium. Those wide eyes. "Casper" was simply an adopted name once Richie joined the spirit realm. 

But that is not the thrust of my gist today. I spent a few summers reading Harvey comics before I landed on my obsession with the super heroes of Marvel. It was during those years that I gobbled up the adventures of Richie Rich, along with a certain number of side trips down the Harvey aisle. When I say "adventures," I use this term quite loosely because the most significant element in these stories was the almost complete lack of conflict. This may have been by design, sparing young readers like myself from unnecessary burdens like worrying about how things might turn out for our big-headed hero. 

Money would save him. It always did. He was called "The Poor Little Rich Boy," but for the life of me, I could never fully understand his suffering. With his faithful manservant Cadbury and his dog Dollar, he would initially find himself in some predicament that needed solving, but would be rescued always by the almighty dollar. Not the dog. Great big fistfuls of cash. There was no problem so big or so complicated that the Rich fortune could not by itself out of. 

And all the while, young master Rich maintained his wide-eyed innocence. Gloria, his little red-headed girl who maintained a similar innocent fascination with Richie could not help but raise questions about gold-digging. If she wasn't hanging around with this kind of all-consuming wealth, she might have had a taste of what it was like to have a normal childhood. Which is where the sympathy angle was supposed to come in for Richie. We, the readers, were asked to understand how he must be struggling against the constraints of all those solid gold fixtures and houses that required helicopters to get from one room to the next. 

This was all a great big setup for Donald Trump. Somehow, all that exposure to big-head Rich was normalizing this lifestyle of the rich and famous for all of us to venerate. Along the way we were treated to stops hosted by Dudley Moore as Arthur, the lovable alcoholic multimillionaire and the non-stop heavy breathing of Robin Leach as he lauded the lifestyles of those who had far too much money. 

Now we have billionaires giving ninety year old Canadian actors rides into space. Individuals who have more money than some nations. And no doubt a dog whose name truly stretched their imaginations. Dollar? 

Come on.