http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euuCiSY0qYs

When I lived in Ukraine as a child, most of the population was poor, so even though we had less than some of the poorest people in America, I felt pretty rich in our little apartment.  We also had a dacha* that I thought was a luxury.  The contrast of money versus poverty hit me when I entered my first day of my Jewish private school in Connecticut, America.  I was one of the only kids who didn’t have to pay tuition because I was newly imported immigrant.  A brown-haired girl sat with her legs on the desk, when I entered the class.  She had a golden tan that was not from the beaches of Connecticut and shiny, white, new shoes with mint green laces.  And suddenly, I felt poor.

“Oh I wish that I could be Richard Cory,” punched me in my gut when I was in college and first heard the song.  I was working a job, while most of my friends didn’t have to.  The kids of Boston University drove around in BMW’s and didn’t seem to have a care how much anything cost.  The words, “I curse the life I am living and I curse my poverty,” made me turn to the speaker in awe, as if someone heard my tortured cries.  I wished that I could be Richard Cory, knowing well that money could not buy happiness or love, but it was tempting and the clothes were prettier.

What I love about this song is that even after Richard Cory kills himself, the character still wishes he could be him.  The allure of money is huge and people go out of their way each day to make more.  But if it doesn’t buy you happiness or love, what does it buy after our needs are met?

One friend said to me that it can’t make you happy, but it can make you free.  To which I added, free to be happy or unhappy.  And that freedom, the poor have as well.

*a small plot of land with a house that many people had for growing their own food outside of the city.

Richard Cory by Simon and Garfunkel

They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town,
With political connections to spread his wealth around.
Born into society, a banker’s only child,
He had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I’m living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes:
Richard Cory at the opera, Richard Cory at a show.
And the rumor of his parties and the orgies on his yacht!
Oh, he surely must be happy with everything he’s got.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I’m living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch,
And they were grateful for his patronage and thanked him very much,
So my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read:
“Richard Cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head.”

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I’m living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.