Originally appeared in the New York Times December 21, 2003
BY: Amy Wallace
BEVERLY HILLS, Calif. — It was dinnertime when the 80 or so invited guests began arriving. Handing off their Benzes and Boxsters to uniformed valets, many of Hollywood’s most important agents, producers and studio and network executives followed a brick path to Sandy Grushow’s front door. Mr. Grushow is the president of 20th Century Fox Television, and his clout was reflected in the 8,000-square-foot Tudor house he shares with his wife, Barbara, and their two children. A pianist played standards on a baby grand in the foyer. An army of waiters in taupe Nehru jackets offered hors d’oeuvres on glistening platters.
“Mini-Reuben sandwich? Knish?” a waiter asked the guest of honor, Rabbi Steven Z. Leder. Rabbi Leder opted for a corned beef and Swiss about the size of a postage stamp, then climbed a few steps up the Grushows’ elegant staircase and quieted the crowd. “I thought we might begin tonight by taking an opportunity to turn to your left or right, to meet your neighbor,” he said. “Then, I would appreciate it if you would just share your net worth with them.”
The room shook with nervous laughter. No one complied.
Rabbi Leder is the senior rabbi of the Wilshire Boulevard Temple, arguably Los Angeles’s most prestigious synagogue. The evening was a chance for him to unveil his new book, “More Money Than God: Living a Rich Life Without Losing Your Soul,” for some of the wealthiest members of his congregation: those who make the deals, call the shots and create the programming that ends up on America’s movie and television screens. While he didn’t mean to offend, he knew that the book’s central premise — that raging materialism and the relentless pursuit of money lead to moral bankruptcy — might strike some in his audience like a stick in the eye.
“The thought has occurred to me: Am I biting the hand that feeds the temple?” he said a few weeks before the book party. Not that “More Money Than God” is particularly incendiary. Close readers will find a few juicy tales (without names) about some in his flock, like the young woman who inherited tens of millions of dollars from her grandfather but feels as if her husband is a mooch, or the Oscar-winning movie director who died alone, with nothing but a tattered snapshot of his parents to soothe him. Overall, however, the book’s messages are hardly fire and brimstone: don’t be a workaholic; give generously to charity; teach your children that materialism, like racism, is not okay.
Nevertheless, in Hollywood, where who’s up, who’s down and where one stands in the pecking order are constant obsessions, Mr. Leder’s chosen topic is a thorny one. Money here is much more than a passport to comfort. For people whose success depends on something as amorphous as being able to predict the national mood 18 months into the future, the size of one’s paycheck (or profit participation, or back-end) is a crucial signifier. Perhaps more than any place on earth, money here, like corner tables in hot restaurants or middle seats at movie premieres, is a way to assert your rank. And the fickle nature of the business can make even the very affluent feel insecure in a way that makes no amount of money ever seem enough.
“This is a town where the next big script could be written by the person who’s handing you the cup of coffee at Starbucks,” said Stuart Krasnow, a temple member and an executive producer of reality programming at NBC. “Things change so rapidly. Success can go away rapidly.”
Which makes the rabbi’s supporters a bit worried for him. By focusing on money, said Erwin Stoff, a partner in the management-production company 3 Arts Entertainment, whose clients include Keanu Reeves and Matthew Broderick, Rabbi Leder had entered “a risky area.”
Leonard Goldberg, the TV and movie producer (among his many credits: “Charlie’s Angels” — the series, the film and the sequel), agreed. “This book will force people to look at themselves, and there may be some who don’t appreciate that suggestion,” Mr. Goldberg said. “We’re not building bridges here, or saving lives. We’re just making movies. And when you’re making so much money for what secretly you think may be the very little that you do, it can be very unsettling. The only benchmark some people have is what their peers are making. As somebody once said: ‘It’s not about the money. It’s about how much.’ “
The Leeches
Now greenback leeches had backs of all green
While redbacks were, well you can guess what I mean
Those colors weren’t bright, you might think that such hues
Would really be most inconsequential news
But because their backs were no longer red
All greens who saw reds just turned up their head
The leech’s whole world was scattered with crup
Nuggets of metal they always picked up
And carried back home on top of their backs
To bury in holes and crannies and cracks
Contact with crup for some strange reason
Turned red skin greenish regardless of season
So leeches whose crannies were crammed with crup
Had backs of green to show reds up
Inside their green clubs they paraded about
Sneering and snooting and keeping reds out
All of the reds stood out feeling sad
To not have much crup was so frightfully bad
While inside the clubs the greens were engrossed
In carefully sorting the gathering host
Into growing gradations of subtler hues
So all would know whos was better than whos
The greener the green the crammer the crup
If you weren’t green enough the rest would throw up
And throw you up too, right on out with the reds
Where you’d gnash all your teeth and shred all your shreds
Just wishing your back was a bit greener shade
And crying over the choices you’d made
Wishing you’d spent more time gathering crup
And less time watching your kids growing up
One day while the reds moped outside of the clubs
Drowning their sorrows inside run down pubs
Downing their pitchers, feeling low, feeling mean
Staring at suckerball up on the screen
Cursing their luck ‘cause their backs were not green
A stranger walked in with two eyes clear and keen
“I can see you feel low. See you’re feelin like crap”
“Well, I can fix that, I’m the fix it up chap.”
My name said the chap is McMonkey McFaust
And I tell you your ship has just entered the houst
I have what you want, I have what you need
My prices are low and I work at great speed
And my work is 100% guaranteed
So your backs are not green, don’t just cry in your beer
Don’t sit here and whimper while greens sit and sneer
Are you not leeches, or are you just slime
What are your offenses, what is your crime?
Your backs are not green enough it is true
But come with me boys and you know what I’ll do
I’ll make all your backs the most greenest of hue
And all it will cost is a moment or two
Then McMonkey McFaust in two moments between
Put together a very peculiar machine
And he said in a voice quite piercing and keen
Gather round and see something you’ve never yet seen
So you want your back green, so’s to stop eating crap
From the ones in the clubs who all say you’re a sap
Wish you’d spent more time working hard in the race
And been more successful cramming crup in your place
Wish your eyes had been keener in the spying of crup
And your pods had been quicker in grabbing it up
Well have no fear boys, I can tell you today
That it’s not too late now to have it your way
My McFaustess machine can easily make
Your backs just as green as your conscience can take
Those moments you wasted in trivial pursuits
You can trade back in now for the greenest of loots
Step right up and tell me how much green you lack
Then tell me those moments you wish to give back
We’ll make a sweet deal cause I’m in a deal mood
Crup for moments, what’s wrong with me, hurry up dude
Grab the crup before I come to my sense
And leave you all standing here in the past tense
My machine changes hues in one thousand shades
(Those green clubs are filled with the deals that I’ve made)
Hurry up now and make your deal before I tire
So you don’t end up crupless and never retire
My specials today are the hottest of deals
I must be crazy to give you such steals
One shade for one lousy birthday kid party
Two shades for that recital (one-half to be tardy)
Three shades for one week of stories at night
Two more for kissing that stupid bug bite
One shade for hearing those stories at supper
Two more for holding that little throw upper
Four shades for cuddling until that nightmare
Left that tiny head and went poof in the air
Three shades for coaching that little brat team
(Look you’re much greener, you see what I mean)
Five shades for each week of spooning your wife
Look how worthless you’ve been, what you’ve done with your life
Four shades for each boring conference at school
I’ll throw in a shade just for wiping that drool
Off the baby next door that you held to your chest
And another for smelling the head of that pest
One more shade for each week of after-school catch
With each poser Visquel (wait a sec while I retch)
And for every test that you helped them each study
A shade (and a half for a bonus) there buddy
For shuffling carpools both to sports and fro
I’ll throw in three more, my friend, here you go
You’re looking more sober, your psyche more lean
You’re becoming a mean, green crup-finding machine
You’re well on your way to get into those clubs
As I kindly erase the worst of your flubs
And give you that most rare thing in life a new chance
To do what’s important, your wealth to enhance
Just think how you’ll feel inching inside that door
Where they measure your shade then the brandy they pour
They will light your cigar and pound on your back
And you’ll thank me for getting your life back on track
Just a few more years that you so poorly spent
Put in my machine and away they will went
Every tucked in counterpane
Splashed-in puddle in the rain
Every lunch of jam and bread
All bumps kissed on every head
Each bandaid on every knee
Skinned from shimmying a tree
The books all read while in your lap
The colored states on every map
Each field trip on every bus
Every cry and every fuss
Every fight that’s pulled apart
Every little battered heart
The smiles shared over sleeping heads
Angelically tucked into their beds
As my machine does whisk away
Each wasted hour, minute, day
You can step up and take your place
Among the proud greenback club race
You’ll have lots of time for billiards and brandy
Not having a family comes in rather handy
Oh, you didn’t notice when they slipped right away?
Not to worry chum, they were red anyway
With your crup crannies crammed so full
You can get a new wife, you’ve got the pull
Younger and better, and especially green
Thanks to McFaust and his magic machine