My Grandpa Hier was a generous man. Although he didn't have much, he never hesitated to share it. We didn't see him too often, because we lived in Maine and he was down in North Carolina. When he did visit, though, he treated myself and my siblings to coffees, dinners out, and small gifts. He even fixed up a car — he used to be a mechanic — and drove it a thousand miles north to give to my sister.
One time, we objected to him spending more money on us. I'll never forget his response: "Don't take away my joy." Spending his money on the people he loved gave him joy, and to stop him from doing so would take that away.
From then on, that's been a phrase in my family for accepting the generosity of others. When my grandpa passed away in December of 2019, we found out that his will expressed something similar. Within it, he said that he was leaving everything to my uncle and mom, but that there wasn't much left, because he wanted to use it on the people he loved while he was alive. And he did — he'd been up visiting us in Maine for the last few months of his life, longer than he'd ever stayed before. It was wonderful to spend so much time with him, and he insisted, of course, on spending his money on us.
After he passed away from unexpected heart failure that December, we speculated if he subconsciously knew something was wrong, and if he purposefully came up to spend time with us before it was too late. Whatever the case, I'll always remember his amazing generosity, and I try to carry his legacy forward in my own life.
There was another man that had a similar philosophy as my grandpa, although on a much bigger scale. You may have heard of him, but I hadn't until I stumbled upon an article about him. His name was Charles, or Chuck, Feeney. He was a self-made multibillionaire that had the goal to give away virtually all his fortune before his death. And he succeeded! What was Chuck Feeney like, and what kind of impact did he make?
How It All Started
Chuck Feeney had humble beginnings as an Irish-American boy in New Jersey during the Great Depression. He came by his kindness and generosity honestly — his mother especially set the example, such as when she gave a neighbor with Lou Gehrig's disease daily rides to the bus stop, pretending it was on the way to work. After serving in the US Air Force for four years, he graduated from Cornell's School of Hotel Administration and moved to Europe. There, he met Robert Miller, and they formed a partnership selling duty-free luxuries to American troops on their way home.
As the post-war economic scene boomed, so did the demand for duty-free items. Feeney and Miller's company, Duty Free Shoppers (DFS), grew to global proportions, and can still be found in airports and tourist destinations worldwide. He invested the dividends into hotels, clothing companies, and later into tech start-ups, which significantly increased his earnings. Feeney became a multibillionaire. and for a while, he lived like one. He had beautiful, huge homes around the globe, and spent his time around the wealthy and influential. Whatever image you conjure in your mind of extravagant wealth, you'd probably be spot on.
Something felt wrong, though. “He was beginning to have doubts about his right to have so much money,” Irish author Conor O’Clery wrote about Mr. Feeney in his biography, The Billionaire Who Wasn’t (2007). “When asked many years later if he was rich at this point in his life, he replied: ‘How much is rich? Beyond all expectations. Beyond all deserving, so to speak. I just reached the conclusion with myself that money, buying boats and all the trimmings didn’t appeal to me.’”
A change was needed, he realized. He was fearful that this wealthy lifestyle would spoil his children, or that it would make them a target for kidnappings. He also felt uncomfortable with such ostentatious living. Around this time, he was deeply moved by Andrew Carnegie's essay Wealth. Its famous quote summarizes its message: “The man who dies thus rich dies disgraced.”
He decided to say goodbye to the palatial homes and uppity social groups. He even began flying economy class, and taking the subway or bus to get around. “All Feeney’s instincts, instilled in him by the example of his parents, by the sharing culture of his blue-collar upbringing in New Jersey, by his desire not to distance himself from his boyhood neighbors and friends, and by his own innate kindness and concern for others, undoubtedly shaped his decision,” O’Clery observed.
In 1982, Feeney established the organization that would become Atlantic Philanthropies, his offshore charitable foundation that he would make his anonymous donations with. Yes, that's right — anonymous.
"The James Bond of Philanthropy"
Unlike many of the rich and famous who do good things for the sake of publicity, Feeney carefully ensured that all of his charitable giving was hidden from the public. Having his charitable foundation in Bermuda helped with this, because from it he could avoid the US's disclosure requirements. He also used cashier's checks for anonymity, and those who learned of his identity were sworn to secrecy. This led to him being given the nickname "the James Bond of Philanthropy".
“The desire for anonymity was a combination of Chuck’s humility and a desire to fly under the radar and be nimble,” says Christopher G. Oechsli, Atlantic’s president and CEO (Atlantic Philanthropies). “He wanted to meet people, talk, learn and act without attracting a lot of attention or recognition.”
Feeney was able to keep this secret for fifteen years, but in 1997, a complication in selling his stake at DFS made it necessary for him to come into the limelight as the benefactor behind Atlantic Philanthropies. As a side note, after that deal was done, he sent a $10,000 check to each employee at DFS as a 'thank you' for their hard work.
Practicing What He Preached
Not one to be deterred, Feeney took advantage of his now public status. "Giving while living" became the philosophy he was famous for. He planned to give virtually all $8 billion away before his death. In fact, in a conversation with a Forbes journalist in 2012, he revealed that he had only set aside $2 million for he and his wife's retirement, and elsewhere he said that he made "decent but un-extravagant provisions" for his five children (Times). His lifestyle matched his promises; during the last years of his life, he lived with his wife in a modest two-bedroom apartment in San Francisco, owned no home or car, and even wore cheap plastic watches.
In fact, Conor O'Clery, mentioned earlier, had a story about Feeney's watch in an essay he titled, The Chuck Feeney I Know. An excerpt reads:
"I asked him was it true that he always wore a cheap watch. He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a $15 Casio. 'I have a spare. I’ll sell it to you,' he quipped. 'I couldn’t afford it,' I replied.
I met Chuck again in PJ Clarke’s. He pushed a brown envelope across the table. 'I want to thank you for the interview,' he said. 'I can’t take that,' I said. 'Go on, take it, no one is looking.' I pushed it back. He pushed it back. 'At least open it,' he said. Inside was a plastic Casio watch. I still have it and it still keeps time 17 years later."
O'Clery had more to reveal about Feeney's character, writing:
"Almost every colleague, friend and beneficiary spoke of him with great affection, recalling his wry humour, his eccentricities and his generosity, though in business he could be stubborn and if crossed he was not very good at forgiveness. He remembered the names of employees in the stores and fussed about product displays. A fluent French speaker, he studied Japanese to communicate with purchasers. He was frugal – always ordering the second cheapest white wine on the menu – but he always picked up the bill... As passionate as he was about making money, he hated wasting it, and he was obsessed with economizing. He used public transport, drove an old banger or rode at the back of the plane. Business meetings were held in hotel lobbies where coffee was free. But when a relative or employee was sick, no expense was spared."
A Goal Met
Feeney was determined to give away his wealth before he passed away, and he officially met that goal September of 2020, at the age of 89. Over the almost forty years of giving, he'd distributed $8 billion to causes around the globe. Almost half of that went toward higher education, which he was passionate about. He himself received a scholarship and wanted to give others the same opportunity he did. He also was supportive of the work toward peace in Northern Ireland. Some of his other causes were AIDS clinics in South Africa, Operation Smiles for children with cleft lips and palates, earthquake relief in Haiti, public-health facilities in Vietnam, and so much more.
His Impact
Feeney wasn't quiet about his philosophy of "giving while living". He once said, "I see little reason to delay giving when so much good can be achieved through supporting worthwhile causes. Besides, it’s a lot more fun to give while you live than give while you're dead” (Forbes).
He summed up his motivation this way: “Use your wealth to help people. Use your wealth to create institutions to help people. When it comes down to it, it’s always people” (Atlantic Philanthropies).
The example he set didn't go unnoticed. Warren Buffett and Bill Gates, the founders of the Giving Pledge (a campaign to convince the super rich to donate at least fifty percent of their fortune before their deaths), were greatly inspired by Feeney's example. Buffett said about Feeney: "[he's] my hero and Bill Gates’s hero — he should be everybody’s hero” (Times). “Chuck was a cornerstone in terms of inspiration for the Giving Pledge,” Buffett explained. “He’s a model for us all" (Forbes).
Sadly, Feeney passed away last year at 92, after living a rich and meaningful life. Just like my Grandpa Hier, he was treasured for his generosity, and he made a lasting impact on millions of lives. The examples of both my grandfather and the James Bond of Philanthropy teach that whether someone impacts only a handful of people around them or countless around the globe, they're worthy of imitation.
As for me, I'm going to try to have a similar selfless, generous attitude in my life. That might look like reminding myself that the smile on my friend's face is worth colossally more than a few extra bucks in my bank account. Or it could be reflected in making a donation to a cause I care about (like animal shelters), even if it's just a few dollars. And when I want to help a friend or family member and they resist, I'll make sure to remind them: "Don't take away my joy." Truly, sharing what we have with others brings us the most joy in life.
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