The Millionaire’s Swim, Redux – Tom Finneran

Friday, August 07, 2020

Tom Finneran, GoLocalWorcester MINDSETTER™

Tom Finneran is the former MA Speaker of the House

It’s a peaceful early morning walk. The man walks slowly, deliberately, but purposefully.

Talk about solitude. Other than the occasional deer or coyote, he has the world all to himself.

The birds reign at that hour, calling, chirping, caucusing.

The beach is about a quarter-mile away and the tide is just right, about 6:00 AM. Summer’s early sunrise provides the light and the bay provides the strong pull of attraction. On a perfect day, the breeze has yet to show and the water is dead calm.

That’s when “the millionaire” makes his appearance. His beach bag is just “like new”, only about ten years old and his Crocs are the original Crocs. There’s nothing extravagant about the millionaire, including his torn T-shirts. As he says, he’s not entering a fashion show, he’s just going for a swim.

I came to know the millionaire a few years back. I’m a morning swimmer and I try to be watchful. I’ve seen breaking baitfish being chased by stripers and blues. I’ve seen ospreys catching their oh so fresh breakfast. I’ve watched the blue herons imitate statues in their hungry stiletto stillness. I’ve seen a mother fox teaching her little ones how to scavenge the beach. And, of course, I’ve seen the early morning beachcombers, studying the night tide’s deposits upon the sand.

The millionaire wastes no time in getting in. There’s no toe-in-the-water gradual entry to try to get used to the temperature. The millionaire strides in without hesitation and he begins his ritual of fifty strokes to the North, a restful pause while floating on his back, and then fifty strokes to the South, followed by another floating pause. Somedays he’s gone in ten minutes. Other days, he might spend an hour or more enjoying his wealth.

One morning, several years ago, we talked. We had seen each other off and on but we respected each other’s space and we hesitated to interrupt each other’s morning rituals.

It was during that chat that he disclosed his “millionaire” status, not through an arriving Benz or Rolls and certainly not through a chauffer come to do his bidding. Rather, he talked about “his wealth”.

He talked about freedom and opportunity. He talked about nature’s gifts of water and light and the sheer joy of diving into that beautiful blue-green bay. And he pointed out that even millionaires could not improve upon the magnificent bounty he enjoyed. That’s when I secretly dubbed him “the millionaire”.

I cannot prove it, but I think that the millionaire is a retired mailman. Perhaps those long daily walks while doing his rounds gave him such a keen eye and a perceptive view of the world around us. He cherishes life. He cherishes liberty. He cherishes nature’s wonders and summer’s awesome gifts.

Soon enough the air will chill and the swirling leaves of September and October will arrive. Another summer will end, and I will be left to think of the wise millionaire and the lessons he imparts, redux, every year.

May the millionaire’s wealth and his wisdom long endure.