The Family Riches

According to family legend, our massive wealth originated from the creative genius and business acumen of my great-great-great, Grandfather Oliver Dooley. Ever since I was a young child, my parents and grandparents talked about this ancestor as though he were a cross between a conqueror and God himself. The older I got, the less believable I found these tales of his grand exploits to be. I began questioning the family lore. When I did, my elders would give me a disgusted look, point to our time- worn family bible, and exclaim, “If you don’t believe me, look it up. The family history is all in the book.”

One day, I took their advice and did just that. Since none of them ever took their own counsel, I doubt anyone realized there was a book inside the book. The old book was chock-full of interesting revelations. To begin with, our last name wasn’t Dooley; it was Dhule. Oliver’s father was originally from India and was brought to London as a young man to find work. He married a London lady and had three children, of whom Oliver was the oldest. Life was hard, and Oliver thought, as did many people then, that he would be better off in America. He scraped up enough money for a one-way steerage ticket and sailed off to the new world.

The trip was filled with rough seas and meager rations, but after fourteen seasick days, he arrived in New York City with a small suitcase partially filled with clothes and close to penniless. There was a large influx of Irish immigrants at that time, and when the officials processing his paperwork heard his name, they mistook Dhule for Dooley, and from that point on, it was the name he went with. It was obvious to him that life in the Big Apple was as difficult as it was in London. When he saw a newspaper headline that read “Go West, Young Man,” Oliver followed the advice.

In a streak of good fortune, Oliver landed a position with the Union Pacific Railroad as a porter. His journey west had begun. Dooley’s trek west ended in St. Louis. As part of his job, Oliver was required to clean the passengers’ staterooms, make their beds, and provide room service. One of the passengers under Oliver’s care was a wealthy old gentleman in poor health. The two formed a bond, and he offered Oliver a position in his company based in St. Louis. The young man jumped at the opportunity. In a very short time, Oliver became the son the old man never had. The young immigrant was a quick study and, in a matter of months, learned everything there was to know about the riverboat trade, which was his mentor’s business. It was two years to the day when the old man passed away, leaving all his possessions to Oliver.

From this point on, most of the stories about how our ancestors built the empire we run today are more or less accurate. It’s the beginning of the legend that has been glossed over, distorted, and turned into a fictitious story. All that is about to change. I have called for a family gathering so I can make a major announcement. Some will happily come while others will moan and complain, saying that I have nothing new to offer them, but they’ll be here. The hardcore few will refuse to come no matter what, but after much deliberation, they will show up on the off chance they may be missing out on something. Yes, they will all come because they can’t refuse a request from Oliver Dooley IV, or should I say, Dhule.