Net Worth

Net Worth

From I Love Capitalism – An American Story by Ken Langone, cofounder of The Home Depot.

When I was ten years old, I was an altar boy at St.Mary's Church in Roslyn, just across the harbor from the sand pits. The priest, Father Francis Ryan – Father Frank – came from Ireland, spoke with a brogue, and had a boxer's nose: he really had been a boxer. Does it sound like a Spencer Tracy movie yet?

I've always been spiritual, and I loved being an altar boy. The hours were challenging, though. When it was my turn to serve the 6:30 Mass for the week, I had to get up at six every morning from Monday until Saturday and walk about a mile to a spot underneath the railroad bridge at Roslyn Road, where Mr. Harnett, the church sexton, would pick me up in his little Ford Model A and drive me the remaining two miles to St. Mary's. I remember the smell of the pipe Mr. Harnett smoked and the fragrance of the inside of the church, a combination of incense and the wood of the pews and the bindings of the hymnals.

Weekdays I'd serve Mass, then walk back up the hill and go to school. But on Saturdays I had to walk all the way home – three miles. Once I took a ride from my uncle Pat, my father's oldest brother, and his wife, my aunt Agnes. My aunt scolded me the whole way about why my mother and father didn't go to church. I never took a ride from the again.

Spadina Avenue, Toronto, Graffiti. Photo by Elena.

I've always felt that some of the worst people in the world go to Mass regularly, while some of the best people in the world never set foot in church. I attend Mass every Sunday, and try to make daily Mass as often as I can. I have a routine every morning: I get up and brush my teeth and, still in my pajamas, go off in a quite corner of the house for twenty minutes with my Bible and a Bible study guide and pray.

I don't know if there's a God or if there's a heaven; I can't prove it, but that's what I believe. There's one part of me that thinks, when you're dead, you're dead. You had your shot; move on. But if there isn't a God, what have I lost by praying? Nothing. It's a no-downside bet.

The first part of my prayer is that when I'm presented for my judgment, our Creator will have concluded that for the most part I've lived my life according to His teachings, and Scripture. I then ask that in the hereafter I'll be reunited with all those people I loved and admired who left before me. I then pray for those who have lost loved ones or have problems: people I can help. I say, “God, let me always do it for your praise, honor, and glory – not mine.”

I know spiritually isn't for everybody, but for me it's been an incredibly motivating factor. God is the most important parе of everything I do.