The downside to that mountain of cash

I just read about the terrible plight of people find themselves instant millionaires. The reports come out of California, where high-tech entrepreneurs are selling their dot-com companies and finding themselves sitting on a pile of money. Overnight. Poor things don't quite know what to do next. Will their sorrows never end? A psychiatric, of course, has come up with a term for their malady. It's called sudden wealth syndrome. It used to be when people became millionaires they were ecstatic. They bought a larger house, joined the country club, put in a pool and took the little lady on a cruise around the world. Maybe even got themselves a mistress. Not anymore. Today, according to the reports, they go into therapy. They're lonely, embarrassed, confused, even a bit paranoid. And maybe just a little nuts. If these people don't want to be millionaires, I know a few million people out there who wouldn't mind bearing the burden. Don't these people know how lucky they are? They didn't even have to deal with Regis Philbin to get their money. And they're still complaining. During the height of the sad Princess Diana saga, I remember reading how depressed she was. She was alone, the boys were off school, and she was lurking around the palace pantries, looking for love. She only had her million-dollar jewels to keep her warm. I liked what one of my friends had to say at the time: "Why doesn't she just put a bottle of champagne on ice, plop that tiara on her head and invite some friends over?" It's hard to feel sorry for people who have their own footmen. Seven years ago, I was assigned to spend a day with Brooke Astor, the grande dame of New York society who made career out of giving away the 170 million dollar her husband left her. I am happy to report I didn't hear her complain once. We went to lunch at Mortimer's, the Upper East Side watering hole for society women at the time. We had the power table. Then we went uptown to a day care center that needed money for her books. She gave them some. We returned to her Park Avenue apartment, sat in her candy-apple-red library, had a drink, admired the Childe Hassam over the fireplace and played with dachshund Dolly and Freddy. Odd, I know, but she seemed quite happy with her lot in life. maybe she has the solution for all those newly minted millionaires. Give it away. Go ahead. You'd be happier. The people who give it to would be happier. Everyone would be happier. And I can be reached at the address below. E-mail cwilson@usatoday.com