Move over Sopranos, there's a new family in town: the scheming Ponzis.
Where is Elliot Ness when you need him? Ruth Madoff, who is so down and out she can't even afford mascara for a television interview, must be wondering why the modern day Italian crime boss still roams free while her hubby Bernie rots in prison. Not only can't she figure out how to off herself from a New York City penthouse, but she had no idea what Bernie was talking about when he confessed to her and their sons that all their riches came from a ponzi scheme. "What's a ponzi scheme?" she reportedly asked. Really. Really?
In fairness to Ruth, she probably didn't jump immediately to unflattering ethnic stereotypes. No doubt she made a bee line for her closet -- Gucci, Pucci, Versace. Was there a Ponzi suit buried deep in the back? Maybe a long forgotten pair of pumps? A Ponzi pocketbook?(Bottomless, to be sure.) The name must have sounded at least vaguely familiar, and it would not have been unreasonable for a wealthy socialite with a massive wardrobe and what appears to be severe memory loss to assume Ponzi was some fly by night Italian designer.
As it turns out, there were plenty of skeletons in the Madoff closets, ponzi skeletons. The truth is it was all too good to be true, the clothes, the yachts, the vacations, the homes. Just as too good to be true as the returns the investors were getting from Bernie, but you don't hear anyone accusing them of knowing the truth. We've all been there; we trust until there's a reason not to, and Bernie was a great guy. There was no reason not to trust him, no reason not to just consider yourself lucky to be his friend (or his spouse, or his son).
I kind of feel sorry for Ruth, pounding the pavement in Boca, without makeup no less, in a futile search for a Ponzi boutique. Time served.
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