Therapy for the Rich

Sometimes, having too much money can be a problem. The perils of bailing out friends and family can be stressful

By Michelle Conlin

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Goldbart, co-founder of Money, Meaning & Choices, ministers to the wealthy Markham Johnson/Wonderful Machine

San Francisco therapist DiFuria advises focus on people's needs, not wants Markham Johnson/Wonderful Machine

Emily Pottruck, wife of a former CEO, has offered help with no strings attached Markham Johnson/Wonderful Machine

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DeSantis made a fortune as co-founder of dotcom startup Ariba, and is beset by requests for help Markham Johnson/Wonderful Machine

When the economy tanked this fall, Rob DeSantis's phone began ringing. Suddenly friends, family, and neighbors were begging him for financial help. It's not hard to see why. DeSantis is ultrawealthy, having co-founded Ariba, a dot-com-era startup that pioneered online purchasing for large companies. In one week in October alone, DeSantis says, the requests totaled half a million dollars. In December came another $1.5 million in pleas.

The cries for help moved him profoundly. "My first thought when they call is, 'Oh no, not you, too,' and it makes me want to help," says DeSantis, who is working on a book and looking at deals in green technology. "They want to keep their house, their company, whatever. It pulls on your heartstrings."

DeSantis has plenty of company these days. There's the billionaire whose brother-in-law stopped speaking to him after he refused to increase the man's small business loan. The two friends who fell out after one asked the other to pay off her mortgage. The 21-year-old trust-funder whose strapped friend was caught shoplifting just before Christmas. He hadn't heard from her for a year, and suddenly she was on the phone asking if he could bail her out of jail. "This hurt," he says, "because it told me she looked at me as a sort of bank."

As the government bails out one industry after another, America's affluent are doing the same for their friends and family. And just as the feds' largesse can have unintended consequences so, too, can the personal bailout. Givers can feel put-upon, recipients beholden. Like many in his position, DeSantis sought professional help. He called his wealth therapists, Joan Indursky DiFuria, a commodities executive turned family counselor, and psychologist Stephen Goldbart, who together run San Francisco's Money, Meaning & Choices Institute.

In recent months, DiFuria and Goldbart say they have been rushing from mansion to pied-à-terre, helping the moneyed class figure out how to deal with down-and-out friends and relatives without turning them into welfare cases. DiFuria says clients are plagued with thoughts like: "Should I be helpful? In what way should I be helpful?"

FIXING OTHERS' LIVES

Like many people who start life in humble circumstances, DeSantis says he has struggled with "being good at being rich." When Ariba went public in 1999, the then 38-year-old fleetingly became a paper billionaire. It was a head trip for a guy who grew up in a 900-square-foot house. That, in part, is why DeSantis' financial adviser introduced him to Goldbart and DiFuria in 2002. At the time, the therapists were helping other extremely rich people handle what Goldbart and DiFuria had dubbed "sudden wealth syndrome."

DeSantis' first impulse was to shower the people he loved with lucre--to transform lives with one check. It wasn't long before his largesse began to backfire. One recipient in particular stands out. DeSantis paid off all of this person's debt--an act of generosity that cost him about half a million dollars. "I wanted to give him a get-out-of-jail-free card," recalls DeSantis. When the economy tanked this fall, guess who came knocking? DeSantis' beneficiary was looking for another handout, pleading that without it, he would lose his house and slide into bankruptcy.