Read an Excerpt
The Kitchen Table Financial Plan
A Practical Approach for Any Stage in Your Life
By Victor S. Levy River Grove Books
Copyright © 2016 Victor S. Levy
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63299-101-0
CHAPTER 1
The Sale of Serving Coffee
Greg took a step backward in his small art studio, almost tripping over a coffee tin full of brushes as he placed the final, finishing swash of oil paint on his most recent work. The painting, which he'd titled Serving Coffee, was from the perspective of the server. He'd painted a pair of arms extending from each of the lower corners of the canvas to a tray filled with seven coffee cups. In the distance, seven well-dressed guests were seated around a table shaded by a tree as they waited to be served.
Greg was a sophomore at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia, and for him, the painting exuded a sense of giving and love, of kindness and caring, all displayed in a rich green and yellow composition. His father, Dr. Thomas Bell, took Greg's painting to his dental office in downtown Vineland, New Jersey, where he displayed it on a wall in the waiting room. Dr. Bell thought his patients might enjoy looking at it, and thought perhaps someone would even want to buy it. He suggested that Greg come up with a price tag for the work of art.
Over the course of several weeks, the painting garnered much praise from Tom's patients. Some said that the painting was "museum quality" and that Greg had "a wonderful knack for colors." But, despite the compliments, there were no buyers.
Until one day, when an older gentleman came to the office for a tooth extraction. He arrived a few minutes early and was seated directly across from Serving Coffee in the waiting room. He'd selected a magazine to read, but he couldn't stop admiring the colors and genial composition of the painting. He found that it invited him in, with those serving arms reaching outward, almost hugging the viewer.
He went back to the magazine but kept looking up, distracted by the painting. Finally, he stood up, read the price tag, and took a more careful look at the artwork. After a minute, he nodded and approached the receptionist to inquire about the painting and the painter.
She told him about Greg, Dr. Bell's youngest son; she said he was a college art student, and that his dream was to become a full-time artist. The man's decision to purchase, however, came only after she shared a secret hidden in the canvas. In the distance, seated among the guests, Greg had drawn himself. The artist himself appeared in the art.
The gentleman loved the humor and irony of the fact that the artist, as the creator, also saw himself as the subject matter. This theme resonated with him so resoundingly that he wrote a check on the spot made payable to Greg Bell for the stated price of $1,875. He handed it to the receptionist, and after the appointment, Dr. Bell helped carry the painting to his patient's car. As the men warmly shook hands, Dr. Bell felt very proud that his son had sold his first major work of art.
When Greg returned home after his evening classes, he found an envelope labeled with his name on the kitchen table. He was astonished to find the check inside. For the first time in his life, he'd sold a painting. The payment seemed to justify his work as an artist and signified that becoming an artist indeed could be a career; the payment told him that his passion to paint could become his livelihood.
Throughout dinner, Greg discussed many ideas for projects that had been circling in his head. "I'll start my own studio," he said with excitement, "and give you more artwork, Dad, to hang on the wall in my lucky spot. It'll be great, you'll see. I have so many ideas!"
As he helped clean up the dishes after dinner, Greg asked his parents what they thought he should do with the check.
Linda looked at Tom, who shrugged his shoulders, and then she looked back at her son. "I think you should deposit it in the bank," she said.
"Sounds good," Greg said. "Can you help me make the deposit? I'm jammed with schoolwork this week."
"Sure thing," Linda said, "I'll take it over tomorrow."
Later that night, as Tom and Linda were preparing to go to bed, they discussed the check. "I think he should keep the money in his savings account," Linda said. "I mean, why should he spend it?"
"Let him spend it. C'mon. You only live once!" Tom said.
They got in bed, and Linda turned off the lamp on the nightstand. In the darkness, she asked Tom for his opinion about the check once again. She was hoping for an acknowledgment that they should encourage Greg to save his money, but none came. Finally, Tom yawned and said impatiently, "Whatever you think is fine. I really don't care what he does with it. If you want him to save it then fine, let him save it. I'm going to sleep now."
After a moment of silence, Tom said, "I love you, Honey." And then, he rolled onto his side.
Linda was still awake, thinking in the darkness. Under her breath she murmured, "I love you, too."
CHAPTER 2
Tom and Linda Bell
Dreams are like shooting stars: They flare brightly, then fade away. For people who live life without a moment's pause, dreams constantly circle. These people can find neither the time nor the inclination to write their dreams down, let alone plan out a strategy to achieve them.
As Tom pulled his car into the office parking lot before work on a Tuesday morning, a dream flashed through his mind. The radio was playing "Surfin' U.S.A." by the Beach Boys. He sat for a moment in his parking space and turned up the volume. When the song reached the third verse, the one about waxing down surfboards and being gone for the summer, Tom closed his eyes and started dreaming.
He saw himself on a beach, in a baggy bathing suit, in sunny California with a surfboard planted in the sand next to him. From the expression on his face, he didn't have a care in the world. He had retired from work and had traded in his dental probes for sunglasses and a cool drink. As a sense of happiness spread through his body, he began to tap the dashboard in time to the music.
The song faded and commercials began, and, poof! As quickly as it had entered his mind, the dream was gone. He turned off his car and walked up the steps into the office, with the strains of "Surfin' U.S.A." still running through his brain.
He mumbled "Good morning" to the staff. The two dental hygienists who had been with him for more than twenty years were getting their work areas prepared for the day.
Tom put his gym bag underneath his desk. He brought it with him each day in the hope that he would find time after work to stop at the gym for exercise. But on most days, this goal would come and go like another expendable dream.
As he sat down and looked over the day's schedule, he rubbed his lower back and let out a sigh. It appeared to be a busy day: four major procedures, along with eleven checkups. At age fifty-five, the days were beginning to feel long, often before they'd begun.
On the one hand, Tom was pleased that his practice was successful, but on the other hand, his stamina was waning. Dentistry was physical; it took endurance to make it through the days. There was no time to think about the future, let alone retirement. Tom lived very much in the moment.
The Buddha might applaud this way of living. However, Tom was neither a Buddhist, nor consciously choosing to live this way. For him, the future was simply tuned out by a busy calendar that did not allow time for anything other than focusing on the present. The future for him was simply the length of time it took to fill a cavity or to place a gold crown on the mount of a decaying tooth. Tooth pain was like that, too; it existed in the here and now.
A staff member walked briskly past Tom's desk with a plunger. "We need to call the plumber," she said.
"What?" Tom said looking up. "What happened?"
"The toilet won't flush," she replied. "I think it needs to be looked at. The darn thing must be over a hundred years old."
Tom had a sudden memory of the first day he'd started his practice, Bell Dental Arts, nearly thirty years ago in downtown Vineland. Tom and Linda moved there just after Tom finished dental school. Tom had made a single visit to a real estate office to get help finding a location. The real estate agent suggested a spot near a new housing development along a main corridor, to which Tom had said, "Fine."
So he landed on East Landis Avenue, which was the expanding end of "Main Street" in Vineland. A refurbished Victorian home there that had previously been a chiropractor's office was the place the agent thought would be a perfect place to start his practice. The only modern part of the property was a hardwired alarm system.
As he and the agent stood in the foyer, he nudged her with his elbow and said, pointing to the alarm keypad, "Pretty fancy, huh?" She smiled, and shortly after Tom opened his doors, she became one of his first patients.
This was how things went in Vineland, which was a community of people who cared about their town, supported local businesses, and loved the beautiful farmland that surrounded the center of the city. This was reflected in the city motto: "A Harvest of Opportunities in the Heart of the Northeast."
Indeed there had been plenty of opportunities for Tom when he opened Bell Dental Arts. His practice was efficient; it ran with just the two hygienists, along with one full-time and one part-time dental assistant, and a receptionist who served as a part-time bookkeeper.
Every year, around tax-filing season, his accountant, Mack Fletcher, would say that everything looked good financially. "You paid your estimates on time and should get back a small refund from the IRS." Then Mack would put his arm around Tom with a smile and say, "Do yourself a favor, Tom. Don't spend it — just put it in the bank."
But Tom was a chronic spender. Although he worked hard and always had money in his checking account, he loved to spend it, mainly on the accoutrements of an affluent life.
For example, he and Linda lived in a restored home that was once Linda's childhood home. It was on a pleasant street, on thirty acres, just about a mile outside the center of town. Since buying it from Linda's mother, they spruced up the inside with various furnishings, custom-built entertainment units, and built-in appliances. On the outside, the landscaping was meticulously maintained.
Tom also spent money on expensive cars, with upgraded leather seats and larger horsepower engines. On weekends, he and Linda drove to Philadelphia and shopped for custom-made shirts and designer shoes at clothing boutiques. In fact, Linda's shoe collection was so vast that they had converted their daughter's old bedroom into a walk-in closet with shelving on all the walls to hold her treasured footwear.
Linda and Tom had two children. Greg still lived with them, and their daughter, Jessica, who was ten years older than Greg, lived nearby with her spouse, Nicole, and their three children. Jessica, like her father, was a practicing dentist in Vineland; however, her specialty was pediatric dentistry.
The receptionist's voice interrupted Tom's reverie. "Dr. Bell, don't forget you have an implant procedure this afternoon."
Tom flipped his calendar ahead a few pages and noticed the block of time off he'd planned to take was approaching. He and Linda loved to travel and went on at least three vacations per year. They traveled extensively throughout Italy, sometimes on private tours, staying in the best hotels and dining in five-star restaurants. Their travel agent prepared elaborate itineraries for them, with warmer destinations in the winter months and European travel in the spring and summer. Upon arrival at the Ritz-Carlton in Puerto Rico recently, Tom and Linda were greeted by name.
He put the calendar down and walked over to the closet to inventory his dental supplies. He liked to handle the restocking in the morning before patients arrived. The implant materials were beginning to run low, and they'd need to be reordered. He scratched his head in disgust as he flipped through the dental supplies catalog. Costs for everything were rising.
When it came to his own needs, or Linda's, Tom typically spent without a fleeting care or concern. His financial planning consisted of a look ahead at his next week's patient loads; if he was busy, he felt secure that his personal spending could continue. Tom's motto was "Live life to the fullest." For his many years in practice, this had felt like a comfortable, sensible way to live.
Linda spent most of her week doing errands and volunteering in the community. She would run from the dry cleaner to pick up Tom's shirts and suits, then to the bank, and then to the club, where she'd often meet her friends for lunch. Afternoons were spent shopping for new outfits or new decorations or necessities for the house.
Wherever she went, she was greeted warmly by merchants, most of whom knew her by name. She made it a point to always say hello — especially at the First Bank of Vineland, where she was a regular. She stopped by at least once a week to make a withdrawal and would often visit with the floor manager to talk about local news or their grandchildren.
Tom and Linda's life was a good one, but despite the many places they traveled to, and the things they acquired for their home, they always desired more. They wanted a bigger house, more expensive cars, and travel to more exotic locations. In fact, a few years before, Tom was considering a stay on Sir Richard Branson's private Necker Island in the Caribbean, which he thought would make "a helluva good story."
A big part of the Bells' spending was on credit. They leased cars, charged vacations, and borrowed to pay for Jessica's and Greg's college tuitions. As the bills came in, Tom would take distributions out of the practice account in order to keep the cash account at the bank full enough to pay their personal bills. He knew Linda would worry about having enough cash in the bank; but as long as it was replenished, everything was in check.
Linda and Tom had a system for the bills that arrived each week: Bills from credit card companies, leasing companies, and furniture financing companies went into one pile; house bills such as mortgage and utilities went into a second pile; and insurance bills went into a third pile. Linda was the "organizer" and Tom was the "payer." Once a week, usually over lunch in the office, Tom sat at his desk and made the payments.
On occasion, Linda would open up a credit card bill after a busy spending period and ask Tom about it.
"Tom, are we OK?" she'd say. "I just looked at the Visa bill and it's over $15,000!" Tom would take the bill from his wife, and with a hug of reassurance, say, "No worries, my love ... all is well."
* * *
It was time to start the day. Tom looked at his watch and jumped into Operatory One to greet his first patient.
"Good morning, Phil, how are your folks doing?" asked Tom, as his patient settled into the dental chair.
There were different profit centers in Tom's practice. For example, he made a small profit on cleanings performed by the hygienists. His accountant would explain that although this was Tom's smallest area of profit, it was one of the most important services because it brought patients into the office. Once they were in, it gave Tom a chance to do a check-up, which would often lead to higher-cost services like fillings and caps. The real profit was made in the procedures.
Among all the procedures Tom performed, the most profitable was the dental implant. Many of Tom's patients were elderly and beginning to lose their teeth. When teeth were beyond saving, the protocol was to replace the lost tooth, or maybe several teeth, with a prosthetic. Nearby dentists thought of him as a specialist in implants, and he received many referrals to do that procedure.
It was a point of pride, however, that Tom favored prevention as the best route. Implants and dentures were always the last resort. He told his patients that the best course was a good defense around tooth care, which included regular brushing and flossing.
Tom only wished it was as easy to prevent personal phone calls during procedures as it was to prevent cavities with good hygiene. Right in the middle of a tooth-bonding procedure, his receptionist tapped on his shoulder and said, "Dr. Bell, your wife's on line two, and she said it's important."
Tom sighed deeply into his protective facemask. His rubber-gloved fingers were pushing down on the lower jaw of his patient's mouth, as he'd been examining the tooth he'd been bonding. He moved the overhead light to the side, and pulled off his mask.
"Phil, I'm sorry to have to do this to you," he said, "but I'll be back in just a minute."
In his office, he pulled off one of his rubber gloves with a loud snap, and then picked up the phone.
"What's going on?" Tom said.
"I'm sorry to bother you in the middle of the morning," Linda said, "but we have a major problem."
Tom sat down in his office chair and prepared for bad news. For Linda, calling during patient hours meant that someone must have died or been seriously hurt.
"OK, what is it?"
"We have no money in our bank account," Linda said. Her voice quivered.
Tom was silent for a moment.
"So, I'll transfer money in," he finally said.
"Tom, this was so embarrassing. When I found out, I spoke to Rhonda at the bank because I thought they had made some mistake. But she said that this whole month our balance has been below $1,000."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Kitchen Table Financial Plan by Victor S. Levy. Copyright © 2016 Victor S. Levy. Excerpted by permission of River Grove Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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