MARRY A BILLIONAIRE; GAIN A DYNASTY
She was seemingly slow yet I was quickly captivated; she was curiously intriguing, with an indefinable air about her which I was to later learn was simply an ambience that many of the generationally uber-wealthy emit wherever they are: Whether in a steaming hot concrete jungle (think: Summer, Mid-town Manhattan) or a much more majestic and opulent setting (think: Princess Di; Buckingham Palace).
She was royalty - pure banking royalty, wrought of five hundred years of genius, greed and interbreeding.
And while there was no hidden Dodi Fayed, no out-of-sight European lovers, there was a monstrously cruel, double banking heiress mother-in-law between us; herself a long abandoned bride who would never give up her only child to likes of me.
So on the afternoon of July 7, 1994, shortly after moving - yet again - from Los Angeles to New York City in search of anything "show-biz," and on what was perhaps the hottest day of that year (near triple-digit), I met my future-ex second wife: A raven-haired, Paris born Israeli, near the corners of 43rd St. and Ninth Avenue in mid-town Manhattan.
She even had the quasi-British accent, gleaned from three years spent in a super elite Swiss Boarding School where she studied alongside numerous other banking heiresses, various European Royalty Princesses-in-Waiting and the ubiquitous Third-World Dictator's Daughters (with more than one of Osama Bin Laden's daughters being amongst her fellow alumni).
And along with being super sexy she also had the distinction of being one of the very few women who had ever chanced looking directly into my eyes while passing on the then very mean, and viciously violent, streets of Manhattan.
I was immediately smitten because, after all, everybody dreams of marrying someone super-rich...
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR:
I chatted her up then walked her home to her apartment on 72nd street , catty-corner from the infamous Dakota building where the fictional Rosemary's Baby took place and where the tragically real John Lennon assassination occurred. Turned out my future-ex wife and time-thief (19 years lost) was an Israeli Banking heiress and, low-and-behold, available!
One year later we moved in together (it wasn't hard for me to give up my six-story walkup on East 95th and 1st Avenue (a place so remote (at least back then) from the rest of Manhattan I used to refer to it as "..the end of the world..."
I'm sure the homeless living on the roof were glad to see me go as I was seemingly the only person who ever attempted to keep them from sleeping inside the building.
One more year later and, still catty-corner from John Lennon's old haunts, she became - secretly - pregnant. Oh, we'd talked about "it" during twice-weekly bouts of Couples Therapy but, we had jointly decided to wait.
So later that year when we went to visit her mother in jolly old Israel (my very first time to the "Land of Milk and Honey") I was quite surprised to find out - my very first morning there - that she was, indeed, with child.
I was ecstatic. Having been involved twice before where a long term relationship ended with then my soon to be ex-partner becoming pregnant and opting for a relationship ending abortion, I was exceedingly eager for fatherhood (Please note that I have always totally supported a woman's right to choose but have come to believe that every man who wants it, should have a say-so).
She then said: "I'm going to stay in Israel to raise our child."
I said: "God bless Israel (this is verbatim) but I don't want to live in Israel."
She said: "You don't have to. You can always come visit."
...and that, was the way of my world back then...
I had no rights whatsoever, at least that I knew of that had been adjudicated.
We married, twice (once in NYC and once in Tel Aviv (so as to be recognized legally in both America and our new home, Israel)), but not before I mindlessly signed a PRENUPTIAL guaranteeing me NOTHING in the case of divorce (unfortunately, "NOTHING" was in this instance, a zero-sum game ("a situation in which whatever is gained by one side is lost by the other"). And I was destined to lose - big time: Financially, emotionally, socially, environmentally. But I did manage to keep the most important thing: Regular access to my two sons.
It should come as no surprise that the Uber-wealthy know how to cover their asses legally She was always at least three steps ahead of me in terms of money.
And "Seemingly slow?" ...my ass...
To be fair, my obvious desperation bred foolish accommodation, and when one is ..dying to have children, to just stay home and give them all your time, welll...
..just about anything can happen.
Don't know what that is? Then take a harder look at the bills in your wallet!
Ron Chernow: "From their beginnings as money changers and pawnbrokers during the 16th century, the Warburgs climbed to prominence as bankers and philanthropists, both in Germany and the United States - but the family also produced politicians, scientists and artists. By the early 20th century, the Warburg's star outshone even the Rothschilds'."
True "Blue Bloods," with a history of over 500 years of money-making...
Sir Siegmund Warburg: So profound a man they're still writing about him.
A man with some pretty big secrets...
I first realized the historical relevance of my ex-wife's family when I saw Nation of Islam (N.O.I.) leader Louis Farrakkhan raving on cable television about the '..Rothschilds and the Warburgs," a favorite recurring topic of his.
..in Italy, along the shores of the Mediterranean, owned by Sir Siegmund...
..given as a wedding present, taken away as a warning...
A family that has been wealthy for centuries and lied and cheated me out of what I should morally have had (people become reticent when you know the family secrets)
Both my boys are proud to have on the one side of the family banking genius, and on the other, coal miners and farmers..
..with scientists, artists, creators of the Federal Reserve, etc. etc., and infinitely more secretive...
Prior to my move to Israel, I started using "Sam" as my first name. Never a fan of "Robert," I had long ago tired of people calling me "Bob,: "Bobby," "Rob" and "Robbie." Some even called me "Richard" or "Roger."
And "Sam" seemed to fit the Jewish Nature of Israel much more smoothly. In 16 years there, I never met another "Robert."
No matter how much you think you're in love, learn from my near-fatal mistake - DON'T SIGN IT!!!
Rich people, and I'm not talking million-dollar a year doctor/lawyer 'rich people,' I'm talking FAMILIES that have been rich for centuries (think COMPOUND INTEREST/SKYROCKETING PROPERTY VALUES) - those people - CASTLES on the Beach in Italy people - they NEVER want to give up any money (the longer you have it the more you love it) ...and they KNOW ALL THE TRICKS (how else do you remain wealthy for five hundred years or more?)...
My favorite phrase (created by me):
"I'm only this smart because I've been that stupid"
..and stupidity lurks around every interpersonal corner...
..my ex's father who spoke 12 languages fluently and died before I ever met him...
..had an only child born in Paris named Batya (my ex-wife) born in 1964 in Paris...
..I met her on the corners of 43rd & 9th Avenue in New York City on July 7, 1994...
We married in NYC in October of 1997 and again in Tel Aviv Israel in November of 1997..
We had two sons, born in 1998 and 2001, directs descendants of over 500 years of Warburgs..
I voluntarily moved out of our mutual home after we verbally come to a financial agreement to compensate me which was (roughly) five grand a month until I remarried)...
I moved out of our house on 9/1 2001 (my personal '911') and I never got a penny..
...and then the lies begin...:
Child abuse (both sexual, physical and emotional), neglect, starvation, stalking, mental incompetence, etc.
...leading to 46 (approximate) times in Family Court (Israel/Scotland/U.S.)
Harassed by her lawyers in New York City and Monterey California (as recently as 2017)
[INSERT SCOTTISH SHERIFF (judge) MORRISON'S 31 PAGE REPORT - TO BE ADDED**]
*put link to Morrison's decision here*
"It was at the South East corner of 43rd Street and Ninth Avenue in Manhattan that almost everything he had ever known, and almost everything that he had ever hoped for, were stolen from him. Had He, a strapping, middle aged man who had managed to hold onto his physical prime longer than most, looked left instead of right, had He merely stopped to simply tie a shoe and take a rest, or had the traffic light not seemed to linger a little bit longer than normal during it's transition, He may yet have had those hopes, that future. But that particular day he was anxious. Anxious to get home. Anxious from hours of pounding the pavement in search of a living, needful for nothing more than to sit in his own small dark apartment and put up his tired feet after yet another failed day. So he quickly scurried through the yellow light. And it was then that He, spotted Her. They slowly approached one another, performing something akin to a sensual pas de deux on the steaming New York City sidewalk. As they passed He slowly turned to take a second look at the exotic beauty. She turned. Their eyes met. He smiled, She giggled. And so it all began, completely by chance. Or so he thought at the time..."