James Buchanan Duke marries Lilian Fletcher McCready in 1904, divorces 1906, no issue; marries Nanaline Holt 1907, has issue; one daughter, Doris.

In 1904 Buck also establishes what will become The Duke Power Company, part of Duke Energy, thus further diversifying his fortune in tobacco and textiles with hydroelectric energy.

     
    Detail "caddie doorhandles" copyright Bianca Dorso

Watching "Bernard and Doris" last night on HBO [it repeats next week and NO SPOILERS here] I was struck as I am sure all of you who are familiar with their story would be struck by the way in which we are each drawn to one of the two principal characters, depending on our frame of reference.

For those of us who have struggled with the burden of great wealth, Susan Sarandon does an admirable job bringing that particular karma to the screen. 

And for those of us who are enamored of the very rich, who have longed to be in their company or have been in their company in a personal service sort of way, or perhaps for those of you who toil in the "service industry" -- that is to say, in jobs whch cannot be transferred offshore because they require your physical presence, behind the counter wearing a paper hat say, or holding a leaf-blower, or pushing that stroller -- yes, if you have had to service people like Doris or her (older, also wealthy, paying) male member equivalent, then you may identify with Ralph Fiennes' character, the subservient Bernard.  Or someone else on her staff and payroll which didn't get as much screen time.

It may also depend on what you long for or regret, which will determine which one you find yourself identifying with. 

Do you miss your estates, your yacht, your chauffeur?  Or do you miss your tray?

Meanwhile, D. calls while I'm watching.  He is watching from home.  We do this sometimes, talk on the phone while we each monitor election results, or "Celebrity Rehab" or "Make Me a Supermodel."

"Girl down," he says at a pivotal point when Bernard is in the pantry with his tray and impulsively finishes the dregs of wine in a guest's glass and falls off the wagon [Isn't that a spoiler?  Ed note].

"This is going to get ugly," I predict.

"Speaking of which, Delta Burke is a hoarder."

"You mean she's a clutterer," I reply, thinking of my friend Jeffrey who has been such a help defending people with this affliction in Manhattan, especially those clients whose landlords are trying to evict them from fabulous rent-controlled apartments which would be spacious save for their saddly misunderstood condition.

"No, a hoarder is different from a clutterer.  I'm a clutterer."

"I see."  I am inclined to suggest "messy" as being more to the point in his case, but I choose not to argue.

"It's no laughing matter," D. explains sternly.  "When I heard about that mansion in Beverly Hills filled to the brim, well, of course I thought of you."

"Thanks."

"I assumed you would be sharing her pain.  That you would identify."

"Really."

"It's not just about retaining fluids, you know.  Hoarding is about not being able to let go of anything."

"Let go, Let God," I offer.

"Tell that to Delta."

Or Doris.

Or Bernard.