It was 9:30 p.m. on April 15, 1974 when the winning number for Canada’s first national lottery was announced live on CBC Television. I was one of the viewers holding a $10 ticket and unquestionably believed my number would be the one drawn. I had visualized for months what I would do with the million-dollar prize. Then the sudden emptiness of not winning was so painful I refused to buy a lottery ticket again for more than 20 years.
But since then I’ve worried about winning lots of money, not by buying a ticket, that’s for sure, but receiving a gift-pack of tickets. I warn those that do so for my birthday or special occasions to stop. It is stressful for me. I fear about what to do if I did win: maybe let the ticket expire, tear it up (that may be illegal!), give it to charities … but which ones. If I gave it to my family they would give some back for gratitude, defeating the whole purpose. Maybe I could collaborate with a third party to accept one dollar for each 100 dollars. That might be acceptable?
Considering so many of the horrific consequences of winning, I would never want that hanging over my head. Imagine how many would cozy up to me for a handout, even connections from 40 years ago, like the school bully who beat me up in Grade 7. I can picture being at Black Hatters lunches where I pay every single time! What if being emotionally unprepared for the responsibility I took to gambling and womanizing. Sheila might retaliate with vindictive shopping. Our level of trust would never be the same.
I only knew one person who had a lottery win, actually it was a second-hand one. When I lived in a condo in Scarborough, Unit 212, she and her two sons (who were playmates of my son) lived in Unit 312. We were neighbours in good standing. Her ex had committed a serious crime and was heading for prison. Before he did he won a substantial lottery and then signed it over to his ex-wife for the kid’s sake. Within 48 hours that unit was deserted. There was no goodbye, see you around or not even a stream of $100 bills fluttering down to my balcony from hers above.
A winner’s phone will never stop ringing; from every investor, scammer and schemer under the sun. Lottery winners are often targets for bogus lawsuits as well. I get enough calls every day from scam artists and that’s more than enough. As well, people will “slip and fall” purposefully on your property in an effort to get a cut of the prize.
One 40-year-old truck driver won the big jackpot and enjoyed his money for three years before he disappeared. He was found later buried in the back yard of his business partner. Before his death, he had disclosed to a childhood friend, “I’d been better off broke.” I believe in the “Curse of the Lottery” theory where greed becomes prevalent, the winner and their family at risk of being kidnapped for ransom, or facing the threat of death. Sometimes bankruptcy is a final but merciful blow!
Unfortunate William Post (better known to his friends as Bud) pawned one of his few possessions for $40, then spent it all on lottery tickets. His foolish gamble paid off. One of those tickets won him $16 million. You might think that was the answer to all of Bud’s problems, and that the man who was “little more than a drifter” would have an easy life from then on. But it took a sharp turn for the worse. “Everybody dreams of winning money, but nobody realizes the nightmares that come out of the woodwork,” he said. He spent his money wildly. The first yearly installment, more than $400,000, was gone in two weeks and soon he was in debt to his eyeballs. His girlfriend sued him, claiming they had agreed to share the money if he won. When she won her court claim, he couldn’t pay, so his lottery payments were frozen. He had to declare bankruptcy and only managed to walk away with $2.6 million dollars – which he immediately spent. 13 years later, Post died alone and penniless, living off welfare.
So far, by not having won a cent from a lottery, I have managed to avoid the lottery curse. If I remain vigilante, my self-enforced restraint should buy me a few more years of being lucky enough not to win.
