IN THE 1980s, I SPENT nearly 12 weeks in an Australian hospital. I learned that language is not always universal. I was a corporate auditor for General Electric, and the company had sent me to Australia for a three-month assignment. To Yankee ears, Australians have an accent. But at least we speak the same language. Or so I thought. Within a week of getting to Australia, I was diagnosed with subacute bacterial endocarditis (SBE), a serious bacterial infection of the blood. I was born with a slight heart defect which makes me more susceptible to SBE. Prior to about 1955, it was universally fatal. I don’t blame the Aussies for my infection. I’m pretty sure I contracted it before going to Australia. The general practitioner said I needed to go to a hospital and be hooked up to intravenous penicillin 24/7. I could go to a private hospital, which would be more like a U.S. hospital, or to a hospital for veterans. I asked which had the best equipment and doctors. He said the veterans’ hospital, so I went to Concord Repatriation General Hospital in Sydney. I had never been in the military. I have no idea why I was allowed to be treated at an Australian veterans’ hospital. Nurses are not nurses. There were no private or even semi-private rooms in the hospital. I was in a ward with 24 beds. Nurses would walk up and down between the rows. If we needed something, it was not unusual to call out for the nurse. I heard other patients call out “nurse” or “sister.”  Thinking “sister” was somewhat derogatory, I always said “nurse.” One day, the head “nurse” confronted me.  She asked why I called her a nurse; she was a sister. I learned that, in Australia, “nurse” refers to what we would call a student nurse. Once a nurse completes training, she is a sister. Because this was a teaching hospital, we did have “nurses”—meaning student nurses—but most of the nursing staff were “sisters.” Question: What do you call a male nurse in Australia? Answer: sister. The term sister is non-gender specific. At least a quarter of the sisters were male. It was completely acceptable to call a male nurse “sister.” I was insulting them by calling them “nurse.” Doctors are not always doctors. After the head sister got me straightened out about calling her sister, not nurse, she asked why I called my doctor “doctor.” “Because he’s a doctor,” I stammered. “No, he is a mister,” she replied emphatically. It took me several more minutes to understand. In Australia, a specialist is no longer a doctor. He or she is a mister or missus. Not only had I been insulting all of the nurses by calling them “nurse,” I had also been insulting my doctor by calling him “doctor.” [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] Several years ago, I told this story to a business professor colleague, who was English and had just come to the States. He looked at me with amazement. “You mean you don’t call the best doctors mister or missus?” I assured him we did not. He explained that he had been looking for an eye specialist in St. Louis, our nearest large city, and he was frustrated that all he could find were doctors. None was a mister or missus. He assumed this meant St. Louis had no top-flight eye doctors. Theaters are not always for shows. At one point, I completely lost my appetite and began to become jaundiced. My doctor decided to inject my blood with dye and take some X-rays. Soon after, a sister came to my bedside and said the doctor wanted me to go to theater that afternoon. I told the sister that I appreciated the doctor’s concern. I was glad he was trying to cheer me up, but I really didn’t feel like going to the theater. I also silently wondered what type of movies they would show to veterans in a military hospital. All I could imagine was a movie that told soldiers not to have sex with the locals to avoid venereal diseases. The nurse emphatically told me that I would be going to theater that afternoon. Again, I graciously declined. I finally understood. “Theater” is what we would call “operating room.” In the early days of surgery, it was common for medical residents to stand on a second-floor balcony and watch the surgeon work. It was a theater in a very real sense. They had found an aneurysm in my abdomen and wanted to remove it before it ruptured. I did go to theater that afternoon. Instead of watching a show, I was the show. The operation was a success. That wasn’t the end of the idiosyncrasies I encountered. Here are four more: “Tucker” is food or appetite. If I didn’t eat much, the sister would often say, “Off your tucker today?” The first time she said this, I had absolutely no idea what she meant. “Vegemite” is a brown, thick paste made from brewers’ yeast and spread on toast. Similar to English Marmite, it tastes horrendous—unless you’re Australian or English. “Wheetabix” is the brand name of a popular cereal. Somewhat similar to our Shredded Wheat. There was one television in a common lounge for the 24 of us in that ward. An afternoon rerun was Skippy the Bush Kangaroo. It was similar to our Lassie, but instead of a dog saving the family from some catastrophe, it was a kangaroo. I should have been on intravenous penicillin for just four weeks. But for some reason, I wasn’t getting better. At the six-week point, GE paid for my wife to come to Australia. She was there for the last two weeks of May and almost all of June. While it was turning to summer in the northern hemisphere, it was getting colder in Australia and she had not packed for winter. My wife set by my bedside faithfully. I did persuade her to take one day off and visit a local zoo. Koalas sleep about 20 hours per day and always look peaceful. She learned that Koalas get enough moisture from Eucalyptus leaves that they can go for weeks without leaving a Eucalyptus tree. She was also told that Eucalyptus leaves contain a mild narcotic. Those peaceful looking Koalas are happy because they sit there happily ingesting narcotics. For what it’s worth, the Australian Koala Foundation disagrees. Larry Sayler is the only person with a Wharton MBA who also graduated from Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Clown College. Earlier in his career, he served as CFO for three manufacturing and service organizations. For 16 years before his retirement, Larry taught accounting at a small Christian college in the Midwest. His brother Kenyon also writes for HumbleDollar. Check out Larry's earlier articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN a person dies without a will and there isn’t enough money to pay all of his or her debts? Who gets paid and who gets shorted? I’d always heard that funeral expenses were the first priority, and then unsecured creditors got everything else. I’ve recently learned from personal experience that the rules are more complex—and more generous to widows and widowers. A 60-year-old friend of mine recently died. He hadn’t written a will. I’m helping his widow sort through bills and decide who gets paid. My friend was secretive and shared no financial information with his wife. She had no idea who was owed money and how much. It turns out my friend was drowning in debt. We’ve determined that he owed at least $60,000 on various credit cards and personal loans. The couple’s income was $2,500 a month, and nearly half of that was spent servicing debts. The silver lining is that all of this debt was in his name only, so his wife isn’t responsible for repaying it. He made the minimum payments on time, so his credit score was a pristine 750. Periodically, he would find a firm that would extend him another personal loan, which he would use to help keep current on his other obligations. His few assets included four cars in various states of disrepair, all with high mileage and at least 10 years old. He also had a joint checking account with his wife with about $1,000 in it. His personal possessions, mainly clothes and a few books, have no monetary value. It was easy for his widow to close their joint bank account and transfer the money to a new account in her name only. Extracting value from the four cars is going to be harder. One car was registered in both their names, so she’s entitled to it. The Department of Motor Vehicles will issue a new title in her name only. The other three cars, because of their age and condition, are worth about $7,000 altogether. One question that haunted me was whether his widow would get anything from the disposition of the three cars. Because he owed so much money, wouldn’t it be fair to give that money to his creditors to split? On the other hand, his widow is struggling financially, so anything would help. Although she has no debts, her income is only $1,400 a month, a combination of Social Security and Veterans Affairs survivor benefits. My question was settled by state law in Illinois, where the widow lives. She gets to keep the proceeds from the sale of the three cars, thanks to a law that looks out for surviving spouses. A widow is entitled to a minimum of $20,000 before most other creditors receive anything. [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] Illinois has defined seven classes of creditors when dividing an estate. Each higher class must be fully paid before anyone in a lower class gets a cent. Here’s how the various creditor classes are sorted: Class 1: Funeral and burial expenses. This includes estate administration expenses, such as executor, legal, CPA and filing fees. It also covers any fees owed to a live-in caregiver for the decedent. Class 2: Surviving spouse and children. They receive an amount necessary to support the surviving spouse and any minor children for nine months, with a minimum of $20,000 for the surviving spouse and $10,000 for each surviving minor child. Class 3: Debts owed to the U.S. government. Class 4: Expenses associated with the decedent’s final illness, plus amounts owed to any employees, capped at $800 per employee. Class 5: Property and money held in trust for others that’s been mixed with the decedent’s other assets and cannot be separately identified. Class 6: Debts owed to Illinois and any city or other municipality. Class 7: All other creditors. In my friend’s estate, the Class 1 creditors are owed about $3,000, all related to his funeral expenses. They will be fully paid. His widow, in Class 2, gets all the rest. The credit card and loan companies that my friend owed money to? They’re at the end of the line in Class 7, and so won’t be getting anything. I was curious as to what would have happened if my friend had left more than enough money to pay his creditors. If you die without a will in Illinois, after the debts are paid, half of any remaining money would go to the surviving spouse and half to surviving children. That’s on top of the $20,000 for his widow, and $10,000 for each minor child. If there is a surviving spouse but no children, the spouse would get all the remaining money, after all the creditors are satisfied. If there are children but no surviving spouse, the children would get the remaining money. And if there were neither a spouse nor children, then other relatives would be entitled to the remainder of the estate. Want to make things easier on your family and friends? Write a will—and try not to die with debt. Larry Sayler is the only person with a Wharton MBA who also graduated from Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Clown College. Earlier in his career, he served as CFO for three manufacturing and service organizations. For 16 years before his retirement, Larry taught accounting at a small Christian college in the Midwest. His brother Kenyon also writes for HumbleDollar. Check out Larry's earlier articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

I WROTE AN ARTICLE last month about five financial lessons I learned at Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Clown College. But Clown College didn’t just offer financial lessons—it also offered valuable life lessons. It was a topic I used to discuss with my students. For the last 16 years of my career, I taught college accounting courses. I encouraged the students to lead lives of reflection and learn from their experiences. I would share a short PowerPoint presentation, “Top 10 Life Lessons from Clown College.” I illustrated each lesson with pictures of clowns, acrobats or elephants. I hoped students would find it amusing. When I started teaching, I discovered—much to my surprise—that some students thought accounting was boring. I always ended the presentation by telling students that, if I could draw 10 life lessons from Clown College, they could certainly draw 10 life lessons from their previous semester. Maybe students had learned that staying up all night cramming for an exam was a good way to study. Or maybe they had learned that pulling an all-nighter wasn’t such a good idea. They had probably learned something about teamwork, relationships, motivation and time management. By reflecting on our experiences, we have a better chance of benefiting from them. In that spirit, here are 10 life lessons I learned at Clown College. 1. We stand on the shoulders of giants. During its more than 130-year existence, Ringling Bros. named only four master clowns: Otto Griebling (born 1896), Lou Jacobs (1903), Bobby Kaye (1908) and Glen “Frosty” Little (1925). All four were early inductees into the International Clown Hall of Fame. The three younger ones were among the many instructors we had at Clown College when I attended in 1978. Clowns know that their work is much better when they’re taught by the best. 2. Appearances are important. A good, sturdy pair of all-leather, custom-made clown shoes costs at least $300. Professional clown wigs are handmade from yak hair. Clowns put a lot of time and effort into their costumes. Applying makeup often takes an hour. Good clowns spend the time and money to get everything right because they know that appearances are important. 3. The show must go on. The Flying Wallendas had a seven-person, three-high human pyramid walking a tight rope in Detroit in 1962 when the lead walker lost his balance and the pyramid collapsed. Two people fell to their death and a third was permanently paralyzed. All were family members. Karl Wallenda, the patriarch of the troupe, suffered several broken ribs. But the next day, he was back on the wire. The nation’s greatest circus disaster was a fire in Hartford, Connecticut, on July 6, 1944. Flame-proof canvas was reserved for America’s World War II effort. To ensure it was water-proof, the Ringling tent had been coated with paraffin. When fire engulfed the big top, 167 people were killed. Five circus officials were criminally charged, and all profits for the next several years went to restitution. Yet, within days of the fire, the circus was again performing. [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] When we face adversity, we often need to follow the advice of the now-famous maxim, “Keep calm and carry on.” 4. It’s important to have contingency plans. Ringling used Jeep-like vehicles to move animal cages and prop wagons. During intermission at one show, these vehicles were moved into a circle around the big-cat cage that started the second half of the show. Each vehicle faced the cage and had a driver ready to turn on its headlights. A clown asked the performance director the reason for this unusual arrangement. The director replied, “Earlier today, this building lost power because of thunderstorms. Storms are still in the area. If we lose power again, I don’t want a performer in that cage in total darkness with all those animals.” 5. Almost anyone can master the basics. Decades ago, as an undergraduate, I taught juggling as a physical education class. As an accounting professor during the final years of my career, I also occasionally taught a phys ed juggling class. (My wife is quick to point out that I’d made absolutely no progress in 40 years.) I tell students that anyone can learn to juggle if they receive good instruction and they practice. I would provide the good instruction; they must provide the practice. The students did indeed learn to juggle. 6. To get good at something requires hard work. The first thing taught in juggling is the basic three-ball cascade. From there, a new juggler might learn to throw from different positions—under the opposing wrist, behind the back, under a leg. I enjoy juggling with a partner, exchanging balls at set times. A juggler can move on from balls to rings and clubs—even flaming clubs, something I can still do. All these skills require significant training and practice. Difficulty increases exponentially. 7. Pursue your dreams. Have long-term plans. I learned about Clown College while in high school when Ringling Bros. came to my hometown. Because I expressed interest, one of the clowns talked to me about Clown College and gave me an application. Seven years later, I was walking down the streets of New York City with a bag of juggling equipment in one hand and homemade stilts in the other, heading to an audition at Madison Square Garden. 8. Give credit where credit is due. In 1967, Irvin Feld bought Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Circus from descendants of the original Ringling family. The circus had only 14 clowns, most of them older than 50. Feld said he knew that Ringling clowns could fall down, but he didn’t know if they’d be able to get back up. Within a year, he opened Clown College. During its 30-year existence, Clown College trained 1,400 clowns. Thanks to Feld, American clowning was reinvigorated. 9. We have different strengths and abilities. At Clown College, some people seemed to be natural musicians, and they formed a clown band. Some had a knack for unicycling or stilt walking, while others struggled with both. Some exceled at juggling or pie-throwing, others did not. That’s okay. The circus needs all of these skills, just as the world needs people who have all sorts of strengths and abilities. 10. What unites us is greater than what divides us. The circus routinely had acts from at least a dozen countries. Since its beginning, people who identify as LGBTQ have been part of the circus. Little people were always welcome. Many years ago, most clowns were White males. But over the past 50 years, the circus has had many talented female and Black clowns. The question always asked of a performer has not been about race, ethnicity or sexual orientation, but rather, “What can you bring to the show?” Larry Sayler is the only person with a Wharton MBA who also graduated from Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Clown College. Earlier in his career, he served as CFO for three manufacturing and service organizations. For 16 years before his retirement, Larry taught accounting at a small Christian college in the Midwest. His brother Kenyon also writes for HumbleDollar. Check out Larry's earlier articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

WHEN SHOULD YOU start drawing Social Security? If folks want to maximize their lifetime benefit, I think the answer is fairly straightforward. Maximizing lifetime Social Security income isn’t always the goal, of course. Some people need Social Security to meet basic needs. These people usually claim benefits as soon as they reach age 62, the earliest possible age. Others view Social Security as longevity insurance. They want as much monthly income as possible in the event they or their spouse live a long time. These people typically wait until 70, the latest possible age, to start Social Security. But for many people, the goal is to maximize the amount they’re likely to receive during their lifetime. Financial nerds often toss around terms like “breakeven” or “cross-over.” More sophisticated analysts consider present values and appropriate discount rates. I like simple. Want to maximize lifetime income? I believe the decision rule is fairly simple. If I am likely to die early in retirement, I should start Social Security as soon as possible. If I know I am going to die at age 65 and I don’t have a spouse who will receive survivor benefits, I had better start Social Security at 62. It makes no sense to wait. On the other hand, if I am going to live a long time—perhaps to age 90 or even 100—I want the largest monthly check possible for all those years. I achieve that by waiting until 70 to start Social Security. If I have no reason to think I will either die early or live a very long life, it makes sense to start Social Security sometime between age 62 and 70. One might choose age 66, the midpoint between 62 and 70. Others might choose their Social Security full retirement age. For those born between 1943 and 1954, full retirement age is 66. For those born between 1955 and 1959, it’s 66 and some months. For those born in 1960 or later, full retirement age is 67. When I considered Social Security, my goal was to maximize my likely lifetime income. I might die early. Although I have no significant health issues, I am overweight and, unlike Dennis Friedman, I do not exercise regularly. On the other hand, I might live a very long time. I do have some good genes. My grandmother lived to nearly 112 and my mother is still doing well at 95. I have never smoked and I drink only occasionally. My decision? My full retirement age was 66. I also liked the idea that 66 was the midpoint between 62 and 70. Although I had retired a few years earlier, I chose to start drawing Social Security at 66.

FOR 10 YEARS, MY WIFE and I have given each of our four children $5,000 to $6,000 per year for them to put in their respective Roth IRAs. So far, we have given each of them about $60,000. They were amazed a few years ago when their investment gains for that year exceeded our annual contribution. Today, their Roth accounts are now each worth about $125,000, so their cumulative growth—about $65,000—now exceeds our total contributions. We began in March 2012, when our four kids ranged in age from 23 to 31. We gave each of them $5,000, which was categorized as a 2011 IRA contribution. That December, and each subsequent fall, we gave them another $5,000 to $6,000, depending on IRA contribution limits. From the start, the money has been 100% invested in total stock market index funds. We love our children. They’re great kids—caring, hard-working, creative. But 10 years ago, none had a high-paying job. They weren’t interested in financial matters, probably because they had little money. In the beginning, my wife and I told ourselves we would give them money for at least three years. Legally, once the money is in our kids’ accounts, it’s theirs. They can do what they want with it. My wife and I view it as their retirement funds, however. To receive our contributions, they must allow us to view their accounts online. We're very clear. If they withdraw money early, they'll get no more deposits from us. We set up these Roth IRA accounts at Vanguard Group, where we had our investments. I did most of the setup work, although our kids did have to complete some paperwork. Recently, we moved our accounts, and our kids’ accounts, to Schwab. At either place, the annual transfers have been easy. We simply transfer money from our accounts to our kids’ accounts. We have had two major bumps along the road: Lack of earned income. People can put money into a Roth IRA only to the extent that they or their spouse have earned income. Two of our children have had years with no earned income. For those years, we opened a non-IRA account in their name and put the money in that. Of course, this money does not grow tax-free. One of our children is facing divorce. We realize that half of their IRA may go to that child’s soon-to-be ex-spouse. We’re okay with that. We like that person and we are sorry for their divorce. By making contributions, we hope our kids will learn something about investing and the financial markets. I especially hope they embrace two crucial lessons. First, U.S. stocks are a good place to invest in the long run. I don’t know what will happen during the next 60 years, but I hope the U.S. stock market will continue to be a good place to invest during our children’s lifetimes. [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] Second, during a market drop, they shouldn’t panic and sell everything. There has been only one year, 2018, in which their accounts have shown a loss, and that was a loss of just 8%. I wish we had a few years with greater losses. I want them to realize that, for a long-term investor, a significant loss is not a time to panic. My wife and I plan to continue contributions indefinitely. In another 10 years, with additional annual contributions and reasonable growth, their accounts should be worth $250,000 each. If my wife and I are fortunate enough to be alive 20 years from now, their accounts might be worth $500,000 each. That will be $2 million that otherwise would have been in our estate. I’m concerned about estate taxes. For 2022, federal estate taxes do not kick in unless a person’s estate is more than $12 million. We are well below that amount. In 2026, if Congress does nothing, the threshold will drop to about $5 million. But Congress can change this exemption amount at any time. We would much rather give our money to our children and charities than to the federal government. Each year for Christmas, we give our children a nice card with a letter and a spreadsheet. The spreadsheet shows, for each year since we began the program, their beginning-of-year balance, our contributions, their investment gains or losses, and the end-of-year balance. I want them to see the big picture of the progress their account has made. My wife and I can do this for our kids because we have accumulated a nice nest egg. We are not wealthy, but our needs are modest. Our portfolio continues to grow, and we are withdrawing just 2% to 3% each year. We use withdrawals for these transfers to our kids and for the taxes associated with some significant IRA conversions that we’ve been making in recent years. Otherwise, we pretty much live on just Social Security and a small pension. There’s a saying that, “The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.” Perhaps we should have started this program earlier. We’re glad we didn’t wait any longer. Larry Sayler is the only person with a Wharton MBA who also graduated from Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Clown College. Earlier in his career, he served as CFO for three manufacturing and service organizations. For 16 years before his retirement, Larry taught accounting at a small Christian college in the Midwest. His brother Kenyon also writes for HumbleDollar. Larry's previous article was Making a Difference. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

MY WIFE AND I recently returned from a 14-day cruise to the Caribbean with my 96-year-old mother. Since my dad passed away in 2009, my wife and I have gone on several cruises with my mom. We departed from and returned to Fort Lauderdale, visiting eight Caribbean islands: St. Kitts, Guadeloupe, St. Lucia, Barbados, Grenada, Trinidad, Martinique and Aruba. For my wife and me, the fare was $2,200 per person for a room with a balcony. This included travel insurance, taxes and port fees. To this, we had to add $15 per person per day for the mandatory gratuity. We still consider this a bargain for a room with a great view, fantastic meals and free on-board entertainment. Traditionally, single travelers have had to pay twice the per-person rate of a couple. Cruise lines would argue that, if a single person hadn’t taken the room, they’d place a couple there and collect two fares. But today, cruise lines are often more reasonable. My mother’s fare was $2,700 for a balcony room. She had a handicap accessible room, which was 50% larger than a standard room, with a spacious bathroom. My wife and I are early risers. My mother is not. We usually have coffee and pastries delivered to our room at 6:30. We sit on our balcony and watch the ocean roll by. When my mother gets up a few hours later, we head down to the dining room for breakfast. If there’s such a thing as a typical cruise ship, it’s 105 feet wide and 950 feet long. Why these measurements? This is the largest a ship can be and still pass through the original Panama Canal locks. These ships generally carry about 3,000 passengers and 1,500 crew members. New Panama Canal locks, opened in 2016, allow for bigger ships. In January, Royal Caribbean launched Icon of the Seas, the largest cruise ship to date. It’s 160 feet wide and 1,200 feet long. With two passengers per room, it can haul 5,600 passengers. Because many rooms can accommodate more than two passengers, thanks to fold-out bunks, the ship’s maximum capacity is 7,600 passengers. On an Alaskan cruise, we first spent a week sailing from Seattle to Anchorage, and then a week on land, visiting Anchorage, Denali National Park and Fairbanks, and spending a few days in each. From Fairbanks, my mom flew home, but my wife and I stayed a few extra days. We figured we’d never get this close to the Arctic Circle. We rented a car and drove north for 275 miles on the nearly deserted Dalton Highway to Wiseman, Alaska, a hamlet with a full-time population of 12. We spent the night in an eight-foot by 10-foot room that had been partitioned out of a converted 40-foot cargo container. Our room had a metal floor, two single beds, one end table and one lamp. One bathroom served the three bedrooms. Yes, it was extremely spartan, but we were sleeping 60 miles north of the Arctic Circle. On Caribbean cruises, we’ve frequently rented a car and done our own sightseeing. Because of their English history, on many Caribbean islands, you drive on the left side of the road. When driving on the left, the driver sits on the right side of the car. That is, except in the U.S. Virgin Islands, which is one of the few places in the world where you drive on the left but—because most cars are imported from the U.S.—the driver also sits on the left. Our most memorable rental car experience was on the island of Grand Turk, part of the Turks and Caicos Islands. Grand Turk is a mile wide and seven miles long. Unlike larger islands, there are no major auto rental companies. The person we rented the car from gave us his personal vehicle. For lunch, we had a conch sandwich at an extremely small café operated out of someone’s house. When we got an afternoon rain shower, we discovered the driver’s side window didn’t go up. The car’s owner told us to simply leave the car in the cruise ship parking lot at the end of the day, with the keys in it. What about theft? Apparently, on an island that size, it isn’t a worry. My favorite cruise? A one-way repositioning voyage from New Orleans to Barcelona. In the spring, many cruise ships move from the Caribbean to the Mediterranean. These cruises are not popular. Our ship was only half full. For several months, I’d been working 80 hours a week—40 hours at my job and 40 hours studying for the CPA tests. I passed all four CPA tests on the first try and wanted to relax. The ship stopped in Miami to take on passengers and supplies. After nearly a week, our next stop was the Azores. Those days at sea were complete relaxation. Some people find a lot to criticize about cruises. Not us. Larry Sayler is the only person with a Wharton MBA who also graduated from Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Clown College. Earlier in his career, he served as CFO for three manufacturing and service organizations. For 16 years before his retirement, Larry taught accounting at a small Christian college in the Midwest. His brother Kenyon also writes for HumbleDollar. Check out Larry's earlier articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]