What the SCOTUS Scandals Tell Us About the Super Rich

The Supreme Court scandals, first reported on by ProPublica and centering on Justice Clarence Thomas, have been revealing in more ways than one. Apart from the potential conflict-of-interest issues and the ethical lapses in failing to report lavish gifts, these stories expose something else about the rarified world Thomas operates in: rich Republican strategists and plugged-in Republican donors, at least of the kind Thomas gravitates toward, have very particular tastes.

Thomas has never made any secret of the fact that he aspired to wealth. But in following a path that instead made him one of the most powerful people in the country, the justice was limited in his lifestyle by his own substantial but not super-rich-level salary. (Today he makes $285,400.) For a while, at least, Thomas was reliant on tagging along with his rich friends.

Luckily, it seems like their tastes aligned.

The circle’s interests could be described, in general terms, as vaguely masculine American-everyman hobbies—but made luxury. There are luxury versions of fishing, of cheering on sports teams, even of the American road trip. There are hunting lodges and ranches and homes meant to look like hunting lodges and ranches. The settings are Florida and upstate New York, rather than, say, Bora Bora or Monaco, but the humbler settings did not make for less extravagant price points.

These rich men took their Americana obsessions to an extreme, leading sometimes to absurd end points.

A lot of Thomas’ benefactors also treated him to conventionally elite benefits, such as private school for his nephew or countless flights in private jets and helicopters. They attend statue unveilings and plan museums honoring one another. But again and again, the stories show that the 1 percent can find a way to do just about anything in the most eccentric way.

Here are some of the top odd discoveries among the expensive possessions and experiences that came from the exposés into SCOTUS justices.

Harlan Crow, Thomas’ friend and one of his four major benefactors, as identified by reporters, hosts Thomas around once a year at his private lakeside resort in the Adirondacks in upstate New York. This 105-acre property, Camp Topridge, features, according to ProPublica, “an artificial waterfall and a great hall” for dining, and “more than 25 fireplaces, three boathouses, clay tennis court, and batting cage.” There are private chefs. There are fishing guides. And there is “a 1950s-style soda fountain where Crow’s staff fixes milkshakes.”

Crow is 74, so it could theoretically be a matter of nostalgia. But the soda fountain is also a symbol of the imagined wholesome, traditional, racially and culturally homogenous Leave It to Beaver past that so many conservatives voice a longing for. If you’re powerless over changes in the broader pop culture, at least you can, if you’re rich enough, create a slice of this imagined past in your own private resort.

Camp Topridge also includes a “lifesize replica of the Harry Potter character Hagrid’s hut.” This one’s a bit of a head-scratcher, as Crow is no millennial. Perhaps he had it built for a grandchild at one point. Or perhaps he simply retains a childlike spirit that he can indulge with some of his billions of dollars. The groundskeeper’s hut probably isn’t the Harry Potter feature most people would pick if they were building something fantastical to delight children, but it might serve as a starting point for kids to get a taste for faux-rustic living.

The hyperrealistic painting of Crow, Thomas, and other conservative operatives smoking cigars raises some questions. Why is a statue of a Native American stretching its arms out over them? Why not choose a scene in which the men were wearing closed-toe shoes? Why commission a painting that’s indistinguishable from a photo? We can only assume that none of the rich people involved were of the snobbish art-collector variety.

Actually, scratch that—Crow is a collector of art. He has had, at least at some point, a Renoir and a Monet. But most of his art is more, well, historical in nature. In his home in Texas, Crow has paintings from Winston Churchill, Dwight Eisenhower—and Adolf Hitler. That’s not the limit of his Nazi mementoes, though; he also has other Nazi memorabilia, including a set of Nazi linens. And then there’s the “Garden of Evil,” Crow’s collection of statues and busts of history’s tyrants. The real estate developer has said he collects these items because he hates communism and fascism.

A Florida man going by the name “Alligator”—and as someone from the Florida part of Alabama, the author of this blog says this with love—is either going to live out of a wild trailer park or be weirdly rich. “Alligator” Ron Bergeron is the latter. Another one of Thomas’ benefactors, Bergeron hosted Thomas at his gated estate near the Everglades. According to ProPublica, the estate has an “1800s-style saloon on site.” This may come from the same infatuation with simpler-times America as Crow’s soda fountain, but in a more masculine, rugged form, and without any plausible personal connection.

There’s nothing particularly odd about rich people getting pricey seats for sports games. But unlike A-list celebrities who get courtside seats to Lakers games or the U.S. Open, Thomas and his pals watched the University of Nebraska–Lincoln college football team. It would be snobbish to imply college football is lesser—the author of this piece is a loyal University of Alabama football fan—but UNL is no longer on the level of the University of Georgia or Ohio State. But setting that aside, there may be no better representation than this of the gulf between Thomas’ presentation—as just a regular, red-meat American who loves simple things like football (and college football at that, the most nonurban sport)—and his reality of actually experiencing those things through someone else’s absurd wealth. (The skybox typically costs $40,000 annually, ProPublica noted.)

Just kidding. This is the actual perfect representation.

The New York Times reported in early August that Thomas’ friend Bernie Little bought him a Prevost Le Mirage XL Marathon—a recreational vehicle. If you’re unfamiliar with the cost of an RV, you may be surprised to learn that this one, which was already eight years old at the time of Little’s 1999 purchase, cost $267,230. That’s because, apparently, the Prevost Marathon is the “Rolls-Royce of motor coaches.”

Thomas, as the Times noted, has cited his RV trips to prove he’s “from regular stock,” touting his KOA campground discount card. But in reality, he lusted after the most upscale version of an RV; a new Prevost Marathon would sell for around a million dollars in 2001. Thomas also regularly stayed at his friends’ luxury lodges and high-dollar RV resorts. Just like in other parts of his life, his RV community was an elite one; he once hosted the Marathon owners’ club at an event at the Supreme Court.

Crow gifted Thomas this $19,000 bible, and Thomas did, appropriately, disclose it on his forms. So this bible doesn’t feed into his scandals. But it does make you wonder how Crow saw Thomas and his role as the country’s most powerful Black conservative. (For a more in-depth look at Thomas’ very messy history with racial politics, may we recommend Slow Burn Season 8?)

This one’s not a favorite of Thomas, as far as we know, but of the late Justice Antonin Scalia, who shared Thomas’ love of the luxury fishing scene. In 2005, the conservative donor Robin Arkley II flew Scalia on a private jet to Alaska, rented out a fishing lodge that cost $3,200 a week, per person, and chartered a boat called the Happy Hooker IV. The boat’s guide “chiseled chunks off an iceberg and passed them to Scalia,” who then mixed martinis with the glacier ice. Scalia, who publicly doubted climate science and was scornful of environmental protections, likely didn’t think about the symbolism of drinking the most famous symbol of the globe’s vulnerability to climate change. They probably tasted crisp.