Bill Whittle recalls one of life's early lessons on charity.

There was a time, in my twenties, when I was very poor. I have sat silent in an apartment, shades drawn, silently waiting for the loud knocking of the landlord to go away. I have borrowed enough money to have to decide whether or not to restore the electricity, or the telephone. (And by the way, that decision is a no-brainer.) I have been that broke long enough to realize something about myself.

I was living off of the charity of friends. The charity of friends - do I make myself clear? I never applied for welfare or food stamps because - silly me - I thought that was for people who really needed it.

After a year or two being constantly bailed out by my friends - "Wheel-less Whittle" they called me, far more kindly than I deserved - after several years of their largesse, and because my delicate artistic nature prevented me from getting any number of the actual paying jobs I could have landed in a half-hour - I began to get angry with them, especially my best friend, Fritz. Yes, he bought me lunch and dinner and drove me everywhere. Yes, he helped cover my electric bills and rent. But he was making out like a bandit: he was a successful commercial actor in Miami, making over a hundred grand a year.

And so I stopped looking at what he did for me, and started looking at what he could do, but didn't. I went to him with a plan for him to pay my entire rent and expenses. He refused, the miserable selfish bastard. Not because he couldn't afford it, mind you, but because he was getting really worried about me and thought it would - get this, Mr. Berg! - do me harm.

And I was furious. Furious. For two weeks I hated him with a white-hot rage.

By refusing to fund him, Bill Whittle's friend was kinder than the government bureaucrats, because he realized that not allowing him to fail would do more harm than allowing him to fail.

Bill's resentment about being cut off, of course, was a natural reaction, and it reminds me of something one of my employers told me years ago:

"Eric, if you put $10.00 a day in a stranger's mailbox every day for 30 days, and then you walk by on the 31st day without putting in any money, you will not have made a friend; you'll have made an enemy!"

That's because some people have been known to freeze to death.

Why the man in this case didn't seek shelter or call an ambulance, I don't know.

What I'd like to know is, what happens when the government finally can't pay the utility bills for all the non-paying customers, and there's no more power?

Will they make it illegal for people to freeze in their homes?

That's no idle question!

I mean, even though it's April, the temperatures are still in the 30s and there's snow on the ground.

My thermostat is set at 64 and it's too damned cold. If I turn it up, why should I have to pay more money?

That strikes me as fundamentally unfair.

So why won't the government help me?