"The Taxman Cometh"

 Calvin Coolidge was a great, though unsung, President. He presided over a roaring economy in the decade following the Great War. He signed the Indian Citizenship Act of 1924. He wisely chose not to run again in 1928. And, unlike recent Presidents, he practiced fiscal restraint when it cam to both his and the public’s purse. Thus, he is the ideal person from whom to draw a quote for the epigraph that heads this essay.

 

Taxes are due two weeks from Monday, a date that arrives with assuredness and regularity, as Benjamin Franklin reminded us. 

 

Sydney M. Williams

 

More Essays from Essex

“The Taxman Cometh”

March 30, 2024

 

“The collection of any taxes which are not absolutely required, which do not beyond

reasonable doubt contribute to the public welfare, is only a species of legalized larceny.”

                                                                                                                                Calvin Coolidge (1872-1933)

                                                                                                                                Inaugural Address, March 4, 1925

 

Life, as a child, was simple. There were toys to play with, and a bed for sleeping. Like magic, food arrived on the table. There were woods and fields in which to run and play, and horses on which to gallop away. There were disadvantages of course, like having to go to school, be pleasant to visitors, and say howdy to strangers. And we weren’t supposed to swear or to tease younger siblings. Nevertheless, life was good, devoid of responsibilities, like worrying about taxes.

 

It was only as I got older and went to work that I realized that all things in life are not free. Like rent, clothes and food, schools, roads, police and the military cost money, so taxes must be paid. As a child I never worried about costs and certainly not the taxman. As I got older, he appeared in my imagination, looking like Bela Lugosi, dressed in black broadcloth, sprouting a goatee, hands extended.

 

At this time of year he makes his presence known. Intimidating envelopes, from the IRS, the State of Connecticut, and our accountant, appear in our mailbox. We have sung and we have danced; now the piper must be paid. The envelopes sit unopened for a few days, as I try let the senders know by telepathy that they are unwanted and have incurred my displeasure. Still, I know they must be answered, but my mind wanders: I dive into my cocooned memory. Oh! To be a child again where dreams of ice cream and swimming in the lake kept the future at bay. How nice to disappear down Alice’s rabbit hole and watch the White Queen dispatch the Red Queen. And read again of Dorothy throwing a bucket of water on the Wicked Witch of the West, whose face reminds me of my imagined taxman. Where is that bucket when I need it?

 

It is the complexity of the tax code – somewhere between seven and nine thousand pages – that is not only intimidating but unfathomable. Of course, accountants and tax lawyers thrive on its intricacies. It is, as Laura Saunders wrote recently in The Wall Street Journal, “…a mish-mash of competing policy interests that shift over time and often interact in unexpected ways.” According to Taxpayer Advocate Service, a typical individual spends thirteen hours preparing and filing their federal tax returns. The comparable number for a small business is eighty-two hours. The National Taxpayers Union suggests that the Code’s complexity consumes 6.5 billion hours and costs $260 billion each year. Money well spent?

 

But then reality sets in, and I emerge from my fantasizing. I realize my fate is to deal with things as they are, not as I would like them to be. With a scowl on my face, I put pen to check and pay my fair share, trusting that they have asked only for what was “absolutely required.” And then I smile; for all the troubles we have, living in the United States is worth the cost. I just wish they made it simpler.