Dear New York Botanical Garden

To the Board of the New York Botanical Garden,

First, on behalf not only of New Yorkers but of lovers of flora everywhere, thank you for all that you’ve done to enhance our appreciation and understanding of the plant world. We owe you an immeasurable debt for your research, your scholarship, and, most of all, for your beautiful gardens.

Second, I would like to congratulate you on the dedication and ingenuity that you have shown in insuring the Garden’s future. I know that it takes tens of millions of dollars a year to keep the N.Y.B.G. going, and you’ve managed to avoid placing that burden on the public through your tireless cultivation of private donors. From the Thekla E. Johnson Orchid Rotunda to the Arthur and Janet Ross Conifer Arboretum, the evidence of your success is everywhere.

Which brings me to the reason for this letter: during my most recent visit to the Garden, shortly after passing through the Leon Levy Welcome Center, I realized that, while so many of the Garden’s most beautiful spots have been named for their sponsor or their sponsor’s loved ones—the Peggy Rockefeller Rose Garden, the Ruth Rea Howell Family Garden, and, of course, the N.Y.B.G.’s crown jewel, the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory—there is no named sponsor for the rock garden. I’m not sure why; I can only guess that donors don’t associate rocks with beauty, grace, or Schedule A charitable deductions. Maybe they don’t think that rock maintenance is a “sexy” way to show off their largesse. I suppose if I were the Thain family, with the means to subsidize the entire Thain Family Forest, I wouldn’t be very excited about just writing the occasional check to a moss scraper.

Nevertheless, these rocks—dragged by glaciers, striped and striated by, I guess, also glaciers—deserve better. Not sexy? Compared to what, the Donald J. Bruckmann Crabapple Collection? No disrespect to Mr. Bruckmann, but Mick Jagger and Keith Richards haven’t spent fifty years playing to sold-out crowds as the Rolling Crabapples, the world’s greatest crabapple-and-roll band.

My point is, I love these rocks. Which is why I ask you to consider my sponsorship of what I hope will soon be called the Jeremy R. Luftig Rock Garden.

I don’t mean to be disingenuous; of course I wish I were wealthy enough to underwrite one the Garden’s higher-profile attractions. Nothing would make me happier than seeing the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory renamed the Jeremy R. Luftig Enid A. Haupt Conservatory. Unfortunately, I do not have the funds to make that a reality. In point of fact, I do not even have the funds to sponsor the Jeremy R. Luftig Rock Garden—and that’s exactly why you should name it for me. The reasons are many:

It would show your support for the little guy. I’ve never pretended to be wealthy, other than during one night of ill-considered erotic role-play, when I dressed up as Mr. Monopoly. So naming the Jeremy R. Luftig Rock Garden for me would show the world that the board understands that money isn’t everything. And if you don’t think that would send a powerful, positive message to New York’s under-billionaires, then, my friends, you’ve been smoking something out of the Nancy Bryan Luce Herb Garden.

I’ve committed only petty crimes. I’m not implying that any of your donors have committed felonies in the process of amassing their immense wealth, but you know what Balzac said: behind every great fortune lies a great crime. My fortune barely adds up to running a church bingo game without a permit.

I have a solid track record of philanthropic efforts. Don’t take my word for it, just watch PBS some night and hear them announce that the preceding program was paid for by a string of foundations and by “viewers like you.” Those viewers like you? Me. (Note: I do not actually contribute to PBS. But viewers like me do.)

I’ll never withdraw my support. My sponsorship is not dependent on a healthy economy, a robust stock market, or my purchasing an Antwerp laundromat so that I can pay my corporate taxes in Belgium. Since I won’t actually be making any contributions, you’ll never have to worry about those contributions drying up—not even after I’m gone, because I intend to add a symbolic bequest to my will, if I can find a notary who works for tips.

This might get Marcy to change her mind about marrying me. The board may not find this the most compelling reason. But think about it, Marcy. Say it out loud. The Jeremy R. and Marcy Luftig Rock Garden. Can’t we put Mr. Monopoly behind us?

Is the Jeremy R. Luftig Rock Garden just a pipe dream? Is there too much of this sort of thing going on at the N.Y.B.G. already? Some people would say that there’s something pathological about being obsessed with the world knowing your name. Not Jeremy R. Luftig. No, not Jeremy R. Luftig.

I hope you will give my proposal careful consideration, and, if I’m not being presumptuous, sooner rather than later. I would like to leave a legacy so that future generations will understand what I stood for and who I was. But I’ve heard nothing from the Bronx Zoo about my proposal concerning the Ringtailed Luftig, and I’m not getting any younger.