Truth be told, it was immensely flattering, and nourishing to his ego (a not inconsiderable component of Bogle's personality), that a group of small "man-on-the-street" investors so admired him and his philosophy of growing money.
The Boglehead Diehards sponsor an increasingly popular Web forum where they answer questions, trade investment advice, and offer encouragement (www.bogleheads.org). Most entrust their money to Vanguard and religiously follow Bogle's principles: keep it simple; invest, don't speculate; put your money in low-cost index funds tied to the performance of the entire stock market; and keep it there forever, or at least a very long time.
At the reunion last month, the Bogleheads treated him like a wise and beloved grandfather. The current of events had heightened his appeal, making him seem prophetic. The week before, Wall Street had collapsed, and as Congress mulled a bailout, the 130 Bogleheads were eager to receive counsel from this éminence grise of the financial world.
"The handwriting was on the wall for all this to happen a long time ago," Bogle told them. "The financial sector, with all its sins, would in times less generous be hoist by its own petard - to wit, blown up by its own dynamite. And, of course, that is what happened."
Bogle looked natty in a Vanguard blazer over an orange-and-white striped polo shirt. His face was as craggy as the coast of Maine. His frame was lean, his shoulders were stooped, and he cinched his trousers north of his navel. He was courteous, congenial, chipper ("I love the morning! I can't wait to take on the day!"), displaying all the appealing traits of what used to be called "good breeding."
