Juan Rodriguez wanted nothing more than to be one of the guys in rural South Texas where he was raised, and he was until six years ago, when he had the misfortune to acquire almost $9 million from the state lottery.
Today, he's lost his anonymity, his buddies, whatever girlfriends he once had, and most of his family, whom he no longer trusts. He rarely ventures outside the trailer here where he lives alone.
Booze and the four dogs he keeps chained outside are his main companions.
"To tell you the truth, I wish I didn't win," he said from his living room one recent evening, nursing the first of nine Michelob Ultras he would consume by 10 p.m.
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| Juan Rodriguez winner of $8.9 million lump sum from the state lottery in February 2000, he envisioned a leisurely life in a nice house. Six years later, he lives in the same mobile home in Jourdanton, where he discourages visitors. |
Rodriguez, 44, was an average guy before he won an $18 million jackpot and opted to collect an $8.9 million lump sum in February 2000.
He greeted each day with a purpose: to eke out a living as a drilling rig "floor hand" in the oil and gas fields, where he'd worked since he was in his early 20s.
Rodriguez was part of a community of laborers, no different from anyone else. Today, with no need to earn an income and no set routine, he has little to occupy his day.
Now, people call him "sir" or worse, "The Millionaire." He hates going out because he hates running into people who owe him money, or people who want money. When you're arguably the richest guy in town, everyone always wants something.
Once Rodriguez got a lot of money, he lost track of it. He has almost no idea how much is invested, how much he's spent or how much he has left.
The downside
Stories like his don't garner much sympathy from people who can't imagine a downside to striking sudden wealth.
In 2002, Jack Whittaker of West Virginia hit the $315 million Powerball jackpot, which made him the biggest lottery winner in U.S. history at the time.
Consider his life today.
He was convicted last month of assaulting a bar manager and in May he settled with a woman who also accused him of assault.
Two casinos are suing him for allegedly bouncing checks in excess of $1.5 million, and the father of a teen who died of a drug overdose on his property in 2004 is suing him for wrongful death.
His beloved 17-year-old granddaughter also died in 2004 of a drug overdose, prompting his wife to remark to USA Today while the girl was still missing that had she known what lay ahead, "I would've torn up that ticket."
In Florida last year, the winner of a $20 million jackpot was slain by two people who prosecutors say wanted his fortune.
In Canada last year, a lottery winner who'd squandered the $10 million he won seven years earlier hanged himself.
One lucky guy
Rodriguez once considered himself fortunate.
He spent years praying he'd win the lottery. After work on Feb. 9, 2000, he entered a convenience store in nearby Pleasanton to cash a $4,500 tax refund and gambled a buck that the numbers 9, 21, 29, 32, 38 and 50 would free him from his life in the oilfields.
When he collected his $8.9 million after-taxes jackpot in Austin two weeks later without fanfare, he envisioned a leisurely life for himself in a nice house, surrounded by family, in the county where he was raised.
He didn't envision the relatives and friends and the people who suddenly called themselves relatives and friends appearing at his door. Everyone suddenly wanted something.
So for now, he shuts himself away in his trailer, discourages visitors, and takes his first swig of beer by 4 p.m. When he needs food, he pays someone to get it.
He's unsure who to trust. Sometimes, he even wonders about his sister, Reyes, whom he loves.
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