Many a man owes his success to his first wife and his second

The actor and humorist Jim Backus, with tongue sharpened by wit yet anchored in truth, once said: “Many a man owes his success to his first wife and his second wife to his success.” At first, these words sound like jest, a clever turn of phrase meant to provoke laughter. Yet beneath the laughter lies a reflection as old as human ambition—the interplay between love, labor, sacrifice, and the shifting fortunes of success. It is a reminder of how relationships are shaped not only by affection, but also by circumstance, and how prosperity itself can alter the bonds of the heart.

To say that a man owes his success to his first wife is to honor the often unseen labor of companionship in the years of struggle. Many who have risen in wealth, fame, or influence have done so with the quiet strength of a partner who bore the lean years, who endured hardship, who offered belief when no one else believed. The first wife in Backus’ saying symbolizes not only the literal spouse, but the foundation of loyalty, sacrifice, and shared effort that fuels the beginnings of a journey. Without that steadfast presence, many would never find the courage to press onward.

The second half of the saying—“and his second wife to his success”—reveals a harder truth. Once the summit has been reached, once wealth and recognition have been attained, a man often finds that his fortune itself draws companions who may not have walked with him through the barren valley. Success, glittering and powerful, becomes a magnet for admiration, for attraction, even for opportunism. Backus’ words slyly acknowledge how some relationships are born not of shared struggle, but of the allure of what has already been won.

History offers many examples. Consider Napoleon Bonaparte, who first married Josephine, a woman who stood with him in his rise, whose presence inspired him in his early victories. Yet when his imperial ambitions demanded heirs and alliances, he set her aside and took Marie-Louise of Austria, a union bound more to the throne than to the heart. Or recall the great industrialists of the 19th century, who often began with humble wives of modest means, but later, in wealth, were surrounded by companions drawn more to their power than to their person. These stories are not condemnations, but illustrations of the shifting tides of fortune and human nature.

Yet there is also an unspoken lesson here: that success changes not only the man, but the relationships around him. The struggle for greatness is often shared by the loyal and the steadfast; the fruits of greatness, however, attract the many who never bore the weight of its birth. Backus’ humor points us to a sober truth—one must be wary of forgetting those who labored in obscurity beside us, and cautious of those who arrive only after the feast has been prepared.

The wisdom, then, is this: true loyalty is proven in the years of obscurity, not in the glare of success. Those who stand with you when there is little to gain are treasures beyond price; those who arrive only when you are crowned must be weighed with discernment. Do not despise the laughter in Backus’ jest, but hear the warning within it: success reveals who was with you for love, and who was with you for gain.

Practically, this means: remember your beginnings. Honor the people who believed in you before the world did. Show gratitude to those who supported your labor, whether they were spouses, friends, or mentors. And when success arrives, do not let it blind you to sincerity. Seek relationships grounded in truth, not in wealth or fame. For success may build houses of gold, but only loyalty builds a home of peace.

So let Jim Backus’ wit endure not only as a jest, but as an admonition: success changes everything—but gratitude and discernment keep the soul from being lost. Cherish the ones who carried you through the storm, and be wise with those who gather only when the sun is shining. In this balance lies not only true success, but true happiness.