Certain chores in life aren’t fun, but they are necessary. Such as preparing your last will. People often put it off as long as possible, dreading the day when the Man In the Bright Nightshirt (as W.C. Fields called death; more on him in a minute) comes calling.
A will serves another purpose. It can provide valuable insights into historical figures. How they distributed their personal effects often reveals what was going on in the head and heart.
So, let us consider the quirky, eccentric and downright weird tidbits tucked away in the farewell documents of several famous folks.
You learned it as a child: “Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.” Paul was a true patriot, and a darn good silversmith and engraver, too. Which made him prosperous in Revolutionary Boston.
However, Paul had a beef with a certain relative. He left most of his children and grandkids $500 each — a nice chunk of change in 1818. One grandson got only $1.
Imagine the family discussion after that will was read! Historians aren’t certain why that particular grandson fell out of favor.
Poor Eli Whitney. All he wanted to do was invent a machine to make farm work a little easier. And he did, too. His cotton gin also made the mass production of cotton possible, which greatly increased the demand for slave labor, which in turn fueled the split that led to the Civil War.
When he died in 1825, his will said two nephews each got $1,000. Mrs. Whitney was given all their household furniture, plus “my Horse, Chaise & Sleigh.” No word on how the Widow Whitney felt about that.
Speaking of the Late Unpleasantness (a Southern euphemism for the Civil War), Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” got folks on both sides riled up. So much so that when President Lincoln met her, he remarked, “So you’re the little woman who wrote the book that caused this great big war.”
When she passed away in 1896 at age 85, she left her son a stack of valuable railroad stocks; and she threw in a Florida orange grove for good measure.
Daniel Webster was a flinty Granite Stater who served as senator and secretary of state and who bested Satan in “The Devil and Daniel Webster.” But he couldn’t best death.
When his time ran out in 1852, his will disposed of every last belonging, including his fishing tackle and a gold snuffbox decorated with George Washington’s likeness. A lucky grandson got those goodies. (And what boy wouldn’t want a gold snuffbox?)
J.P. Morgan was a no-nonsense business tycoon who was the richest man in America in his day. We’re talking Sam Walton, Warren Buffett, Bill Gates wealth here. During the Panic of 1907, he personally intervened, keeping the United States government from declaring bankruptcy. That’s how rich he was.
When he died six years later, his handwritten will left “One Million Dollars” (his capital letters) in a trust for his wife. That would be nearly $32 million today. The Widow Morgan did not go without.
We mentioned W.C. Fields earlier. The comic genius was also a troubled soul. He was deeply paranoid, often imagining that people were out to get him. As a result, he repeatedly changed his will on a whim.
One version included endowing a “W. C. Fields Home for Orphan Colored Boys and Girls, Where No Religion of Any Sort is to Be Preached.” When he got into an argument later with a Black domestic servant he felt was stealing from him, he had his attorney revise the document to the “W.C. Fields Home for White Orphan Boys and Girls …”
That provision was in the final will when the end came on Christmas Day, 1946, a holiday he claimed to hate. (Fields’ estranged wife and son used that clause to legally challenge the document, too.)
Finally, history offers an object lesson for us to ponder. This last example doesn’t include any unusual bequeaths because — get this — Abraham Lincoln died without a will. And remember what he did for a living before he moved into the White House? He was a lawyer. That’s right: the man famous for writing the Gettysburg Address forgot to write a will for himself, proving the old saying, “Cobbler’s children need shoes.”
That omission caused tremendous problems for his widow, the emotionally disturbed Mary Todd Lincoln. The probate court named Supreme Court Justice David Davis, a longtime Lincoln political supporter, the administrator of Lincoln’s estate. Davis may have been good friends with Abe, but he had a testy relationship with Mary. Settling the estate was a long, bitter, costly affair.
So, do your loved ones a huge favor. If you don’t have a will, have one prepared. They’ll be happy to know that gold snuffbox will be staying in the family after all.
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