Oddities From the Parting Thoughts of Famous Folks

Certain chores in life aren’t fun. But they are necessary. Such as preparing your last will and testament. People put it off as long as possible to avoid confronting their own mortality.

Personally, I dispensed with this unpleasant task a decade ago. So when the Man In The Bright Nightshirt (as W.C. Fields called death; more on him in minute) eventually calls for me, there will be no family squabble over the vast holdings of the Powell Estate.

A will serves another purpose. It can also provide valuable insight into historical figures. How someone distributed their personal effects often reveals what was going on inside their 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 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 financially successful in Revolutionary Boston.

But Paul had a beef with a certain relative. He left most of his children and grandchildren $500 each … a nice chunk of change in 1818. With one exception: one grandson only received $1. Imagine the family discussion when that will was read! Historians aren’t sure why that particular grandson fell out of favor.

Poor Eli Whitney. All he wanted to do was make farm work a little easier. And he did, too. But his 1794 invention of the cotton gin also made mass production of cotton possible, which greatly increased the demand for slave labor, which in turn fueled the split that ultimately led to the Civil War. (All that from simply seeking a better way to remove the seeds from cotton bolls!)

Anyway, when he died in 1825, his will said two nephews each got $1,000. Mrs. Whitney was given their household furniture, plus “my Horse, Chaise & Sleigh.” No word on how the Widow Whitney felt about that.

Speaking of the Late Unpleasantness, Harriet Beecher Stowe penned an incendiary novel about slavery called Uncle Tom’s Cabin that got folks on both sides of the issue riled up. So much so that when President Lincoln met her he remarked, “So you’re the little women who wrote the book that caused this great war.”

Her literary career was so successful that when she passed away in 1896 at age 85, she left her son a stack of valuable railroad stocks and an orange grove in Florida.

Daniel Webster was a flinty Granite Stater who served as senator, 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 a Sam Walton, Warren Buffett, Bill Gates scale of wealth. During the Panic of 1907 he intervened, opening his wallet and personally sparing the United States government from bankruptcy. That’s how rich he was.

When he died six years later, his handwritten will displayed his famous attention to detail. He left “One Million Dollars” (the capital letters were his) in a trust for his wife. That would be nearly $30 million today. The Widow Morgan did not go without.

I told you we would get back to W.C. Fields eventually, and so we are. The comic genius and master juggler was also a troubled soul. He was deeply paranoid, often imagining people were out to get him. As a result, he repeatedly changed his will on a whim.

One version of it included endowing the creation of the “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 his African-American cook, whom he (wrongly) suspected was stealing from him, he had his attorney revise the document to the “W.C. Fields Home for White Orphan Boys and Girls…”

The provision was in the final will when the Man In the Bright Nightshirt came for him on Christmas Day, 1946, a holiday he claimed to hate. (Fields’ estranged wife and son used that strange clause to challenge the will in court, too.)

Adolf Hitler was a horrible human being. So it’s no surprise that his final wishes contained horrible ranting.

It was dictated in his Berlin bunker in the last hours of his life, with Russian soldiers literally outside the door. He actually had two documents. The will itself acknowledged his marriage (without mentioning Eva Braun by name), left his art collection to “a gallery in my home town of Linz on the Danube” (which was never established), and bequeathed “items of sentimental value or necessary for the maintenance of a modest simple life” to his handful of relatives and the “faithful co-workers” of his inner circle. Whatever was left over was to be given to the Nazi Party; since there wasn’t any party after his suicide, and he didn’t have anything to leave behind anyway, the point was moot.

Then there was his political testament, which reveals the rambling of an insane mind. Of course World War II wasn’t his fault, he insisted. Nothing was ever his fault (to him, anyway). “It is untrue that I or anybody else in Germany wanted war in 1939.” He was a liar and a lunatic right up to the very end.

Finally, history provides an object lesson for us to ponder. It doesn’t include any bizarre bequests or sweeping statements because -get this- Abraham Lincoln died without a will. And remember what he did for a living before he ran for the White House? He was a lawyer, people! That’s right: the man famous for writing the Gettysburg Address forgot to write a will for himself, thus proving the old saying “cobbler’s children need shoes.”

That omission caused tremendous problems for his widow, the emotionally afflicted  and mentally tormented Mary Lincoln. The probate court named Supreme Court Justice David Davis, a long-time Lincoln political ally, as administrator of the estate. Justice Davis may have been good friends with Abe, but he had a stormy relationship with Mary. Settling the estate was a long, bitter, costly affair that played out as much in the newspapers as much as it did in the courts.

So do your loved ones a huge favor. If you don’t have a will, make an appointment with an attorney and have one prepared. Your relatives will be happy to know the gold snuffbox will be staying in the family after all.

Did you find this enjoyable or helpful? Please continue to join me each week, and I invite you to read Tell it Like Tupper and share your review!

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