philanthropic pranksterism

OK - I'm not nearly as good at sharing an interesting story bout Canadiana as Babzy, but here goes with a Dickens-flavoured true story for your holiday enjoyment, peppered with some stunning images taken by Dorothea Lange (I asked my husband for two of her books for my birthday literally minutes ago...) some free stock photos, and one belonging to NASA (go figure)...

The Dirty Thirties were a time of great desperation.  The Dust Bowl, resulting from a combination of overworked agricultural fields and drought, followed hot on the heels of Black Tuesday in 1929, leaving thousands of families destitute and hopeless.  For comic relief, Toronto had the lasting legacy of one Charlie Millar.

Charlie Millar was an eccentric and wealthy lawyer who died a bachelor in 1926, when the 20s were still roaring.  He was known for his cynicism and rather odd sense of humour which usually revolved around he themes of greed and hypocrisy.   During his lifetime he amused himself by planting coins on the street and watching who would stoop to pick them up, and when he wrote up his last will and testament he put his ultimate theory - that every man had his price - to the test.  Although many of his bequests were uproariously funny, like leaving shares in gambling establishments to upstanding members of the community and giving away stock he didn't own in a Brewery run by Catholics to Protestant Ministers in the vicinity, the one that kept his name alive long after the initial tongue-in-cheek humour of his will had worn off became known as the, "Great Stork Derby," a race to inherit the residue of his estate by the Toronto woman who gave birth to the most children in the 10 year period following his death.  (One theory suggests that this was Millar's paradoxical means of showing support for the legalization of birth control and recognition of illegitimate children.  Interesting fellow, wasn't he?)

Of course, in 1926, he could not have foreseen how the stock market crash 3 years later would ultimately impact what was initially seen as little more than proof he was truly outlandish.  The estate, worth about $100,000 (resting primarily in $2 shares in what is now the Detroit/Windsor Tunnel) ballooned to about $750,000 between the time of his death and the time the prize would be claimed. For the families who struggled to feed themselves, and weren't willing or able to join the race, it became de rigeur to keep tabs on and even cheer for the families who were in the running, not unlike the phenomena I believe spurns the success of shows like American Idol and Britain's Got Talent. 

In 1936, when the 10 years had lapsed and the economy still seemed miles from an economic upturn, there were four families who split the quarter-million kitty, less a meagre $25,000 amount awarded to avoid litigation from two women who 'lost' the race, one due to two stillborns and the other due to multiple fathers (the will was perhaps ironically interpreted to mean registered live births and legitimate children only.)  The winning families each had 9 children, and five out of six of the families spent their funds very sensibly on houses, vehicles, and their children's educations; the mother of the mixed bag of babies apparently had a price of $12,500, left her family, and ran off with the money.

This is, of course, a poignant and fitting end to the Great Stork Derby, as it applies to this self-explanatory quote taken from Charlie Millar's will:

"This will is necessarily uncommon and capricious because I have no dependents or near relations and no duty rests upon me to leave any property at my death and what I do leave is proof of my folly in gathering and retaining more than I required in my lifetime."

I think I would have really enjoyed his company.

There's a movie about this called (you guessed it) The Great Stork Derby, starring one of my favourite Canadian actresses, Megan Follows (she was Anne of Green Gables, of course!) It's on my list of movies to rent while I'm slacking off and ignoring people over the holidays!