My Inheritance

WE'VE ALL HEARD of the obscure relative—often a long-forgotten uncle or aunt—who leaves behind a surprise inheritance. This usually only happens in fairy tales, trashy novels and screwball comedy movies. I certainly never expected it to happen to me, especially at this late stage. But happen it did—from my lifelong friend Katie, who bequeathed me a generous sum.

I learned I was a beneficiary from the will’s executor and from a subsequent letter from the attorney handling the estate. I was happy that my friend held me in such high regard, but the news was also a reminder that I’d lost someone dear. On top of that, there was a feeling that I didn’t do anything to deserve the money, other than to have enjoyed a wonderful friendship.

Had I received the money in my younger days, I could have helped family members in so many ways. I think of my mother’s struggles and wonder why I was given this largesse so late in life.

With Katie gone, there’s now no one left to share the old days with—so many good memories, including those of our parents. Although our mothers were true friends, people were not overly familiar with each other in days of yore. Throughout their friendship, our mothers addressed each other as Mrs. followed by their surnames. Thinking back, it all seems sweet, respectful and quaint. Refinement was a quality ladies aspired to—it was a different time.

Katie used to say that we’d had a connection before we were born. Our mothers met at a class for new mothers while they were still carrying us. We were born a week apart in the same hospital, and became like sisters growing up. Katie even thought that we looked alike. We went through school together and were in the same classes throughout grammar school. We were even first and second in our graduating class.

I loved her parents. Her father was the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever known. We lived in Brooklyn, and every Saturday Katie’s dad would take her into “the city”—as we called Manhattan—to visit the many sites. I was often invited along. We never missed the wonderful St. Patrick’s Day and Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parades. From the noise and the dirt, to the glamor and the grit, everything held an endless allure.

During our outings, lunch at Horn and Hardart Automat was a special treat. Imagine the thrill of being a child with a handful of nickels, looking through the chrome and glass door of a small window and being able to choose your own lunch—yes, a nickel was worth something back then. In those days, most children ate with their families at home, or at the home of a friend or relative. Eating at a restaurant was a rare experience.

The Automat was famous for its quality cup of coffee, which was only a nickel from 1912 to 1950. And for less than $1 you could enjoy a complete meal. You put a few nickels in a slot and opened the door to whatever you fancied. It was like magic. You got good quality food, cleanliness and fine service. And no tipping. The rich, the famous and the average working man dined at the Automat. It was as big a draw as the Statue of Liberty.

For those not familiar with the Automat, you can get a good look at this iconic piece of Americana on YouTube. There are several clips from various movies, and Kanopy has a great documentary depicting the restaurant’s unique history. Philadelphia had the first Automat, followed a year later by additional Automats in New York City.

As Katie and I grew into adults, our paths diverged. I married. Katie remained single. She travelled extensively, including several trips to her parents’ homeland, Scotland. And she enjoyed several cruises. We were now living in different states and we didn’t see each other nearly as often, but we still visited and kept in close contact. There are some people you may not see or talk to on a regular basis—but somehow, when you do, it’s like picking up where you left off. That’s how it was with Katie and me.

What will I do with the inheritance? I intend to use it to improve my life, my husband’s life and the lives of those around me. I will try to live my values by not embodying a vision of wealth and status that doesn’t align with who I truly am, and I’ll set aside a certain percentage for charitable giving. I agree with the many social scientists who feel that money given away provides more happiness than money received.

I tried researching how others feel about receiving money late in life and how they use an inheritance. My research ended with people in their 60s—it seems that no one expects people to inherit money in their 80s. I agree that it’s unusual. Apparently, Katie didn’t think so. She never told me I was a beneficiary, but I’d like to think that her purpose in honoring our friendship was to make my final years more comfortable, and to let me know how much she valued our friendship.

For me, Katie was a true gift. Because our relationship never changed throughout the years, I think of her as my forever friend. You may have many friends throughout your life, but very few lifelong friends—those who accept you for who you are and you accept them. It’s a special bond.

Marjorie Kondrack loves music, dancing and the arts, and is a former amateur ice dancer accredited by the United States Figure Skating Association. In retirement, she worked for eight years as a tax preparer for the IRS’s VITA and TCE programs. Check out Marjorie's earlier articles.

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