A LASTING LEGACY
Most of us, if not all, hope to leave something behind when we die, to leave a lasting legacy. We want to be remembered long after we depart.
Good luck with that.
Even the immensely famous fade from memory about thirty years after they die. I worked with two men in their early twenties who had never heard of Frank Sinatra. I was stunned. How could someone not know Frank Sinatra? Frank, of course, is still remembered and beloved by millions, but others never give him a thought.
One way to sear your name into the public memory is to create a charity or donate a substantial sum to a worthwhile cause. An example is Harvard University’s Harry Elkins Widener Memorial Library.
Quick. Who was Harry Elkins Widener?
Unless you went to Harvard, have visited the library, or are a student of the RMS Titanic, you probably don’t know the answer.
Here it is. Harry Elkins Widener was on the Titanic’s disastrous maiden voyage. His mother Eleanor Elkins Widener donated the library to Harvard to the tune of two million dollars in 1912. That’s about $65,616,161.62 today. Hardly chump change.
I’ve been in the Widener and knew about Mrs. Widener’s largess, but truth be told, I had to jog my memory to dredge up the answer.
Most of us aren’t burdened with the problem of how to spend a spare $65 mil, but we can understand why Mrs. Widener wanted to preserve the memory of her twenty-seven-year-old son who was lost at sea.
On the other hand, it’s difficult to believe that an Italian immigrant son, a mere fruit peddler with an eighth-grade education, gifted the Boston Public Library with one million dollars in 1948. That would be roughly $53,771,950.21 today. Several mil short of Mrs. Widener’s donation, but still a rather tidy sum.
That fruit peddler was John Deferrari. He had used the Boston Public Library’s resources to learn how to invest in real estate, and he went on to amass a fortune. The donation came with a proviso. The library had to build a John Deferrari wing that would display his portrait. That came to fruition in 1972 when the Johnson Building opened. Anyone who has visited the BPL’s main branch in Copley Square has walked through the John Deferrari Room, sauntered past his bust, or passed by his portrait. Truth be told, there’s available information galore about the man. But that’s not the same thing as being remembered. You must have familiarity with someone in order to do any research.
By anybody’s measure, Deferrari was an odd man. Born in Boston’s North End in 1864, he was the oldest child of Italian immigrants. After he left school, he peddled fruit. That grew into a brick-and-mortar store, and eventually he began buying real estate. Deferrari was an Ebeneezer Scrooge without the misanthropy or the joy after surviving three ghostly visits. He was someone you wouldn’t want to have a beer with. Then, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to have that beer with you anyway. Despite owning property throughout Boston, he died alone in a furnished room on Beacon Hill. His body was discovered a week after he passed.
Even if my coworkers never hear Frank Sinatra sing “My Way,” Ol’ Blue Eyes’ immortality is secure. He will be rediscovered again and again by music lovers. Great singing never goes out of style. Barring an earthquake, the Widener and the BPL will remain standing. Even if most library visitors never view the Harry Elkins Widener Collection or stop to read the plaque beside Deferrari’s bust, others will admire these men long after you and I are gone.
Mrs. Widener and Mr. Deferrari used their millions to create a better world. But you don’t need to be as rich as Croesus to create a lasting legacy. One word, one smile, one gesture, or one library can change the course of someone’s life. Legacies are like libraries they’re built one day at a time.
Paula Messina lives near the United States’ first public beach. Her essays and book reviews have appeared in various publications, including Ovunque Siamo, Thema Literary Journal, Indelible Literary and Arts Journal, and Kevin’s Corner. She also writes contemporary, historical, and humorous fiction and is working on a novel set in Boston’s North End during World War II.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 