by Jim Stovall
As I have stated, every meeting with Sally was a happening. She never had a routine moment or encounter in her life. Miss Sally treated everyone and everything as if it were special, and somehow it always was.
The days of me flying solo in a one-man office, serving as my own receptionist, secretary, and janitor, are long gone. Today, the firm of Hamilton, Hamilton & Hamilton occupies multiple floors of an upscale high-rise building.
Although very few people in our firm have access to my appointment calendar, somehow everyone in the building seemed to know the day and hour that Sally May Anderson was scheduled to appear. There was more energy in the office, and everyone was infused with a sense of anticipation.
Our security officer, who mans the desk in the lobby on our ground floor, had already phoned to let me know that Miss Sally’s car was pulling up to the curb.
One might wonder how a security guard, whose duty requires him to stay seated at his post in the lobby, could tell that one particular car was approaching amidst all the busy downtown rush-hour traffic. But one needed only to get a glimpse of Miss Sally’s classic Bentley custom limousine to understand that it’s one in a million and could be spotted anywhere.
I made my way to the lobby of our offices, near the elevator, as I wanted to be standing by when Miss Sally emerged.
Our receptionist, Kelly, who is always energetic and engaging, was even more attentive than usual. Kelly is a beautiful young lady with dancing green eyes. She and Miss Sally formed a special kind of connection years ago that none of us ever quite understood.
In anticipation of Miss Sally’s visit, Kelly had straightened her desk and put the entire lobby in order. And then, as she always did before one of Miss Sally’s visits, Kelly placed an empty flower vase on the corner of her desk.
Several of my partners had found mysterious excuses to be in the lobby near the elevator at that particular moment in time.
As the elevator door slid open, I extended my arm to prevent the door from closing again. First, because at ninety-nine, Miss Sally didn’t move as quickly as she used to, and secondly, because elevator rides were never quite long enough for Sally May Anderson, as she always assumed that the brief time huddled with strangers in a confined space was an opportunity to make new friends and introduce everyone. So, as I held the door open, Miss Sally was introducing two people she had just met to one another. Even though these two individuals had worked in this building for many years and had passed one another in the hall or ridden the elevator together countless times, it took Miss Sally to introduce them.
As the door slid closed, I observed the two former strangers chatting amiably, as if they were old friends. All thanks to Miss Sally.
She stepped into the lobby on the arm of her chauffeur, traveling companion, and assistant, Hawthorne. Hawthorne is of indeterminate age, background, and country of origin. All anyone knows and all anyone need know of Hawthorne is that he has been totally devoted and singularly dedicated to Miss Sally May Anderson for almost sixty years.
He would not even contemplate the thought or understand anyone who might suggest that he had reached an age at which he might need his own chauffeur, traveling companion, or assistant. Hawthorne knew that he was put on this earth for the sole task of serving Miss Sally, so he was always ready, willing, and able to do it.
Miss Sally graced me with her smile, which always put me in mind of an eagerly anticipated sunrise. She stepped forward and hugged me warmly, then greeted each of my colleagues who had somehow happened to be in the lobby at that moment.
Then Hawthorne led Miss Sally over to Kelly’s reception desk and stepped back, allowing the two ladies a moment to themselves. Miss Sally, knowing that the empty flower vase would be in place for her visit, put some flowers freshly cut from her own garden in the vase on Kelly’s desk.
Miss Sally smiled and asked Kelly, “So have you met that special person yet?”
Kelly laughed and replied, “Miss Sally, I’m still working on it and am having fun doing it.”
Miss Sally joined in the laughter and stated, “Well, the hunt is often the best part of any relationship, but you really need to find someone better than me to bring you flowers.”
Kelly rushed around her desk, hugged Miss Sally, and said, “I don’t think there will ever be anybody better than you for that.”
Hawthorne stepped forward, and Miss Sally took his arm as we walked into my office.
Miss Sally stood and gazed around my office before she finally nodded as if signifying everything was in its place and all was well. Only then did she settle into one of the client chairs in front of my desk.
She pointed to the earliest photograph of us, which showed the two of us standing in my very first office. She chuckled and said, “Ted, you found you a really good-lookin’ girl to stand next to in that photo.”
I smiled and nodded with satisfaction. Miss Sally was one of the few people who ever called me Ted. I was addressed as Sir, Mr. Hamilton, or possibly Theodore, but Miss Sally was comfortable addressing me as Ted, and it made me feel special.
Understanding that legal issues are supposed to be confidential, Hawthorne drifted over to a leather sofa in the corner of my office. He picked up a magazine and pretended to be completely engrossed in whatever was within its pages. I, however, was quite certain that the slightest gesture or nuance from Miss Sally would bring him rushing to her side.
Sally May Anderson had been born and raised with a generation of people who understood and valued small talk. She would never think about coming into someone’s office without asking about family members, travel plans, and the condition of their flower garden. After I covered all the pertinent points with her, she reciprocated by sharing about all of the happenings in her life since we had last been together.
Finally, with all of the preliminary matters out of the way, Miss Sally looked directly into my eyes, giving me her full attention, and said, “Theodore, I need to make arrangements for the next phase of my life.”
THREE
The Bequest
The successful person leaves behind their values in addition to their valuables and a piece of themselves.
It was hard to know how to respond to a person who had lived almost a century when she told me she needed to make arrangements for the next phase of her life.
A wise old professor in law school once told me, rather emphatically, “Hamilton, the more you listen and the less you talk, the brighter your clients will assume you are.”
Trying to keep that admonition in mind, I held my pen poised above a blank legal pad and asked Miss Sally, “How do you see the next phase of your life?”
Sally chuckled and stated in a matter-of-fact fashion, “Well, Ted, the next phase of my life will end with me dying, at which point everything will become your problem. But between now and then, I need to make arrangements for Anderson House and my great-grandson Joey.”
Anderson House was and is a totally unique enterprise and piece of real estate. The property comprises hundreds of acres of land and a 150-year-old ornate mansion that could never be replicated or replaced.
For the past fifty years, though running Anderson House was Miss Sally’s joy and passion, it was also an extremely profitable and growing business enterprise.
In addition to Miss Sally’s oversight and management and Hawthorne’s able assistance in every area of the operation, Anderson House boasts two other lifelong staff members who are totally committed to Anderson House, Miss Sally, and the endless parade of guests who are constantly arriving.
Claudia is a world-renowned chef, baker, and gardener who Miss Sally discovered somewhere in Central Europe. Claudia may be the most versatile chef anywhere in the world. She prepares custom dishes for Anderson House guests that reflect the cuisine of their hometown or country of origin while still allowing them to sample the subtle flavors, tastes, and nuances of the whole world.
Oscar had served as the engineer, carpenter, and handyman at Anderson House when it was
the private residence of Miss Sally and her late husband, Leonard Anderson. When the house was converted into the world’s greatest bed-and-breakfast, Oscar made sure it kept all of the artistry and craftsmanship of a 150-year-old architectural treasure while offering every modern convenience and state-of-the-art amenity. Maintaining a 150-year-old wood structure with countless passageways, staircases, nooks, and crannies was a labor of love for Oscar. He boasted, “Anderson House and me are both growing old together.”
I couldn’t imagine Anderson House ever existing without Miss Sally. It wasn’t just the best place in the world to visit, dine, or relax; it was a special environment that offered a unique perspective on the world—chiefly because of Miss Sally and her impact on those around her. The thought of anyone taking her place was inconceivable, but the idea of her great-grandson, Joey Anderson, contributing in any way was impossible to imagine.
Joey was somewhere in his mid-twenties. He had always exhibited the unique ability to fail to appreciate, understand, or take advantage of all the treasures in his life while at the same time pursuing every worthless, destructive distraction he could possibly find. Young people like Joey Anderson who are given every possible advantage seem to go out of their way to court misery and failure in spite of everything around them.
Joey had squandered his educational opportunities; rejected everything that his parents, grandparents, and Miss Sally had tried to teach him; and had fled Anderson House and the area as quickly as he was able to do so. Joey had been heli-skiing in Austria, scuba diving around the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, and backpacking across Asia, among every other experience imaginable, but he had never once—to my knowledge—done anything for anyone other than himself. He had spent prodigious amounts of his family’s money in the headlong pursuit of his own selfish whims and, despite having everything in the world anyone could ask for, without a single discomfort or responsibility, had managed to become a miserable person with a knack for making everyone around him equally miserable.
I realize that blood is thicker than water, and all people—including Miss Sally—love their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren if they’re lucky enough to have them. Therefore, regardless of my discomfort in expressing it, I knew that Miss Sally was entitled to and expected my honest and most candid opinion. I took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Miss Sally, Anderson House needs loving care, competent management and oversight, long-term vision with immediate execution, and someone with experience and wisdom. Conversely, what it does not need, by any stretch of the imagination, is any involvement from your great-grandson, Joey Anderson.”
Hawthorne picked that moment to vigorously clear his throat, which spoke to his agreement with me as much as if he had offered a standing ovation.
I sat back in my chair, awaiting Miss Sally’s argument, anger, or disapproval.
Instead, she just smiled brightly and stated for the record, “Anderson House doesn’t need Joey, but Joey needs Anderson House.”
As usual, Miss Sally had taken all of my logic, wisdom, and experience, turned it around, and abruptly set it on its ear.
I stuttered, stammered, and started again. “Miss Sally, I’m going to need you to explain that.”
She asked, “Ted, do you remember how I came to be your client?”
I nodded and answered, “Red Stevens referred you, didn’t he?”
Sally nodded and said, “Red Stevens did many great things in his life for everyone around him, including me. One of the best things he ever did was to introduce me to Theodore J. Hamilton, Attorney-at-Law.”
The open wound from the recent loss of my lifelong best friend, Howard “Red” Stevens, was still excruciating, but I tried to focus on the joy his life had brought me and not the pain his death had created.
“Bringing me a client like you at that point in my career was akin to life support,” I explained. “But what does Red Stevens’s introduction, which happened over fifty years ago, have to do with Anderson House now and in the future?”
“It’s quite simple,” Miss Sally began to explain. “I learned about all the lessons that Red Stevens taught his grandson, Jason Stevens, through the portion of his will that has become known as the Ultimate Gift.”
What had started out as a private bequest known only to Red Stevens and me, which I had crafted into a legal document under Red’s direction, became a worldwide media event after Red Stevens’s death.
Howard “Red” Stevens had amassed a multi-billion-dollar fortune derived from his holdings in oil, cattle, and a vast number of diversified business holdings. He’d called me shortly after I completed law school with only two things on his mind. I can still hear his voice echoing across the decades.
“I’ve got a world to conquer, and I need a lawyer.”
I was trying to think of a tactful way to inform him over the phone that I was an African-American, and he might prefer to look elsewhere. But like Miss Sally, Red Stevens was color-blind. He interrupted my faltering attempt to apprise him of the situation and asked, “You are Theodore J. Hamilton, and you did graduate first in your class, did you not?”
I blurted, “Yes, sir,” and Red’s only response to that situation—and every challenge over the next fifty years—was his emphatic declaration, “Well, then, let’s get started.”
Late in his life, my friend realized that he had succeeded in business but was in jeopardy of failing at life. I remember him lamenting, “Ted, what’s the use of having everything and learning everything over a lifetime if you can’t share it with the people you love?”
From that point, Red Stevens focused all of his considerable energy on the challenge of overcoming a lifelong period of neglect as he organized a crash course in everything that matters for his grandson, Jason Stevens.
When I think of Jason Stevens before his grandfather’s death, he puts me very much in mind of Joey Anderson. After his grandfather’s death, Jason showed up late for Red’s funeral with a bad attitude and a chip on his shoulder. He nearly missed the family meeting where I read the will to the heirs. Jason simply excused his tardiness and bad attitude by saying, “I know what he left me . . . nothing.”
Red had instructed me to craft a unique document as a codicil to his will. It provided for Jason to undertake an odyssey for a year, during which time he would experience twelve gifts, or life lessons, designed by his grandfather. The will stated that if Jason could satisfactorily navigate each of the tasks set before him, he would then receive his inheritance, mysteriously known only as “The Ultimate Gift.”
The transformation that the Ultimate Gift experience wrought in Jason Stevens was nothing short of miraculous. Jason became a responsible, productive, generous young man with $2 billion of his grandfather’s money that he was using to literally change the world around him.
I certainly understood Miss Sally’s desire to have an influence on her great-grandson like Red Stevens had provided for Jason, but I had to point out to her, “Miss Sally, I agree that Joey could certainly benefit from a strong dose of Red Stevens’s Ultimate Gift, but as you know, regrettably, Red Stevens isn’t here with us any more.”
Sally sat up straight, smiled with anticipation, and stated emphatically, “I’m well aware of the fact that Red isn’t here any more, but Jason is!”
FOUR
The Meeting
Every great legacy starts with a great life, and every great life starts with a great plan.
A heavy fog hung over Anderson House and the surrounding grounds like a shroud. I had been on the property for several hours, having actually enjoyed my first cup of coffee on the upper veranda as I observed the sunrise trying to cut through the dense haze. I am a confirmed lifelong tea drinker, but I just can’t seem to get a day started off right without my morning coffee.
Morning is always the best part of the day, at least from my point of view, at Anderson House. I wondered if it would still remain as special in the future without Sally May Anderson there to brighte
n each daybreak.
I have participated in private meetings in the Oval Office, argued weighty matters before the Supreme Court, and conducted board meetings with millionaires, billionaires, superstars, and the like, but the most challenging, stimulating, inspiring, and thought-provoking discussions of my life have taken place around the breakfast table at Anderson House. There are a few special places on earth where the best, brightest, and most significant examples of humanity tend to gather. Great institutions of higher learning, places of worship, and seats of government are examples of these locations.
If you ask anyone who has ever spent any time at Anderson House, they will invariably inform you that Miss Sally’s breakfast table rivaled anywhere in the world as a gathering place for the best, brightest, and most formidable among us.
Preparations for Sally May Anderson’s memorial service had been under way for several days, and it would be conducted on the grounds of Anderson House. As the executor of Miss Sally’s estate, it was my responsibility to be on hand. As her friend, it was my privilege to make sure everything was as it should be.
Over the previous seventy-two hours, we had received notices and requests from heads of state, titans of industry, entertainment elite, and representatives from the royal family that they wanted to make arrangements to be on hand to pay their respects.
I pulled my small leather-bound notebook from the inner-breast pocket of my best suit, flipped it open, and reviewed all of the arrangements and each of the copious notes I had taken to ensure all would be in readiness.
Claudia stepped onto the veranda and unobtrusively refilled my coffee cup, being careful not to disturb me. I closed my notebook and placed it back in my jacket pocket.
“Thank you, Claudia.” I nodded at my steaming cup of coffee and continued with a sigh. “Well, it’s going to be a hard but special day. I just hope I’ve taken care of everything.”
