
Meet The Menjous 49xxxx 0151 Strange Bequests
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A
It seems to me, Adolf, that there have been a lot of stories in the papers recently about people who have left rather large amounts of money to their pet animals.
B
Yes, I've noticed that, too. If this keeps up, we're certainly going to have a lot of wealthy cats and dogs in this country. Now, how does the government collect income tax from a carcass spaniel who has been left a fortune?
A
While we're being silly, it seems to me it would be an even harder job collecting from a Great Dane. But I'm always curious about people who leave unusual bequests.
B
My dear, you'll find the court records of the land are filled with strange and fantastic legacies.
A
Some of those strange legacies you mentioned, Adolf, must have been quite confusing to the administrators who settled the estates.
B
Well, dear, some of them are so odd and so peculiar that I wonder how an administrator could go into court to have them administered. Take the case of a woman in England who left 200 pounds a year to her pet parents. Now, I'm all for taking care of animals after a person has passed on, particularly a parrot or pet dogs or animals of that kind whom one holds very, very dear. But 200 pounds a year, at that time, that was $20 a week. What on earth could a parrot do with $20 a week?
A
Yeah, maybe he was a very hungry parrot and needed a lot of seed.
B
I know you're joking about it.
A
All right, well, it was her parrot. Why shouldn't she be able to leave the money if she wanted it that way?
B
Take the case of Mrs. Lewis Oldham of Oklahoma City, who will to her two daughters my Sunny disposition and my sense of fairness. Now you try to execute that one. Or Francis Reginald, Lord of Australia, who left his widow 1 shilling for tramfare to any place where she could go drown herself.
A
Oh, well, he was a horrible man. Now, I have no patience with that. But on the other hand, you see now, just to offset that, you have during the American Revolution the statesman Gouverneur Morris. And when he passed on, he left his widow a very large fortune and also provided in the will that if she remarried, she was to get twice the sum of money. I think that's perfect.
B
I do, too. Because so many men leave the provision in their wills that if their wives remarry, they're to get nothing.
A
You know, that's something, just for a moment, that I do not understand. I think that is something very strange in a person's nature. Why should anyone want to be that unkind or that cruel that if they. They had that feeling that if they should pass on that they would not want the other to be fortunate enough to meet someone as a companion. I don't understand such selfishness.
B
I don't either. But then they do it and it happens every day.
A
And then, you see, the woman or the man has to make the decision. Well, if I. If I remarry, then I will lose the money. Then they have that problem. Oh, I think that's a very unkind thing.
B
I've got patience with that just at this point. I think it's very important that every person, I don't care who he is and how little he leaves, should leave a properly executed will, if he can possibly afford it, to have an attorney 80 minute. And if he cannot, for him to look up the laws of his own state to be sure that he is. He is leaving the money where he wants it to go and in the proper form.
A
But getting back to some of these strange legacies, there really have been some rather, rather amusing and odd things that people have left. For example, Robert Louis Stevenson left his. He willed his birthday, actually his birthday, to a friend who complained that hers fell on Christmas Day. But. And he also said, if she did not use it properly, that all rights pass to the President of the United States. I don't quite know what he meant by that.
B
No, that's a rather sweet gesture. I don't think that's a valid will.
A
Well, it was in his will.
B
It was in it. But how on earth could you execute it? You couldn't pass that on to anyone. But one of the things that always interests me is a man works very hard all his life for money, leaves his money with express provisions, bequests in his will that he wants carried out. He wants them done in a certain way. And yet that will can be upset.
A
Yes, I don't understand that. You're right.
B
Well, it happens all the time. We see Now, a man, for example, has been living a quiet life, let's say, and probably loathes his relatives. They probably have been very unkind to him. So he decides to leave his money in any other way that he pleases. He leaves it to his dogs, his cats, his parrots, anything he wants. First thing you know, he. A relative who hates him, who has never liked him, comes into court and is able to upset that will and. And divert it from the path which the man who had worked for the money had indicated. How do you explain that?
A
Well, yes, but. Just a moment, Adolf. I mean a person, normally speaking, a person who leaves a large A large sum of money to a pet animal. That is questionable. You. You are all inclined to say, well, now, that seems a little bit overboard when it could be left to someone that. For a human being. But on the other hand, let us take the case of a man or a woman who leaves in their worldly possessions to someone who has been kind and good to them, who is not a blood relative. Now, there you have the point that I don't understand. The blood relatives can suddenly appear from nowhere. Maybe he hasn't heard from them in 20 years and they can contest the will. And the chances are that because they're blood relatives, they will get something.
B
Yes, I didn't mean to bring up the point of animals in this particular case. I meant any provision that a man wanted, such as you say, a person who has nursed a man in his last illness. He hasn't heard from the relatives and they've been living abroad, maybe, let's say in Ireland or sp. China or somewhere.
A
Then you have the case, you know, of the millionaire Andrew Freeman, who left all of his money for, really, I think, a wonderful purpose. He set up a home only for poor millionaires. That sounds rather silly, I suppose. But his. His principle, I think, was wonderful. He simply said, it is bad enough to be poor in one's old age, but it is much worse to have been rich once and then to be poor.
B
Oh, I think that's beautiful. And what about Percy Williams, who made millions and millions of dollars out of vaudeville, you see, and left the Percy Williams home on Long Island. And he even left a provision that these actors who went there to live when they had leaner days could have the finest of cigars which they had been accustomed to. There's money laid aside for them to come into New York to see plays, to get good seats and smoke the best of cigars. I think that is a wonderful.
A
I think it is marvelous. Yes. I must admit that.
B
Well, I suppose, dear, that some of the greatest legacies that have been left to the world haven't even been mentioned in a will.
A
I'm not quite sure that I follow you, dear.
B
Well, I mean, great paintings, great literature, great music.
A
Oh, oh, yes, yes. Well, I believe that those should be classed as heritages. They are left to all people. Like inspiring music. They live forever.
B
Inspiring music? Yes. But what about jazz and swing and bebop? Do you imagine future generations will consider these a great heritage?
A
I'm sure I don't know, dear, but in the present day, they seem to have their place. Suppose we look into These so called modern music forms after we hear what someone else has to say on a different subject.
B
Well, I'm not sure very that I'm qualified to talk about these modern music forms. There's ragtime, blues, boogie, jazz, bebop. About 1911, when Irving Berlin first came into popular favor and I still. I must say that he's still in popular favor and he wrote Alexander's Ragtime Band. I began to take a. A great interest in that type music. And I know what I like and I know what I don't like. I don't know much about the music, but I.
A
What do you like?
B
Well, I like things like the Beale Street Blues, the Basin Street Blues, Limehouse Blues, Way down yonder In New Orleans, St. Louis Blues, Frankie and Johnny, Sweet Georgia Brown. Some of these days. I like that. I like the melody of those pieces and I like them played. Well, yes, I like them played in a sort of a jazz or ragtime fashion, as I call it. Bebop. I don't know about bebop. Well, darling, I'm not mad about boogie.
A
Well, you've picked the one thing, of course, bebop that only really musicians understand thoroughly. I don't know very much about bebop either. I do like it, oddly enough. I think it's interesting. I find it very, very interesting. To me it's slightly primitive. It doesn't seem quite as modern as I know it's supposed to be. But let's go back a little. Let's take, shall we say, the birth of the blues and how they originated. As you probably know it, it originally started in the south with the Negroes. And it was originally the blues was sung without accompaniment. It was simply the Negro's feeling of putting his words and his emotions into his song. And then to that they added their instruments. But actually the instruments were simply reproducing the inflections of the song that he'd been singing. Do you recall? We were in, I think it was Richmond, Virginia. The little group of Negro boys that were on the street corner that were so wonderful that were singing and they had a dishpan and a spoon. That was the only music they had. And I think a washboard with some thimbles or something.
B
That's right.
A
Of their own, I remember. And they would sing anything you asked them to, but they would do it in their own way. And it was wonderful. They have so much rhythm and spirit.
B
Well, tell me this, how is it then that the Europeans, particularly the French, appreciated our Dixieland music, so called New Orleans and Memphis, now, music from the south before we did, and even now they appreciate our bebop more than we do here.
A
Well, that I don't know. Is that true?
B
Well, I don't understand that. I heard that. Yes, I was.
A
I think they like it, but I don't know whether they like it better than we do. But you mentioned jazz in this novel. Of course, jazz really started in New Orleans. And the word jazz is a Creole expression meaning to speed up. Now, I think, in my humble opinion, and I don't expect, I don't profess to be an expert and probably anyone who happens to be listening, that is, may correct me on some of these things and also you. But I feel that it is really, you take jazz and you take swing and you take boogie woogie and all of those things. It really amounts to interpretation more than anything else. Because you know perfectly well that if you get some very good musicians together and they have a jam session, they'll play anything you ask them to. But goodness knows what will come out. It'll just be how they feel in the moment.
B
Well, I like to hear the melody. I don't like the melody to be drowned in all sorts of weird notes and sounds. I want the melody to come through. If I don't, I don't appreciate the music. And I like rhythm. Now, of course, boogie woogie has rhythm, but I'm not mad about boogie woogie. I'm getting awfully tired of it. There's an awful lot of left hand in it that drowns out everything else and all the melody and it leaves me a little bit cold.
A
Well, I find it interesting. You see, I remember, of course, getting back to jazz. I knew Paul Whiteman quite well, and I remember when he first started. And incidentally, that's an another interesting thing. I find that you take the early jazz of, say, the. The twenties, the way it was played then and the way it is played now and still call jazz is something quite different. In other words, I think that as we go on in time, even though they call them the same things, why, it'll change with the time.
B
Who changes it?
A
The player, the musician?
B
How or why do they change in their interpretation?
A
That's all it amounts to.
B
Can there be that many interpretations? Will there have been? Will it not go back to the original?
A
Sometimes I don't see what they would gain by going back to the original.
B
Well, I don't. I'm just wondering how many possible ways are there of playing music?
A
Well, now, you have some. You have today, you have some orchestras that go in for what they call Lombardo is one who plays sweet music. He takes all of the of the same numbers that any of these jazz orchestras or bebop or swing orchestras would take. And he plays it in a different key and a different method and a different feeling for it, but it's still the same music. And it's simply a question of interpretation and. Well, it's what you like.
B
Well, I'm not sure, Veri, that even if I understood all these musical terms, I'd be able to appreciate it any better. Well, once again, we seem to have reached the end of our time. This is Adolphe Monjou speaking from Beverly Hills.
A
This is Barrites Del Monjou thanking you for inviting us into your home and hoping we may call again soon.
Podcast: Harold's Old Time Radio
Date: September 18, 2025
Episode: Meet The Menjous 49xxxx 0151
Main Theme:
This episode features Barrites Del Monjou and Adolphe Monjou in a lively, thoughtful discussion about the peculiar world of unusual bequests and legacies left in wills, blending humorous anecdotes with broader reflections on inheritance, human nature, and a segue into the heritage of music—particularly the evolution of jazz, blues, and related genres.
Recent Trends:
As Barrites observes, “It seems to me, Adolf, that there have been a lot of stories in the papers recently about people who have left rather large amounts of money to their pet animals.” [00:01]
Noteworthy Examples:
Contrast in Human Nature:
They also note positive legacies, like Gouverneur Morris who doubled his wife's inheritance if she remarried—contrasting with those who penalize remarriage.
“Why should anyone want to be that unkind or that cruel... I don't understand such selfishness.” – Barrites [01:59]
“They do it and it happens every day.” – Adolphe [02:16]
Enforceability and Contesting Wills:
Amusing and Heartwarming Bequests:
Wider Heritage:
“Some of the greatest legacies…haven't even been mentioned in a will... great paintings, great literature, great music.” – Adolphe [06:02]
Barrites agrees: “They are left to all people. Like inspiring music. They live forever.” [06:06]
Questioning the Value of Modern Music:
Adolphe wonders, “What about jazz and swing and bebop? Do you imagine future generations will consider these a great heritage?” [06:14]
They note that all forms have a place, though taste and reputation evolve.
What the Hosts Enjoy:
The Birth and Evolution of Blues & Jazz:
The blues’ origins are credited to Southern African Americans, initially as unaccompanied expressions of feeling that evolved with the addition of simple instruments:
“...it was simply the Negro’s feeling of putting his words and his emotions into his song.” – Barrites [07:31–08:35]
Europe’s Embrace of American Music:
Host marvels that “Europeans, particularly the French, appreciated our Dixieland... before we did, and even now they appreciate our bebop more than we do here.” [08:44–08:59]
Jazz as a Living Art: Interpretation Over Time:
On wills and generosity:
On legal pitfalls of inheritance:
On bequests with heart:
On the timelessness of art:
On the spirit of jazz and blues:
On jazz’s evolution:
The conversation is witty yet warm, balancing humor with contemplation. The hosts’ banter maintains a lighthearted, slightly nostalgic tone throughout, while philosophical asides about charity, art, and music deepen the episode’s impact.
Episode ends with:
“This is Adolphe Monjou speaking from Beverly Hills.”
“This is Barrites Del Monjou thanking you for inviting us into your home…hoping we may call again soon.” [11:30]
This summary captures both the show’s comedic examination of odd bequests and its more affectionate, thoughtful musings on legacy—both financial and cultural. Perfect for listeners interested in vintage wit, classic radio, and the ongoing power of music and generosity.