Will Leaves Working Girl $90,000 to Repay Debt of Kindness

1920

SAN FRANCISCO, Cal., Feb. 26. — Gentle, kindly ways — human sympathy and the power to radiate the joy of life — seldom bring their just returns on the money market.

But these precious qualities were recognized to the extent of $90,000 in the will of the late Lucien Guilbert, pioneer lumber man of Yreka, who died recently.

As a result, Miss Caroline O. Koester, chief clerk of the field division of the Federal General Land Office in this city, and her mother, Mrs. Katherine Koester of Alameda, are wealthy.

"The large legacy came as a great surprise to mother and myself," said Miss Koester, when seen at her Alameda home, following a decision of the Third District Court of Appeals, which awarded them the bulk of the Guilbert estate.

"We were kind to Mr. Guilbert's sister during her long illness at Yreka, and she always considered our home her home. We simply did what we considered our duty as friends, and had no idea that we were going to be so richly rewarded. Mr. Guilbert, of course, often spoke of our kindliness and real helpfulness to his sister, and seemed to appreciate it deeply."

"Shall I continue to work at the land office? Why, of course. I have always worked, and I don't see why this money should change my life in any way."

The Guilbert will was the subject of bitter contest, waged by the four children of Guilbert's half-brother, who were each left $500 bequests. They alleged that he was incapable of disposing of his property when the will was made. The half-brother, Louis B. Guilbert, of Manteca, was left $5,000.

Other bequests of the will included several $500 gifts to friends of Yreka, $250 to a church and $500 each to two other children of Mrs. Katherine Koester — Edward Koester, of McCloud, and Fred Koester, of the United States Army.

Tales of Two Nickels and a Five-Dollar Gold Piece

1903

TALES OF TWO NICKELS

Singular Things That Happened to Street Car Travelers.

It was in a Boston street car. When the car stopped at a crossing, a lady got up and went to the door. As she rose there was the chink of a coin on the floor, but before it occurred to any one to stop her, she was out of the car and across the street. Two ladies, who had sat next to her looked with anxious indifference on the floor. One of them leaned slightly forward, but said nothing. Just as the conductor was reaching for the bell-rope a young man spied the coin, and dashed out of the car. He caught the lady who had left the car, handed her the coin, ran back, caught the step of the car as the motors began to sing in crescendo, and sat down breathless. One of the two ladies opposite him leaned forward and said coldly, "Young man, what did you do with the nickel I dropped?" The passengers tittered. An old man at the other end of the car turned to his neighbor, "That reminds me," he said, "of something that happened to my wife years ago.

"It was before the days of conductors, when we used to drop nickels into a slot, and they ran down a groove to the box behind the driver.

"My wife had started out with a little change and one of those troublesome five-dollar gold pieces which used to be more commonly in circulation than they are now. Her eyes were not good, and so she was nervous about her gold piece, and had it on her mind all the way downtown.

"When she took a car for home, she met a friend, and grew interested in conversation with her. She put her coin in the slot absentmindedly. The driver turned as it struck the box. You remember the coin fell into a glass compartment first, and then the driver pushed a lever which sent it into the strong box below.

"As my wife heard the click of the lever, she thought of her five-dollar gold piece. She looked in her purse. Sure enough it was gone. She went forward and spoke to the driver. He said he hadn't looked very carefully, but he thought there were only three nickels in the glass receptacle when he pushed the lever.

"My wife insisted. The driver said if she would ride to the end of the line, the cashier at the station would open the box. This meant a journey of two miles beyond our street, and my wife was in a hurry.

"An old gentleman who sat by the door said he was going to the end of the line, and offered to give her $4.95, and get the gold piece at the station. My wife thanked him and took the money. When she got home she found the $5 gold piece in the lining of her purse.

"Next day I went to the station. The cashier said an old gentleman had made him open the box. There was no gold piece. The old gentleman had left in a rage, refusing to give his name. He said he had been swindled, and did not want to be known for a fool.

"We advertised in the papers, but we never heard from him. — Youth's Companion.

—Davenport Daily Republican, Davenport, Iowa, March 4, 1903, page 3.

Snapshots by Barbara Boyd - Thoughtless Good Intentions

1913

Snapshots by Barbara Boyd
Thoughtless Good Intentions

Do not think the good intentions that pave the lower region are any worse than the good intentions which are put into execution, but which have no thought back of them," said the clubwoman.

"They are not half so bad," replied her friend, "for they don't worry anybody or do any damage. They never really live, and so, not having life, they can do neither good or ill. But good intentions that are full of life, and on their job, often work quite as much harm as good."

"That's what I think," responded the clubwoman. "They are often what I call thoughtless good intentions. With the very best of intentions, a person will rush to do something for you without even stopping to think whether you may want that thing done or not; and so precipitate upon your defenseless head an avalanche of trouble and annoyance.

"I got to thinking about this," went on the clubwoman, "because of something Mrs. Smith, a neighbor of mine, did the other day. I wasn't feeling very well, and I thought if I could lie down undisturbed and get a little sleep, I would be all right. The only one likely to come was the ice boy; so I hung out a little sign telling him what I wanted, and then went upstairs and crawled into bed. I was just dozing off, when the bell rang so furiously, and kept on ringing so persistently, that I thought the house must be on fire, or there was a dire telegram, or my husband had been run over by an auto, and I scrambled out and ran down. And who do you think it was?"

"Give it up," said her friend.

"This same Mrs. Smith, to ask me excitedly if I knew there was a sign pinned to the porch post. She said she was going by and saw it fluttering there, and thought maybe I didn't know it and ought to be told. Honestly, I could have choked her with right good will. I don't wonder murders are committed. I felt like asking her didn't she suppose I had eyes in my head, and would I be likely to hang up a sign and not know it was there, and a few more pointed questions like that. But being a supposedly civilized being, I only smiled feebly and said, 'Yes, I knew it was there as I had put it there myself,' whereat she apologized, and said she thought maybe it might be something I would like to know about. You see her intention was all right, but there was no thought back of it."

"There are plenty of such people," agreed her friend. "It's my private opinion that good intentions are a sort of cloak that lots of people use, to throw over thoughtlessness and selfishness and various others of the cardinal sins. The person who effervesces with good intentions, I avoid as I would the plague."

—The Newark Advocate, Newark, Ohio, April 8, 1913, page 5.

Big Jim, Shawnee, Says Education is "Bunk"

1920

Indian Chief Declares Against School for Papooses

NORMAN, Okla. -- Education is the bunk -- or the Indian word to that effect -- in the opinion of Big Jim, chief of the Shawnee tribe. Indian agents here plan to force Big Jim to permit the 300 children of his tribe to attend the agency school. Big Jim holds that the white man had nothing of value to teach papooses.


So Shines A Good Deed

DAYTON, Ohio -- A little matter of $15,000, left him by a man he had befriended years ago, did not disturb Harry Levy, tailor. He is still at his bench and will stay there. He says: "Fifteen thousand dollars is not as much as it was in the days when I knew my friend, but I have forgotten the good turn I did him which brought forth the money."

--The Saturday Blade, Chicago, March 27, 1920, page 10.