“As you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are”
Walt Disney is likely rolling in his grave to learn that his twin grandchildren are embarking on protracted litigation this week in a courtroom only 20 miles from Disneyland itself.
Walt’s twin grandchildren, Brad and Michelle Lund, 43, have not seen each other in the last four years due to the vitriol involved in the litigation.
Their mother Sharon, was the daughter of Walt Disney and she died in 1993, leaving trust funds totalling $300 million, to be distributed to her two children on their 35th, 40th and 45th birthdays.
At each of those milestones they were to be given a 20% slice of whatever was in their trust.
The problem arose due to the another term in her will, whereby the three trustees were instructed to withhold payment if either of the children had not “demonstrated the maturity and financial ability to manage and utilize such funds in a prudent and reasonable manner”.
After Brad was told that he did not meet these standards, while his twin Michelle did, she received her payments and Brad did not receive his.
Brad is backed in the court case by the twins natural father. Ahe schism had been made worse due to the fact that Michelle suffered a brain aneurysm in 2009, and the trustees refused to allow her to be moved by her father from California to a rehabilitation center in Arizona. After Michelle’s recovery, she seems to have sided with the trustees in the ongoing dispute with Brad and her father.
Brad commenced a petition in California Supreme Court accusing the three trustees of a breach of trust, and demanding payment of his birth a lump sums, the removal of the trustees, and punitive damages against them.
Brad maintains that his lawsuit is not against his sister Michelle, but instead is against the trustees, but it is difficult to separate the two.
Further complicating the family squabble it is Brad’s assertion that the twins half- sister Victoria died, leaving no children, but received her 35th birthday distribution even though she was abusing drugs and alcohol.
So ultimately one of the world’s most well-known and beloved men, who built “The Happiest Place On Earth”, only to see the grandchildren litigate it away.
R. Trevor Todd is pleased to announce that “Pete” has joined R. Trevor Todd, Linda Yardley, Judith Milliken Q.C., and Jazzy in the practice of wills, estates and estate litigation.
Death renders all equal,” wrote Claudian. How each one of us relates to death, however, is individual, and always changing — as we mature; as we contemplate life, and death, around us; and as society changes. In this special edition of the National Post, we present stories and columns looking at the different ways we see, and prepare for, the Great Equalizer.
Like life, death never stops changing. Every generation faces new facts about the end of life. Every generation thinks about it in a different way.
Fifty years ago, a Canadian who lived to 100 was a news item and the recipient of a letter from the Queen. Today Canada has about 6,000 centenarians and their number increases by roughly 1,000 a year. A century ago, the death of a child was an expected part of family life; today we are appalled and outraged when it happens. Fifty years ago, suicide was universally abhorred and treated as a crime, if not a sin. Today the right to die, which means suicide for a good reason, is legal in several countries and American states; it may soon be a part of Canadian life.
Our attitude to death might strike our grandparents as inconsistent. We may or may not be terrified by it, but in choosing our entertainment we embrace it with delight. Each night of the week a small army of actors is gunned down in our living rooms. That’s one way the present moment is unique in the history of the human race. People once defended violence in TV by citing the killings in the Bible, Shakespeare and ancient Greek drama. But earlier forms of fictional death usually carried a heavy charge of meaning and often illuminated moral issues. The casual, often motiveless slaughter we watch now on TV is different. And in quantity it dwarfs the literature and drama of previous millennia.
It is not too much to say that death has become the core of popular culture. It appears that broadcasters and audiences agree that this is how it should be. We regret the reality of death, we do all we can to put it off, but clearly we find it satisfying to contemplate, often.
The young 21st century has expanded another death-related phenomenon: Huge audiences are attracted to narratives based on the notion that vampires live among us, bringing with them the exotic desires of their kind. These elaborate, often brilliantly composed stories echo superstitions of the past. In a science-dominated world they cling to the Gothic imagination of our ancestors.
As our view of death changes — and this special edition of the National Post will look at how our relationship with death continues to change — we alter our formal responses to it. A few decades ago, every funeral was solemn. Men wore black ties and long faces, women cried, unsmiling clergy delivered deadly serious eulogies. Spouses never took part: They were assumed to be so deep in mourning that they couldn’t speak.
Today, funerals can be a time for telling jokes and for light-hearted accounts of the dead individual’s eccentricities. Widows and widowers speak their own tributes if they care to. Sometimes we change the name of the event and call it “a celebration of the life” of the deceased, as if we had all decided not to let ourselves be too downcast. We work hard to keep death in perspective.
We talk more freely about death than we did a few generations ago but there remain certain aspects of it that we find hard to face. One that has always confused me is death by accident. While we profoundly believe in the value of human life, more than 2,000 Canadians a year die in motor vehicle accidents. Each death devastates people close to the victim, diminishing their lives forever. Yet the numbers register with most of us as no more than statistics. What if eight Canadian passenger planes fell to the ground annually, each killing 250 humans? If that happened, flying would soon be suspended until we found a way to make it safer.
Related
So, then, how can we tolerate the cruelty of road traffic? Because we are used to it. Unknowingly, we have built that cause of death into our moral system. It has become what historians call an unspoken assumption. We now consider those numbers normal.
As an 81-year-old, I naturally think more about death than young people do. It can’t be too far in the future. But contemplating what is to come makes me also think about all that has happened. You gain a lot by living eight decades, but you can also lose a lot.
You outlive nearly all of your elders, most of your contemporaries and even some of your younger friends. I find this far more painful than the failings of my body. Attending a funeral often means carrying home a sense of loss, of absence, that never disappears.
In an old man, a good memory like mine (though it’s weakening on the short-term side) can lead to melancholy thoughts. Memory makes you realize how much you miss certain people: Their wisdom, their laughter, their quirks, the well of affection you shared. Luis Buñuel, the great film director, kept a small pad on which he listed all the people he liked who had died. I couldn’t bear that and, in any case, don’t need it: One of my most cherished mentors died four decades ago and when I write on a favourite subject of his, I wonder what he would think of my piece. Sometimes I even work out his reactions in detail.
What I miss is the chance to talk to him and many others. I can recall the details of conversations I had with them but I want more: To revisit arguments, trade gossip, work over the great and small events of the world.
There are whole platoons of people among the missing. For instance, I can remember the reaction of my fellow sports writers when I wrote my first (also my last) story on the caber toss, the event in which Scots athletes throw giant wooden poles into the distance. I informed sports-page readers that this event had strong “cultural connotations,” a phrase my co-workers rightly found pretentious.
As an 81-year-old, I naturally think more about death than young people do
This was 60 years ago and I remember in detail all those people, nine men and one woman, each of them 10 or 15 years older than I and therefore unlikely to be reachable by phone at this time.
I remember where we all sat in our sports department, what they looked like, the advice they gave me. An assistant sports editor, a man of infinite gentleness, told me it was a crime to spell names incorrectly, especially names of people rarely mentioned in print; they would be hurt and would never forget it. Those journalists were my first colleagues and my teachers; a certain part of me loves them still.
A dear friend died just recently and, at least twice a week since, I have thought of something I wanted to tell him or ask him; a second later I remember the truth. That’s a certain kind of loneliness. It accrues and deepens.
But none of this is to be considered a complaint. Breathing and thinking, and still able to operate this miraculous instrument invented for my use in Silicon Valley — I find that, all things considered, there’s a great deal of pleasure in being old.
Many of us say that we don’t fear death. Our time in history is predominantly secular, which means that it’s relatively easy to consider dying simply a last page. We like to think of death visiting us in a relaxed, generous mood. Or we could settle for its appearance during sleep: The father of a friend of mine was reading in bed, felt sleepy, put his glasses on the bedside table, fell asleep and did not wake up. Ideal, in its way.
But it can be horrible. I don’t fear death but I’m terrified of painful and boring months (or even years) in palliative care. What if joy and wonder disappear, but a version of life endures? People can lose the ability to hear or talk. Their decline severs connections with spouses, children and friends. What if I can’t exchange words with anyone? What if I can’t read? If I can’t watch my grandchildren grow, and laugh with them, I won’t truly be alive. If able, I will earnestly request medical help to end to my life.
I don’t fear death but I’m terrified of painful and boring months (or even years) in palliative care
In 1970, I contributed a piece called “The Future of Death” to a book of essays that Stephen Clarkson edited, Vision 2020: Fifty Canadians in Search of a Future. I predicted that by the year 2020, death would be far better managed: “One imagines people openly discussing their deaths, deciding reasonably and honestly the point at which their lives should finish.” In 1970, no one objected to those sentiments, but 20 years later a man in Kamloops, B.C., discovered my essay reprinted in a school reader. He spent two years petitioning federal and provincial ministers to have me prosecuted for counselling suicide, to no avail. He argued that students would read it and kill themselves.
I thought of him earlier this month and wondered if the B.C Court of Appeal gladdened his heart when it upheld the ban on medically assisted suicide. Still, I’m guessing that the dissenting opinion of Chief Justice Lance Finch is closer to the emerging national consensus: “The point at which the meaning of life is lost, when life’s positive attributes are so diminished as to render life valueless” is a personal decision we should all have the right to make for ourselves.
The Quebec legislature has on the order paper a bill allowing medical assistance for suicide. The Manitoba health minister, Theresa Oswald, says “This is a conversation whose time has come.” Other health ministers are moving in the same direction. Perhaps I wasn’t overly optimistic when I suggested that it might be resolved by 2020.
There was a time when most politicians found euthanasia far too controversial even to mention. But recent decades have eliminated many once-banned topics and this one has finally made its way to the surface. It appears that generations of free speech and anxious argument have actually led to improvements in certain crucial aspects of life, including even, notably, death.
Death renders all equal,” wrote Claudian. How each one of us relates to death, however, is individual, and always changing — as we mature; as we contemplate life, and death, around us; and as society changes. In this special edition of the
Like life, death never stops changing. Every generation faces new facts about the end of life. Every generation thinks about it in a different way.
Fifty years ago, a Canadian who lived to 100 was a news item and the recipient of a letter from the Queen. Today Canada has about 6,000 centenarians and their number increases by roughly 1,000 a year. A century ago, the death of a child was an expected part of family life; today we are appalled and outraged when it happens. Fifty years ago, suicide was universally abhorred and treated as a crime, if not a sin. Today the right to die, which means suicide for a good reason, is legal in several countries and American states; it may soon be a part of Canadian life.
Our attitude to death might strike our grandparents as inconsistent. We may or may not be terrified by it, but in choosing our entertainment we embrace it with delight. Each night of the week a small army of actors is gunned down in our living rooms. That’s one way the present moment is unique in the history of the human race. People once defended violence in TV by citing the killings in the Bible, Shakespeare and ancient Greek drama. But earlier forms of fictional death usually carried a heavy charge of meaning and often illuminated moral issues. The casual, often motiveless slaughter we watch now on TV is different. And in quantity it dwarfs the literature and drama of previous millennia.
It is not too much to say that death has become the core of popular culture. It appears that broadcasters and audiences agree that this is how it should be. We regret the reality of death, we do all we can to put it off, but clearly we find it satisfying to contemplate, often.
The young 21st century has expanded another death-related phenomenon: Huge audiences are attracted to narratives based on the notion that vampires live among us, bringing with them the exotic desires of their kind. These elaborate, often brilliantly composed stories echo superstitions of the past. In a science-dominated world they cling to the Gothic imagination of our ancestors.
As our view of death changes — and this special edition of the National Post will look at how our relationship with death continues to change — we alter our formal responses to it. A few decades ago, every funeral was solemn. Men wore black ties and long faces, women cried, unsmiling clergy delivered deadly serious eulogies. Spouses never took part: They were assumed to be so deep in mourning that they couldn’t speak.
Today, funerals can be a time for telling jokes and for light-hearted accounts of the dead individual’s eccentricities. Widows and widowers speak their own tributes if they care to. Sometimes we change the name of the event and call it “a celebration of the life” of the deceased, as if we had all decided not to let ourselves be too downcast. We work hard to keep death in perspective.
We talk more freely about death than we did a few generations ago but there remain certain aspects of it that we find hard to face. One that has always confused me is death by accident. While we profoundly believe in the value of human life, more than 2,000 Canadians a year die in motor vehicle accidents. Each death devastates people close to the victim, diminishing their lives forever. Yet the numbers register with most of us as no more than statistics. What if eight Canadian passenger planes fell to the ground annually, each killing 250 humans? If that happened, flying would soon be suspended until we found a way to make it safer.
Related
So, then, how can we tolerate the cruelty of road traffic? Because we are used to it. Unknowingly, we have built that cause of death into our moral system. It has become what historians call an unspoken assumption. We now consider those numbers normal.
As an 81-year-old, I naturally think more about death than young people do. It can’t be too far in the future. But contemplating what is to come makes me also think about all that has happened. You gain a lot by living eight decades, but you can also lose a lot.
You outlive nearly all of your elders, most of your contemporaries and even some of your younger friends. I find this far more painful than the failings of my body. Attending a funeral often means carrying home a sense of loss, of absence, that never disappears.
In an old man, a good memory like mine (though it’s weakening on the short-term side) can lead to melancholy thoughts. Memory makes you realize how much you miss certain people: Their wisdom, their laughter, their quirks, the well of affection you shared. Luis Buñuel, the great film director, kept a small pad on which he listed all the people he liked who had died. I couldn’t bear that and, in any case, don’t need it: One of my most cherished mentors died four decades ago and when I write on a favourite subject of his, I wonder what he would think of my piece. Sometimes I even work out his reactions in detail.
What I miss is the chance to talk to him and many others. I can recall the details of conversations I had with them but I want more: To revisit arguments, trade gossip, work over the great and small events of the world.
There are whole platoons of people among the missing. For instance, I can remember the reaction of my fellow sports writers when I wrote my first (also my last) story on the caber toss, the event in which Scots athletes throw giant wooden poles into the distance. I informed sports-page readers that this event had strong “cultural connotations,” a phrase my co-workers rightly found pretentious.
As an 81-year-old, I naturally think more about death than young people do
This was 60 years ago and I remember in detail all those people, nine men and one woman, each of them 10 or 15 years older than I and therefore unlikely to be reachable by phone at this time.
I remember where we all sat in our sports department, what they looked like, the advice they gave me. An assistant sports editor, a man of infinite gentleness, told me it was a crime to spell names incorrectly, especially names of people rarely mentioned in print; they would be hurt and would never forget it. Those journalists were my first colleagues and my teachers; a certain part of me loves them still.
A dear friend died just recently and, at least twice a week since, I have thought of something I wanted to tell him or ask him; a second later I remember the truth. That’s a certain kind of loneliness. It accrues and deepens.
But none of this is to be considered a complaint. Breathing and thinking, and still able to operate this miraculous instrument invented for my use in Silicon Valley — I find that, all things considered, there’s a great deal of pleasure in being old.
Many of us say that we don’t fear death. Our time in history is predominantly secular, which means that it’s relatively easy to consider dying simply a last page. We like to think of death visiting us in a relaxed, generous mood. Or we could settle for its appearance during sleep: The father of a friend of mine was reading in bed, felt sleepy, put his glasses on the bedside table, fell asleep and did not wake up. Ideal, in its way.
But it can be horrible. I don’t fear death but I’m terrified of painful and boring months (or even years) in palliative care. What if joy and wonder disappear, but a version of life endures? People can lose the ability to hear or talk. Their decline severs connections with spouses, children and friends. What if I can’t exchange words with anyone? What if I can’t read? If I can’t watch my grandchildren grow, and laugh with them, I won’t truly be alive. If able, I will earnestly request medical help to end to my life.
I don’t fear death but I’m terrified of painful and boring months (or even years) in palliative care
In 1970, I contributed a piece called “The Future of Death” to a book of essays that Stephen Clarkson edited, Vision 2020: Fifty Canadians in Search of a Future. I predicted that by the year 2020, death would be far better managed: “One imagines people openly discussing their deaths, deciding reasonably and honestly the point at which their lives should finish.” In 1970, no one objected to those sentiments, but 20 years later a man in Kamloops, B.C., discovered my essay reprinted in a school reader. He spent two years petitioning federal and provincial ministers to have me prosecuted for counselling suicide, to no avail. He argued that students would read it and kill themselves.
I thought of him earlier this month and wondered if the B.C Court of Appeal gladdened his heart when it upheld the ban on medically assisted suicide. Still, I’m guessing that the dissenting opinion of Chief Justice Lance Finch is closer to the emerging national consensus: “The point at which the meaning of life is lost, when life’s positive attributes are so diminished as to render life valueless” is a personal decision we should all have the right to make for ourselves.
The Quebec legislature has on the order paper a bill allowing medical assistance for suicide. The Manitoba health minister, Theresa Oswald, says “This is a conversation whose time has come.” Other health ministers are moving in the same direction. Perhaps I wasn’t overly optimistic when I suggested that it might be resolved by 2020.
There was a time when most politicians found euthanasia far too controversial even to mention. But recent decades have eliminated many once-banned topics and this one has finally made its way to the surface. It appears that generations of free speech and anxious argument have actually led to improvements in certain crucial aspects of life, including even, notably, death.
Death renders all equal,” wrote Claudian. How each one of us relates to death, however, is individual, and always changing — as we mature; as we contemplate life, and death, around us; and as society changes. In this special edition of the
Like life, death never stops changing. Every generation faces new facts about the end of life. Every generation thinks about it in a different way.
Fifty years ago, a Canadian who lived to 100 was a news item and the recipient of a letter from the Queen. Today Canada has about 6,000 centenarians and their number increases by roughly 1,000 a year. A century ago, the death of a child was an expected part of family life; today we are appalled and outraged when it happens. Fifty years ago, suicide was universally abhorred and treated as a crime, if not a sin. Today the right to die, which means suicide for a good reason, is legal in several countries and American states; it may soon be a part of Canadian life.
Our attitude to death might strike our grandparents as inconsistent. We may or may not be terrified by it, but in choosing our entertainment we embrace it with delight. Each night of the week a small army of actors is gunned down in our living rooms. That’s one way the present moment is unique in the history of the human race. People once defended violence in TV by citing the killings in the Bible, Shakespeare and ancient Greek drama. But earlier forms of fictional death usually carried a heavy charge of meaning and often illuminated moral issues. The casual, often motiveless slaughter we watch now on TV is different. And in quantity it dwarfs the literature and drama of previous millennia.
It is not too much to say that death has become the core of popular culture. It appears that broadcasters and audiences agree that this is how it should be. We regret the reality of death, we do all we can to put it off, but clearly we find it satisfying to contemplate, often.
The young 21st century has expanded another death-related phenomenon: Huge audiences are attracted to narratives based on the notion that vampires live among us, bringing with them the exotic desires of their kind. These elaborate, often brilliantly composed stories echo superstitions of the past. In a science-dominated world they cling to the Gothic imagination of our ancestors.
As our view of death changes — and this special edition of the National Post will look at how our relationship with death continues to change — we alter our formal responses to it. A few decades ago, every funeral was solemn. Men wore black ties and long faces, women cried, unsmiling clergy delivered deadly serious eulogies. Spouses never took part: They were assumed to be so deep in mourning that they couldn’t speak.
Today, funerals can be a time for telling jokes and for light-hearted accounts of the dead individual’s eccentricities. Widows and widowers speak their own tributes if they care to. Sometimes we change the name of the event and call it “a celebration of the life” of the deceased, as if we had all decided not to let ourselves be too downcast. We work hard to keep death in perspective.
We talk more freely about death than we did a few generations ago but there remain certain aspects of it that we find hard to face. One that has always confused me is death by accident. While we profoundly believe in the value of human life, more than 2,000 Canadians a year die in motor vehicle accidents. Each death devastates people close to the victim, diminishing their lives forever. Yet the numbers register with most of us as no more than statistics. What if eight Canadian passenger planes fell to the ground annually, each killing 250 humans? If that happened, flying would soon be suspended until we found a way to make it safer.
Related
So, then, how can we tolerate the cruelty of road traffic? Because we are used to it. Unknowingly, we have built that cause of death into our moral system. It has become what historians call an unspoken assumption. We now consider those numbers normal.
As an 81-year-old, I naturally think more about death than young people do. It can’t be too far in the future. But contemplating what is to come makes me also think about all that has happened. You gain a lot by living eight decades, but you can also lose a lot.
You outlive nearly all of your elders, most of your contemporaries and even some of your younger friends. I find this far more painful than the failings of my body. Attending a funeral often means carrying home a sense of loss, of absence, that never disappears.
In an old man, a good memory like mine (though it’s weakening on the short-term side) can lead to melancholy thoughts. Memory makes you realize how much you miss certain people: Their wisdom, their laughter, their quirks, the well of affection you shared. Luis Buñuel, the great film director, kept a small pad on which he listed all the people he liked who had died. I couldn’t bear that and, in any case, don’t need it: One of my most cherished mentors died four decades ago and when I write on a favourite subject of his, I wonder what he would think of my piece. Sometimes I even work out his reactions in detail.
What I miss is the chance to talk to him and many others. I can recall the details of conversations I had with them but I want more: To revisit arguments, trade gossip, work over the great and small events of the world.
There are whole platoons of people among the missing. For instance, I can remember the reaction of my fellow sports writers when I wrote my first (also my last) story on the caber toss, the event in which Scots athletes throw giant wooden poles into the distance. I informed sports-page readers that this event had strong “cultural connotations,” a phrase my co-workers rightly found pretentious.
As an 81-year-old, I naturally think more about death than young people do
This was 60 years ago and I remember in detail all those people, nine men and one woman, each of them 10 or 15 years older than I and therefore unlikely to be reachable by phone at this time.
I remember where we all sat in our sports department, what they looked like, the advice they gave me. An assistant sports editor, a man of infinite gentleness, told me it was a crime to spell names incorrectly, especially names of people rarely mentioned in print; they would be hurt and would never forget it. Those journalists were my first colleagues and my teachers; a certain part of me loves them still.
A dear friend died just recently and, at least twice a week since, I have thought of something I wanted to tell him or ask him; a second later I remember the truth. That’s a certain kind of loneliness. It accrues and deepens.
But none of this is to be considered a complaint. Breathing and thinking, and still able to operate this miraculous instrument invented for my use in Silicon Valley — I find that, all things considered, there’s a great deal of pleasure in being old.
Many of us say that we don’t fear death. Our time in history is predominantly secular, which means that it’s relatively easy to consider dying simply a last page. We like to think of death visiting us in a relaxed, generous mood. Or we could settle for its appearance during sleep: The father of a friend of mine was reading in bed, felt sleepy, put his glasses on the bedside table, fell asleep and did not wake up. Ideal, in its way.
But it can be horrible. I don’t fear death but I’m terrified of painful and boring months (or even years) in palliative care. What if joy and wonder disappear, but a version of life endures? People can lose the ability to hear or talk. Their decline severs connections with spouses, children and friends. What if I can’t exchange words with anyone? What if I can’t read? If I can’t watch my grandchildren grow, and laugh with them, I won’t truly be alive. If able, I will earnestly request medical help to end to my life.
I don’t fear death but I’m terrified of painful and boring months (or even years) in palliative care
In 1970, I contributed a piece called “The Future of Death” to a book of essays that Stephen Clarkson edited, Vision 2020: Fifty Canadians in Search of a Future. I predicted that by the year 2020, death would be far better managed: “One imagines people openly discussing their deaths, deciding reasonably and honestly the point at which their lives should finish.” In 1970, no one objected to those sentiments, but 20 years later a man in Kamloops, B.C., discovered my essay reprinted in a school reader. He spent two years petitioning federal and provincial ministers to have me prosecuted for counselling suicide, to no avail. He argued that students would read it and kill themselves.
I thought of him earlier this month and wondered if the B.C Court of Appeal gladdened his heart when it upheld the ban on medically assisted suicide. Still, I’m guessing that the dissenting opinion of Chief Justice Lance Finch is closer to the emerging national consensus: “The point at which the meaning of life is lost, when life’s positive attributes are so diminished as to render life valueless” is a personal decision we should all have the right to make for ourselves.
The Quebec legislature has on the order paper a bill allowing medical assistance for suicide. The Manitoba health minister, Theresa Oswald, says “This is a conversation whose time has come.” Other health ministers are moving in the same direction. Perhaps I wasn’t overly optimistic when I suggested that it might be resolved by 2020.
There was a time when most politicians found euthanasia far too controversial even to mention. But recent decades have eliminated many once-banned topics and this one has finally made its way to the surface. It appears that generations of free speech and anxious argument have actually led to improvements in certain crucial aspects of life, including even, notably, death.
Reprinted from the National Post
Robert Fulford: Death, like life, never stops changing, nor do our attitudes toward it
Increased Estate Litigation Due to Increased Longevity
In 1998 I did a seminar on mental capacity with a geriatric specialist who told the crowd that historically people only live to be 40 years of age. He mentioned that medical science has made such quantum leaps and advancement that people’s bodies, and in particular their minds, have not adjusted to the current longevity of the life expectancy well into the 80s or 90s. The following brief article was excerpted from the Atlantic:
Why We Live 40 Years Longer Today Than We Did in 1880
Joe PinskerOct 23 2013, 7:08 PM ET
The late 19th and early 20th centuries were a golden era of American health innovation. Breakthroughs like germ theory, antibiotics, and widespread vaccination, as well as major public-health advances in sanitation and regulation, neutralized many long-leading causes of death. Life expectancy skyrocketed as a result, but brought with it new demons. For the past 50 years, medical innovation has focused less on eradicating disease and more on managing chronic conditions. Does this indicate a slowdown in medical progress and a coming plateau in life expectancy? Or have we merely hit a lull before the next wave of major fixes?
Dead Man Walking: Judge Tells Man He Must Stay Dead
10/10/13, 7:11 PM EDT
(Credit: Hancock County Juvenile Court)
Legally, Donald Miller is dead and he’s staying that way in the eyes of the law. An Ohio judge told him so in court this week.
Miller, 61, testified on Monday in Ohio’s Hancock County Probate Court that he disappeared in 1986, leaving behind his wife, two children and unpaid child support after losing his job.
Years later, his wife, Robin Miller, sought to have him legally declared dead.
“She had no support,” Robin Miller’s attorney James Hammer told ABCNews.com. “By having a declaration of death, she would then potentially have access to collect Social Security benefits for her two minor children.”
Donald Miller was declared dead in 1994 and his family received his Social Security money.
A few months ago, Robin Miller discovered that not only was her “dead” husband not dead, he was back in Ohio and trying to re-establish his Social Security number.
“To realize that he was back and then to realize that he was going to be taking legal action, from her standpoint, was pretty unsettling and emotional,” Hammer said.
He said his client was “very startled” when her husband testified that he had actually been back in Ohio since around 2005, but she “didn’t wish him any ill-will.”
“Stay Dead”
“He had experienced alcoholism for a number of years and made choices based upon being in that condition,” Hammer said.
Despite his being alive and being in court, Judge Allan Davis ruled that Miller would be staying legally dead. Davis sdkfjhsdjsdfksajfsadkjfsafgsakjfh
told ABCNews.com that while the decision doesn’t appear to make much sense, it was actually very by the book.
“There really wasn’t much opportunity to use any equity in this case because we have a statute right on point,” he said.
A legal statute in Ohio prevents changes to death rulings after three years have passed.
Those involved in the case are uncertain about what happens next in the case and to Donald Miller.
When asked if Donald Miller would be appealing or taking his case to a higher court, his attorney Francis Marley told ABCNews.com, “Probably not.”
“We may go another avenue as far as federal something, but we haven’t decided yet,” he said. “He’s obviously disappointed. Who wouldn’t be?”
“It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime cases,” Judge Davis sdkfjhsdjsdfksajfsadkjfsafgsakjfh
The case is largely reported as one of undue influence and testamentary capacity, but the defendant counter claimed for an award of damages based on unjust enrichment, for a reasonable fee for the care giving services provided for over 5 years.
The court in effect awarded over $200,000 for these services, based on approximately one half of what a full time paid caregiver would charge.
The court noted that after his dismissal the deceased had to pay $8000 per month for her care prior to her death.
B. The defendant’s counterclaim for unjust enrichment
[89] Mr. Reid seeks compensation on the basis of quantum meruit, for unpaid services which he provided to Mrs. Foreman which he says unjustly enriched her estate.
[90] To establish entitlement to compensation on a quantum meruit, Mr. Reid has the burden of proving the elements of unjust enrichment, which are:
an enrichment;
a corresponding deprivation;
the absence of any juristic reason for the enrichment.
See Peel (Regional Municipality) v. Canada, [1992] 3 S.C.R. 762, 98 D.L.R. (4th) 140.
[91] I am satisfied that Mr. Reid has met that burden.
[92] While Mr. Reid’s explanation for his devotion to Mrs. Foreman to the detriment of his professional career is at first blush difficult to understand, I am satisfied that when considered in light of her many promises to him and his genuine affection for her, it is explicable.
[93] The totality of the evidence establishes that Mrs. Foreman was a domineering woman whose will would not easily be overborne, and I find that Mr. Reid chose to accommodate her wishes that he provide care services to her and be compensated for that rather than defy or displease her by carrying on full time with his own career in real estate.
[94] That decision was not, of course, entirely altruistic. I accept that promises, including one that she would transfer at least half of the title to her valuable home, and one that she would provide him with a bequest for $200,000, were made to him by Mrs. Foreman. If they had come to fruition, Mr. Reid would have been generously compensated for his efforts.
[95] Mr. MacRae also testified that Mrs. Foreman variously discussed with him giving Mr. Reid half of her house, or up to $200,000, to express her gratitude and debt to him, and that after further discussions with Mr. MacRae in early 2005, gave Mr. MacRae instructions to settle a gift of $100,000 upon Mr. Reid in the contemplated alter ego trust.
[96] I do, however, also find that in addition to acting upon promises of further recompense, Mr. Reid cared deeply for Mrs. Foreman and her well-being, and did his best to care for her as she wished. His obvious distress and emotion when testifying about his removal from the Capilano Road home by the police in June of 2005, and his loss of contact.
When Billionaires are willing to air their family laundry over inheritances, it makes one reflect on do these people ever have enough money? The Revlon Heiress Ms Perelman is suing her uncle over her grandfather’s will alleging that his son used undue influence to dwindle away an inheritance which may have been as much as $200 million from her ” inheritance”
Revlon heiress Samantha Perelman battles uncle over share of grandfather’s fortune
David Porter, Associated Press | 28/09/13 | Last Updated: 28/09/13 4:44 PM ET
More from Associated Press
AP Photo/The Record of Bergen County, Amy Newman, PoolSamantha Perelman looks on during opening arguments in her lawsuit against the Cohen family in Superior Court in Hackensack, N.J.
Twitter
Google+
LinkedIn
Email
Comments
More
Tumblr
Pinterest
Reddit
Digg
FarkIt
StumbleUpon
HACKENSACK, N.J. — A bitter fight between two of the New York area’s wealthiest families is playing out in the modest trappings of a county courthouse more used to seeing low-level drug offenders and alimony cheats.
On one side is James Cohen, son of the founder of Hudson News, the newsstand operator with stores in airports and train stations across the country. On the other is Cohen’s niece, Samantha Perelman, the 23-year-old daughter of billionaire Revlon Chairman Ronald Perelman.
Samantha Perelman claims her uncle systematically squeezed her out of her grandfather Robert Cohen’s will as he suffered from the debilitating effects of a Parkinson’s-like disease before dying in 2012.
The case figures to turn on whether Perelman’s attorneys can demonstrate to state Superior Court Judge Estela De La Cruz that James Cohen used undue influence to get his father to change his will several times to reduce Perelman’s share.
AP Photo/The Record of Bergen County, Mitsu Yasukawa, PoolJames Cohen is accused of using undue influence to get his father to change his will several times to reduce Samantha Perelman’s share.
Cohen’s attorneys don’t mince words in court filings, calling Perelman’s lawsuit “brazen beyond belief” and the product of “pure gall.” They claim that even under Robert Cohen’s last will, penned in 2009, Samantha Perelman stood to inherit jewelry and real estate worth more than $20 million and insurance policies worth more than $47 million. They also claim her lawsuit is a thinly veiled attempt by Ron Perelman to use his daughter to get control of the Hudson News empire.
“This shameless lawsuit is filled with repackaged claims, and we are confident that the truth will again prevail as it has in every previous iteration of this nuisance litigation,” James Cohen said through a spokeswoman.
Christine Taylor, a spokeswoman for Samantha Perelman, called the accusations regarding Ron Perelman “simply not true.”
“It’s something they feel if they repeat enough times it’ll be true,” she said. “It couldn’t be further from the truth, it has never been the case and it has never been contended that the business should go to Ronald Perelman or Samantha. They would like to make it about Ronald because it’s easier to beat up on a grown-up than a 23-year-old girl.”
‘My mother taught me to stand up for what I believe, and I know she would have been heartbroken by what was done’
James Cohen, who lives in northern New Jersey, began working for Hudson News in 1980, became CEO in 1994 and had always been in line to inherit the business from his father, according to his court filings. He is credited with developing it into a business that sold for $805 million in 2008.
In the 2004 document that Samantha Perelman is seeking to be considered her grandfather’s last valid will, she stood to receive real estate in Palm Beach, Fla., New York City and Englewood; $25 million in cash; $500,000 a year for 10 years; a corporate jet; and other assets totalling about $150 million, according to her court filings. Her attorneys charge that once her mother, gossip columnist Claudia Cohen, died in 2007, James Cohen took control of his father’s estate planning, and the “changes adverse to Claudia and Samantha came repeatedly, relentlessly and secretly.”
Over the next several years, Robert Cohen’s physical condition worsened steadily as he battled progressive supranuclear palsy, a disorder that attacks muscular control and ultimately left him unable to walk, speak or care for himself, according to court papers.
AP Photo/The Record, Elizabeth LaraSamantha Perelman listens to witness testimony in superior court in Hackensack, NJ in a lawsuit against the Cohen family.
In a previous trial, also in Hackensack, a different Superior Court judge ruled against the Perelmans and concluded that Robert Cohen was “fundamentally sound” in his thinking and legally allowed to make a new will. Under the law, however, a person can still be unduly influenced in the making of a will even if he or she is considered to have mental capacity, both sides said.
Samantha Perelman graduated recently from the University of Pennsylvania and is pursuing an MBA at Columbia University. Court papers revealed that her grandfather referred to her as “Little Cupcake.” She is expected to testify next week.
“My mother always taught me to stand up for what I believe, and I know she would have been heartbroken by what was done in connection with her father’s will,” Samantha Perelman said in an emailed statement. “This is my case and I intend to make sure my grandfather’s true intentions are carried out.”
Not all of the world’s super rich billionaires are dedicated to being extraordinarily altruistic — many decide to spend their money indulging in fancy cars, planes, and yachts and not on their children
Warren Buffet is notorious for saying he will donate all his fortune rather than leave it to his children .
But others want to spread as much of their wealth as possible before they die. A select few even want that last check to only cover the cost of their funeral.
Of course, not everyone stands to gain from such selflessness — namely, the children of these generous donors.
Though they will still have untold opportunities, advantages, and connections, to help them succeed, the children of many tycoons won’t be living large off their inheritances.
Moguls such as Warren Buffett and Bill Gates typify the sentiment of these largely self made people, that having too much money from an early age is a disaster for that individual, as well as not being good for society as a whole.
Mayor Bloomberg says of his 20 billion and his two children, in his letter to The Giving Pledge, Bloomberg wrote that “nearly all of my net worth will be given away in the years ahead or left to my foundation.”
Bloomberg’s two daughters, however, may be left to foot the bill upon his death. Bloomberg once said “the best financial planning ends with bouncing the check to the undertaker.”
Even Kiss rock star Gene Simmons stated: in terms of an inheritance and stuff, they’re gonna be taken care of, but they will never be rich off my money. Because every year they should be forced to get up out of bed, and go out and work and make their own way.”
Finally, Andrew Lloyd Webber :
Having racked up hundreds of millions of dollars and becoming a knight thanks to his work as a theater composer, Webber wants to use that money to encourage teaching the arts.
Webber once said that ”(A will) is one thing you do start to think about when you get to my age. I don’t think it should be about having a whole load of rich children and grandchildren. I think it should be used as a way to encourage the arts.”
His five children will be “taken care of,” but the majority of the estate will go towards arts programs.
Sibling rivalry is rife in estate litigation
Things To Say Before You Die and are still alive.