Saul Herschel and the Teddy Bear Lady

Saul Herschel and the Teddy Bear Lady of South Park

August 2020

Saul Herschel was starting his workday. His laptop lay open on the long, hardwood table near the kitchen of the house that he shared with three of the other partners of his new law firm in South Park, a mid-sized city near the east coast. The house served double-duty for them, all lawyers in their second year of practice. It was both their home and their office as they sheltered in place during the pandemic. They used the table for their meals, firm meetings, and as makeshift workstations. Saul caught the mixed scent of French roast coffee and buttered cinnamon toast. This house was not a traditional law office.

An incoming email caused his laptop's alarm to sound. "Must be important," he mumbled to himself. It came from the medical director of Lincoln Memorial Hospital, Dr. Charles Preston. Saul advocated pro bono for patients of the hospital and their families with disputes against the hospital involving treatment decisions. To Saul, Dr. Preston was neither friend nor enemy. He was an executive who tried to be an honest broker to resolve conflicts when they arose.

The email read, "Saul, the Teddy Bear Lady passed away last week. She named you as executor of her will. What do you know about that?" Nothing, Saul thought. Absolutely nothing.

To Saul, the Teddy Bear Lady was an elderly woman who prowled the hospital's waiting rooms looking for kids whose family members were undergoing treatment. She gave them teddy bears and listened to them. She was hugely popular with both the recipients and their families. Saul wondered what that was all about. What kid wanted a teddy bear in these days of electronic everything? And wanted to speak with an old, dowdy woman?

Saul wrote back to Dr. Preston, "What will? Where is it?" He was a lawyer, after all.

Dr. Preston's reply read, "She left a sealed envelope at the nursing station in Pediatrics. I have attached a photo of it. What should I do with it?" The picture showed a simple, 9 x 12-inch manila envelope with three lines of text in beautiful cursive handwriting.

Saul looked across the table at Suzanne Lapointe, the only other partner currently in the house. She was busy on her own laptop. He said, "What do you make of this?" sliding his computer to her so she could read the email chain.

Suzanne chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she absorbed the text. She looked up after she finished. "First-principles, Saul. The envelope and, presumably, the will inside named you, so you decide. If Dr. Preston opens the envelope to scan and send you the contents, he will know what's in it. Is that what you want?" Suzanne knew far more about wills and estates than he did.

"I won't know until I read it, so I guess not." Saul emailed back to Dr. Preston that he would arrange for a courier, which he did with a few keystrokes.

Suzanne asked, "Who was Ms. Farley? And what was she to you?"

"I only saw her passing in the halls. We were never introduced. I can't think why she named me in her will. Not that there can be much of an estate. She spent almost every day at the hospital, rain or shine. She couldn't have had much of a life outside."

A few hours later, Saul read the simple, three-page will. It was carefully handwritten on high-quality paper in the same ink as the label. Joanne signed and dated it only six months before. It was concise and legally compliant, although Saul could tell that a lawyer had not drafted it. He recognized the names of the two witnesses who signed beside her signature because he had advocated for them in disputes with hospital staff.

The will left everything in Joanne Farley's estate to Saul to create a non-profit "for the health, education, and welfare" of families with children treated in the "past, present or future" at Lincoln Memorial Hospital. How much money was there? A note was attached to the will in the same longhand as the will and the envelope. It read simply: