Monica Gilvary was a first cousin of my father. The family called her Monnie. She lived and worked in Manhattan for all of her adult life, I believe. To my knowledge she never married so I guess she could be described as a spinster. I met her about a half dozen times when she would visit her Scranton cousins on her vacation. My impression was that of her cousins she was closest to my Aunt Mary who also lived in New York (in the Bronx). But when Aunt Mary was moved to a nursing home in Scranton I think Monnie’s contact with her cousins was mostly through Aunt Eleanor. At some point Monnie apparently told Aunt Eleanor that she signed a Will which nominated Aunt Eleanor as Executor of her estate. Monnie passed away in 1993 and Aunt Eleanor was notified of her death. The superintendent of Monnie’s apartment building informed Aunt Eleanor that someone had to clear out Monnie’s apartment, and that the rent obligation would continue until that was done. Aunt Eleanor called me and said that due to her age she did not think that she could handle Monnie’s estate and the clearing of her Manhattan apartment, and she asked me if I would do it instead (I guess I was the chosen one because I was the only lawyer in the Tyrrell family). I agreed to do what I could.

I knew the first step was to find Monnie’s Will. We had no idea where the Will was located or what lawyer drew it up for her. Within a few days I flew to New York and went to her apartment building which was on the west side of Manhattan. I met the superintendent of the building and asked her to let me into the apartment so I could look for the Will and also ascertain what had to be done to clear out the apartment. I don’t think there was an elevator in the building because I remember following the superintendent up a couple of flights of stairs to Monnie’s apartment. When we got there I was taken aback to see yellow “Do Not Enter” police tape all over the door. It was only then that I learned Monnie was found dead on the floor of her apartment apparently several days after she passed. Due to that circumstance and even though there was no evidence of foul play the police identified the apartment as a possible crime scene. The superintendent was not at all deterred by the police tape, however, because she wanted that apartment emptied out so it could be rented to a new tenant. She abruptly tore off the tape and unlocked the door for me to enter, saying “go at it and let me know when you’re done”. I didn’t know whether to go into the apartment or not. I was pretty certain I had just witnessed an illegal act with the removal of the police tape and I didn’t want to be tagged as an accomplice. But I decided that I would enter the apartment and quickly find the Will which likely was in a desk or drawer or cabinet, and then exit before anyone other than the superintendent knew I was there.

It did not turn out, however, to be a quickie visit. First of all, I was aghast when I saw what a mess the apartment was. While Monnie may have died just a week or two before my trip to New York, judging from what I saw I think she gave up living for a period of months before her death. Clothing, blankets and other items were strewn about and newspapers, unopened junk mail, and other papers were all over the place. It looked as though for some time she gave up putting her clothes away and getting rid of trash. Pill bottles were scattered around the apartment, some opened and some unopened, and there seemed not to be one square inch of unoccupied space on any counter, table, dresser or other surface. The toilet was filthy dirty and the tub had used towels draped all over it. The worst area was probably the small kitchen, with the sink, counter and table loaded with unwashed dishes, utensils, pots and pans. To complete the picture there were live and dead roaches in the bathroom and the kitchen.

Notwithstanding the condition of the apartment I had to move all obstacles aside to search for the Will. I searched the entire apartment for about 90 minutes and couldn’t locate it. To add to the frustration I was experiencing from failure to find the Will, I started to feel physically uncomfortable because it was an extremely hot day in Manhattan and the apartment had no air conditioning. With the windows open I was becoming stressed by the constant noise of sirens going up and down Amsterdam Avenue, thinking it’s the police coming to get me for breaking and entering, and even if I don’t get a jail sentence it is likely that I will be disbarred. I was about to give up the search when as I was leaving the bedroom I noticed a blanket which seemed to have been thrown on the floor in the far corner of the bedroom closet. I picked up the blanket and learned that it was covering a suitcase. I opened the suitcase and, lo and behold, there was the Will. Alleluia, Alleluia! I was glad that I found the Will, but I was also like, c’mon man, who puts a Will in a suitcase for safekeeping?

I called an estate lawyer in lower Manhattan who was recommended to me by an attorney friend in D.C. I explained that I was an attorney from out-of-town and asked if I could come right down for a meeting concerning a new estate. The lawyer said she would fit me in on her schedule, so I high-tailed it out of the apartment, with the Will in hand, found the superintendent and told her that I was leaving for the day but would be back in about a week to clear out the apartment. I hailed a cab to go downtown with a great sense of relief that I was not going to be arrested by the NYPD that day. The lawyer was a sole practitioner who handled only probate work. It was actually just what I wanted because I knew she would be very familiar with the probate judges and that might help in successfully arranging for me to be appointed as the Executor of Monnie’s estate, notwithstanding that I was a nonresident of New York State, was not named in the Will as a potential Executor, and was not even a beneficiary of the estate. She was a chain-smoking 60-something year old woman with a gruffy voice, but I quickly sensed that she knew her way around the probate law, and her fee was in my view quite reasonable. She told me that all I had to do was to get Aunt Eleanor to sign a paper confirming that she declines to serve as Monnie’s Executor and that she would take care of the rest. And that she did.

I was formally appointed as Executor and my tasks were to clear out the apartment, pay Monnie’s final bills and final rent and the chain-smoker’s fee, and distribute the remaining estate funds to the beneficiaries who were Monnie’s surviving first cousins, namely my father’s sister, Aunt Eleanor, and my father’s brothers, Uncle Jack and Uncle Jimmy. I believe the family always thought that Monnie, while certainly not a wealthy woman, was a person of means since she lived and worked in New York City, made it on her own, had no dependents, and always seemed to be smartly dressed which presented the appearance of someone who probably had a very nice nest egg. Everything is relative, of course, but as I recall she only had about three bank accounts with modest savings and did not own any other investments or property. My recollection is that each of the beneficiaries inherited about $10,000 from Monnie’s estate.

I returned to Manhattan to clear out Monnie’s apartment about two weeks after that first trip. My niece Maura was living on Long Island at the time and she graciously offered to help. She came to Manhattan on the train that morning and I remember that we first went to a nearby deli where Maura selected some authentic New York bagels and I got a few black and white cookies which were among the best I ever had. We spent nearly the whole day cleaning and clearing out the apartment. Maura was of immense help. We filled up a lot of large trash bags and hauled them down to the street level. The superintendent said that she would arrange for the bags to be taken away and she also offered to have Goodwill, Salvation Army, or some other organization come and take the furniture that remained in the apartment and the few items of Monnie’s clothing that Maura thought should be donated rather than trashed.

I was relieved when this episode in my life was finally over. In telling the tale now I just realized that this story can be appropriately copied as a response in another chapter of this book, i.e., the one which asks if I have ever performed a selfless act. I think the Monnie episode qualifies for a re-telling in that chapter because out of the kindness of my heart I didn’t charge a dime to Monnie’s estate for my work as Executor or my time or my travel expenses or for the bagels I bought for Maura.