If I Should Die, Think Only This of Me: "How Much Can We Get for His Table Saw?"

A better title for this entry might be "The Woodworking Aspects of Estate Planning." 

I have been aware of Chanel Reynolds for a few years now. I get a monthly email from her that says, in essence, "Prepare To Die!" And someday I'll do that. Maybe this is the year I finally make my will!

One thing I have done as an initial, feeble, wobbly movement in Chanel's direction, is to start
an "In Case of My Death" file in the "Reference" drawer of my file cabinet.

Which reminds me, someday/maybe we should have a little talk about David Allen's Getting Things Done. My "In Case of My Death" file contains a list of my assets, including account numbers and who the beneficiaries are, and a long letter addressed to my sons. Eventually it will include a copy of my will and further documentation about my assets and my online accounts, including Google/Blogger . . . 

What matters for this entry is the letter to my sons.

Part of that letter deals with my woodworking stuff. I tell them which of my tools have significant value, which tools mean a lot to me personally, and suggest a way they might divide them up. I also let them know that there are no hard feelings if they don't want ANY of my tools, wood, or supplies.

Here's the important part: I tell them how to liquidate my tools and lumber with the least fuss. I name several individuals whom I trust to know approximately what my stuff is worth, and how to sell it. I instruct my sons to hire one of these people to sell the tools and lumber, or help them find someone to hire. I recommend a 25% commission (or was it 50%?) be paid to whoever takes on the job. I tell them to expect the proceeds to be minimal.

Why bother with trivia like rusty chisels in a letter that opens with "If you're reading this I must be dead"? Because several times, I have been involved, either peripherally or directly, when the woodworking stuff of a deceased woodworker has been liquidated. I've seen it done well, and I've seen it done poorly. 

Done poorly, it leads to bad feelings all the way around. People who aren't woodworkers tend to have an exaggerated notion of the value of old tools and dusty lumber. This is natural - - the stuff is rarely seen in normal daily life, and the survivors most likely have clear, fond memories of the dead woodworker lavishing their tools with love, attention, time, and careful maintenance. 

I hope to short-circuit such expectations with that letter. I'll also talk to both sons about the issue, I hope, before they read the letter.

This topic scares up several additional thoughts.

1) Personally, I hope my "ICOMD" letter is only used if my death is unexpected. If I live long enough, I hope to pass on all my stuff, not just the tools, personally to people who will appreciate it.

2) There was a tradition in England, beautifully described by Jim Kingshott in one of his books, that when a cabinetmaker died, his tools would be auctioned off to members of the guild to raise funds for his widow. The idea was not to get a bargain on tools, but to bid everything up to ridiculous prices, in order to support the widow. Having a tool formerly owned by an older worker you had looked up to during your apprenticeship was also of great value. I never met Jim Kingshott, but I miss him.

3) The mere thought of a detailed inventory of my tools exhausts and depresses me. Chanel Reynolds's GYST program will spur me to divest myself of lots of stuff I no longer use (I hope). Go read some probate lists of 17th-century woodworkers, and think about working with that toolkit. Most woodworkers have too much stuff.