The Wibble Will

“Dear Mr. Wibble, I really don’t think this is the kind of thing that we should be engaging in here.”

“ Dear? Are you writing a letter to me Stanley?”

Mr. Wibble did not look up from his magazine. He was 73 now but the years were telling on his beard but certainly not in his voice or his fierce looking eyes.

Stanley fumbled with his glasses, adjusting them three times on the bridge of his nose before he spoke again.

“I’m just saying…”

“I know what you’re just saying. They are family and they deserve an inheritance. Well, they may deserve an inheritance but who says it has to come from me?” Mr. Wibble pouted.

Stanley looked at Mr. Wibble from the corner of his eye. He had been Mr. Wibble’s lawyer for as long as they both could remember; it was a pretty long time. But in all that time, Stanley had still not adjusted to the Boom of Mr. Wibble’s voice or the eratic way in which he acted when he was excited.

Stanley recalled the numerous shareholder meetings that he had been obliged to attend with Mr. wibble. On one occasion a manager had dared suggest that Managers at his level were underpaid and over worked. Mr. Wibble flew out of hos seat and crossed the room in five strides and stuck his walking cane in the man’s face and asked him this. “Did you think about your salary before or after you purchased a Yacht and a high rise house in a neighborhood that even I can’t afford to live in?” Of course the manager was speechless and decided not to go for round two with his boss.

Then there was the time Mr. Wibble went to play golf with Mr. Edwards from Triton Enterprise. Mr. Trenton bragged about his new golf clubs and merely suggested that Mr. Wibble’s were outdated. Well, Mr. Wibble lectured him for one hour on the endurance and stamina of a club that played and aged with it’s owner. He shouted so loud and gestured so wildly, that Mr. Triton was thoroughly embarrassed. They haven’t played a golf game since.

“Perhaps we should take it from the top then, and see if you might want to make any…er changes?” Stanley asked cautiously.

“Suite yourself. I like it fine the way it is.”

“Ahem.” Stanley cleared his throat.

“I, Edward Wibble, of Orange Blossom County, being of sound mind, do make, publish and declare this to be my last will and testament.”

“So far so good. That’s the foundation for sure-My last WILL!” Mr. Wibble said with much emphasis.

“Ahem, yes sir. Shall I continue?”

“Sure sure. Suite yourself. You’re the one lacking clarity.” Mr. Wibble ran his fingers through his thick white beard.

“Yes, well. Here I go then. First, I direct my personal

representative –namely Boobles Wibble- to maintain my estate, reside in the master bedroom and be treated with every earthly charm that he now enjoys and any additional that he desires.”

Stanley paused and looked up at Mr. Wibble.

Mr. Wibble continued to comb his hand through his beard and stare into the space in front of him as though fixated on something.

After a few minutes he realized that Stanley had stopped reading.

“Yes, all good so far. Go on.”

“Go on? But sir, surely you want to make some amendment here. I mean…you want to leave the estate to Boobles?”

“Of course he is up in age now, I expect that the hired hands will do most of the work but the job is still his.”

Stanley removed his glasses, wiped his brow and then adjusted the glasses once more.

“Sir, I’m not sure how to say this…”

“Then don’t!”

“But sir, well, you have three adult sons. I am sure one of them could…”

“Sons? Well well. I do agree my late wives left me with three young men that we sired together but to call them sons? I think you are over stepping.” Mr. Wibble pulled out a pipe from his coat pocket. He hesitated a moment then shoved it into his mouth.

“Sir, they are your biological sons.”

“Then why the hell didn’t I see much of them over the past thirty years except when they needed a handout? And what do you have against Boobles anyway? He’s loyal and he’s family.”

Mr. Wibbles had three sons indeed. Trell, Larry and John. Each had received the finest education there was to have. Frank was a self confessed drunk. Larry enjoyed two things- women and gambling, neither of which he was able to control. John was a public analyst but the only thing he seemed to analyze well was every penny he still received as an allowance from his father.

“I know they haven’t been as helpful to you as you hoped but…well, Sir, Boobles is the dog.”

Mr. Wibble sat up in his chair, yanked the pipe from his mouth and glared a death stare at Stanley.

Silence.

After some time Stanley tried again to clear his throat, but did not succeed before Mr. Wibble let him have it.

“I will have you know Stanley that Boobles is no dog. He is a gentlemen and of the finest sort. He is a Boston Terrier with the intelligence of a chimpanzee, the docility of a dolphin and the wisdom of an owl. Don’t you ever make the mistake of calling him a dog again!”

Mr. Wibble stared at Stanley for a half minute to be sure he got the point.

“Gulp..” Stanley swallowed hard. He had been serving Mr. Wibble for a long time now but some things had not changed. Mr. Wibble had built an empire from the ground up and during that time he had built a personality of steel. He meant what he said and he did as he pleased. Stanley was reminded of that as his eyes bore into his flesh.

Mr. Wibble sat back in his chair slowly, eyes still fixated on Stanley.

“Next order of business.”

Stanley nodded quickly and searched the paper in his hand for where he left off.

“Ahem….well, yes here we go then. Secondly, it is my express desire that The Wibble Library and Housing foundation be left in the care of Sister Susan at the Covenant on Grace Avenue.”

Stanley paused again and looking gingerly over the top of the papers he was holding, looked at Mr. Wibble.

Mr. Wibble was staring into empty space once again pulling gently on his pipe.

After a long pause, Mr. Wibble pulled the pipe from his mouth and sighed.

“What is it now Stanley. I think it’s plain as day don’t you?”

“But Sir, your daughter Nan is a teacher.”

“And?”

“And? Well Sir, she has had her heart set on taking over the foundation for some time now. I think…”

“I told you not to Stanley. Stop thinking Dam it and we can get through reviewing this document this year.”

“But..but…”

“Teacher, is that what you call it? She should have become an Educator and helped some folk. She went to school intermittently for two years. Finally, she got some certificate when I threatened to cut her credit cards. Then she has bummed from school to school for fifteen years living off of my hard earned money.”

Mr. Wibble was sitting up in his chair again and his voice was raising the roof. He gestured with his hands after every two words. He switched the pipe from left to right hand as he spoke…or rather shouted. He was upset.

Stanley tried desperately to calm Mr. Wibble but to no avail. So he listened and waited, and waited.

Mr. Wibble went on to describe the High School of choice he had sent Nan too. He expounded on how he never had the chance to attend a proper high school himself but had taken every care to ensure that Nan got a good education. It was more than evident that he was not at all pleased with Nan’s inconsistent career.

Silence

“Well, those were the major points Mr. Wibble. If you are sure…”

“I was sure the first, and the second time Stanley. Question is are you sure?” Mr. Wibble asked Looking at Stanley with eyes bulging.

Stanley cringed back in his seat.

“It’s not what anyone is expecting for sure. But I guess it is what it is right?” Stanley folded the document and placed it carefully in the envelope.

“It’s exactly as it should be Stanley. Those deserving are those receiving. You may close the door on your way out.”

Stanley rose slowly. How on earth was he ever going to live this down? He prayed that somehow Mr. Wibble would outlive him. That way he could avoid reading such a Will to the children.

As Stanley reached the door, he took one last hopeful look at Mr. Wibble.

Then he sighed and shut the door.