The Truth Within the Delusion

What do you do when a matter of ethics threatens the resonance of a memoir-in-progress? You’ve sought the advice of others (who are anything but in agreement in their opinions). A few of them you asked via email. You are so consumed with the question that you’ve confused yourself, and thinking that only in email have you written about it, so you end up writing the story twice in your book.

It’s a matter of outing a relative so distant that he shouldn’t be called a relative. But when you were bat-shit crazy nearly 20 years ago, you deluded yourself into thinking his family’s enormous wealth had been amassed just to support your messianic quest, and you showed up in his life—a person you’ve never met and who does not even know of your existence—fully expecting to be bequeathed a large portion of it. You didn’t ask—you expected just to be given it, and you didn’t further pester by having more than that one contact.

The story of how one of the largest Standard Oil fortunes was acquired in the first 2 decades of the last century by a Kenan-cum-widow. The story of how she remarried and the enduring mystery of her death in 1917 (nine months later), was so compelling that 70 years later, in the late 1980s, several books were published about it. Even 60 Minutes aired a segment on it.

Her widower used his small share of the inheritance, $5 million, to found a media empire. Was it murder for the inheritance—or had she succumbed to her drug and alcohol addictions? In the 1980s, his granddaughter was so angered at her grandfather’s actions back in 1917 toward this wife that she forced the breakup of the media empire.

But Mary Lily Kenan Flagler Bingham left the great bulk of her estate to her Kenan siblings. All this figures into my delusion, but the key resonant-to-my-delusions moment in 1990 was when I remembered that the now head of that powerful family and I had dated the same man (at separate times), and believed that what I had thought while dating him was only an interesting coincidence, was actually significant proof that I would be fully supported by Kenan wealth and influence. Please know that soon after that, I was jailed and diagnosed as having “mania with psychotic features”—another (and totally separate) part of the story. You see, there's a reason my subtitle is "The Adventures of a Psychotic Giant."

This "distant relation" has devoted much of his life to philanthropy, getting many awards for his support of the arts and education. He’s known to be gay in the gay circles in his state, has never married, but is not otherwise out. To change the names and circumstances of the story is not helpful because of the peculiar and apropos specifics, the historical record, and perhaps most importantly, that we share the same last name. The only thing I could report that is not in the public record is that he is gay.

So do I out a powerful, well-respected man—a true pillar of education and arts support—when that outing discloses no hypocrisy on his part (unlike what has happened with many politicians of late), or do I eviscerate an important, but not the only important, part of my story? Should I contact him directly or indirectly to discuss how to proceed? Certainly, I will share anything I write about him before I seek publication (I think)—once I have a late draft. But how now to proceed?

A memoirist’s dilemma.