Selma Rashford Grindley had worshipped her father. She had him buried by the church and sought to become a member. As the dues were $10k a year, she could join if she had the money. She scraped it together, selling a number of her antiques.
She had dragged her son Joe to service until, at the age of fourteen, he refused to attend. He wanted no part of anything his mother belonged to.
It was her fault they were ‘poor’. Her fault that he had nothing.
The majority of his cousins, felt the same. Felt that it was their parent’s fault that they were poor. In one way, they were correct. In another way, what were they doing to maintain the fortune?
They didn’t appreciate that Edward had been able to get monopolies on a number of products, and utilities. They didn’t appreciater that his eldest son, Eric, had been innovative and had taught himself procedures and protocols so as to keep just inside the law.
They didn’t know that when Edward decided to retire he gave equal shares to his four sons. David, who did absolutely nothing whatsoever but spend money, received the same share as Eric, who had worked since he was fourteen.
Where Eric had to leave school, David could waste four years at college.
So Eric had sold his shares to his mother, sold everything he owned and disappeared. This left middle brothers John and Sam to work themselves into early old age before they sold everything and left.
David Rashford squandered what was left, leaving the next generation of Rashfords with shards and their children, the Great Grandchildren of Edward, with virtually nothing.