It's pretty great when some well-heeled gentleman leaves a bundle of the filthy for the benefit of humanity. Sweden's Alfred Nobel had his post-mortem Nobel Prize; John D. Rockefeller his Rockefeller Foundation, and, not to be forgotten, is Alfred Nesmith's bountiful bequest to the city of San Diego.

    Alfred came to San Diego in 1870 and soon began to prosper on a small scale. He started the Bank of San Diego, then, in the last year of his life, put up the Nesmith-Greeley building at 825 Fifth Ave. In 1889, he handed in his promissory notes forever and was laid to rest.

    When his will was made public a few days later, the citizens of San Diego got a pleasant shock. It was revealed Alfred had ordered that $5,000 be set aside for building a lyceum for San Diego in the year 2039 A.D.

    Here's the way Al had it figured out. By leaving the five grand in the bank for 150 years, he figured the interest would balloon the original bequest to somewhere in the vicinity of $12 million, enough to build a lyceum to end all lyceums.

    Now virtually extinct, lyceums were all the rage in the second half of the last century. Here citizens could listen to lecturers on all subjects, hear debates on the tariff and other burning issues, and take educational courses.

    But Al wasn’t finished. He left $60 to be compounded in the same manner, the proceeds to be used for "planting ornamental trees, the building of watering troughs for horses (in 2039!) and for picking up loose stones in city roads."

    Shortly after the details of the will were made public, an editorial writer for the Union made this remarkable comment: (Remember, he was writing in 1889.) "But by 2039 lyceums may be out of date and every pupil may learn his lessons by the phonograph and read his books from the vocal foil of that remarkable instrument.

    "As for the watering troughs and loose stones along the road, who then may care about either? In 2039, every traveller may have his own flying machine, which takes no account of troughs or stones, and, as for trees, it is highly probable that the people of this county will plant them before the 21st century."

    Will San Diego have the only lyceum in the world 42 years from now? Where is the money stored? Is the account getting fatter and fatter every day, like a compulsive eater?

    Alas, there is no money! Al's bank was a poor thing noted more for its population of voracious fleas than its attraction as a lending institution. Customers always shook out any bank notes they received from the tellers to see if they were inhabited before placing them in their pockets. Seems the Bank of San Diego fleas loved money.

    Too, Al had built a large business block Downtown, the Nesmith-Greeley building. Named in part for Al's son-in-law, Lt. (later General) A.W. Greeley, the renowned Arctic explorer, the building was an expensive proposition and was mortgaged to the eaves.

    So, three administrators set to work to unscramble the will. They did their best, but six years later the exhausted trio revealed there was exactly $3.64 in the estate. The court graciously split this bountiful sum among the executors for their six-year stint. There was a set of Bancroft's works "bound in calf," but no one in the family wanted the books; they were still sitting in someone's cellar 50 years later. And may still be there.

    Since members of the family had their own resources, they were not dependent on money from the will. Son Otto lived in Minnesota and was doing well. He had married an actress in the East and had been told by his shocked father to "keep that woman on the other side of the mountains."

    In spite of the best intentions, Alfred Nesmith's magnificent gesture to posterity came to naught. Even if he had had the money free and clear, the whole proposal would have been illegal under California law. A trust fund can only last for the lifetime of the recipient and there are not many people who can make it to 150, Geritol or not.

    Such a shame. I’m sure my grandchildren would have enjoyed that delightful lyceum.

    Longtime newspaperman "Woody" Lockwood has forgotten more about San Diego history than most historians remember. Two years retired from daily newspaper work, he is researching a book on military food.