Part Ten:
Emm
December 25, 1976

As of midnight on Halloween, 1936, more than two dozen Toronto families claimed to have had at least eight children during the preceding decade. A distant next-of-kin surfaced to have the will invalidated, while lawyers and public policy experts argued that the bequest had encouraged women to have children out of wedlock and could not be allowed to stand. Judge Middleton dismissed the next-of-kin claim and rejected the challengers’ logic, saying it was obvious that by “children,” Mr. Millar meant “legitimate children.” That legal opinion ruled out women like Pauline Clarke, who had five children with her husband and five more with the man she lived with after leaving him. Another woman with ten children was deemed to live outside Toronto’s city limits, while one who had given birth to eleven was disqualified because four were born dead. It didn’t help that one of the surviving children died of a rat bite before her first birthday.

In the end, after two years of court battles that enriched the pockets of thirty lawyers and countless bookies, a total of four women, each having borne eight children in the designated ten-year period, split the prize, now worth a half-million dollars. In a May 1938 editorial titled “The Last of the Stork Derby,” the Ottawa Citizen claimed the dispute, which took on “bedlamistic proportions” was “finis,” but cautioned that if relatives of the deceased carried through on their threat to pursue further legal action, the mad race was not over yet.

For the Benbows, however, it was. Izora summoned what strength she had left to raise her living children and, together with little Garnish, placed flowers every month on the grave of his twin sister Helma. She told Emm that she understood why he’d pursued Mr. Millar’s reward, that the Depression had driven many men temporarily insane. But Emm knew her words were an after-the-fact excuse. He’d pushed her to enter the Derby three years before hard times hit. True, it acquired greater urgency at that point, but he couldn’t pretend he’d stayed in the competition for the money alone. Maybe it was because the Depression had depleted his sense of manhood as much as his bank account. He’d never know for sure what continued to drive him.

Izora was less understanding toward Emm’s mother and henceforth ignored her advice about how to bring up the children. Mrs. Benbow declared the entire brood unruly and told Izora that from now on, she was on her own. Mr. Benbow, tired of the chaos at home, bought a cottage outside of town for himself and his wife and gave the old house to Emm and his family. His siblings contested the action, but when the claim was rejected, they declined to waste money on an appeal.

The Depression finally ended with the onset of war. Emm found work at a munitions factory and earned enough to support his wife and children. Meanwhile, the contest’s winners spent the prize money to house and educate their children. After the Depression’s devastation, everyone was cautious and played it safe. The Derby passed into history and was soon forgotten by a press and public consumed with more serious battles, fought on a worldwide stage.

Only for Emm did the fight rage on, especially when he’d had too much to drink. He was consumed by “ifs.” “If” that last child had been born just five hours earlier, they’d have split the prize with the other four winners. “If” his dead daughter had been born alive, they’d have won the whole pot outright. And “if” Mr. Millar hadn’t been a manipulative rich man whose crazy scheme Emm had fallen for, he and Izora would be living happily in the house he’d bought after Arvil was born, adding a bedroom or two until they stopped after three or four children. When Emm and Izora died, their small inheritance would have been equally divided among them—no race, no contested will, no news coverage. No regrets. Just an ordinary life.