I gave America my last nickel

I know that many have remarked upon the debts I leave behind, and some have judged me harshly for it. Allow me to speak plainly, yet with the dignity the subject deserves.

When I first entered public life, I was a man of substantial means. My father had left me a considerable estate. Through my marriage I received still more. By the time I took my seat in the Virginia legislature and later in the Continental Congress, I stood among the wealthier planters of my state. Monticello was already rising, my libraries and scientific instruments were growing, and my prospects in private life were secure. I had no need to seek office for the sake of fortune.

I depart this life poorer than when I first entered the public service. That fact is not a mark of failure. It is evidence that I served the republic honestly.

Consider the opportunities that lay before me. As Minister to France, as Secretary of State, as Vice President, and as President, I held positions of great influence. I could have used those offices to advance my private fortune—by favoring certain merchants, by securing grants of public land for myself or my friends, or by accepting quiet arrangements that would have filled my coffers. Many men in other nations have done precisely that. I refused. I lived upon the salary the law provided and nothing more.

When the British burned our national library during the late war, I offered Congress my own collection of books—nearly seven thousand volumes gathered over a lifetime. I sold them at a price far below what they might have brought in private sale. I did so because the nation needed a library more than I needed the fuller sum. That transaction eased my debts only modestly; it did not enrich me.

Throughout my years in office I was often absent from Monticello. Crops failed, managers proved less capable than I had hoped, and the costs of hospitality expected of a public man mounted. I might have neglected the public business to guard my private estate more closely. I chose instead to remain at my post. The result was that my lands suffered while the country, I trust, did not.

People remember the story of young Washington and the cherry tree—that he would not tell a lie even when it cost him. They remember, too, the name “Honest Abe,” given to Lincoln for his plain integrity. In the same spirit, I ask that my empty purse be understood. I began with wealth and left with far less. That is the natural consequence of placing the public trust above private gain. In a free republic, such a record should be regarded not as a cause for shame, but as the proper proof that a citizen has served without corruption.

I do not even have a nickel left, but I was able to give America my image on the nickel from my grave.