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THE MOST FRUGAL person I’ve ever known was my Great Aunt Beatrice. To all the family, she was just Aunt Bea. Never married, she was the sister of my paternal grandfather, a man who passed away 14 years before I was born. She was a dignified lady, proper and pleasant, and not given to bursts of laughter. Still, I felt closer to her than to any of my living grandparents or other relatives from that generation.
When I was growing up, Aunt Bea lived in the same town as us. She would usually be present for our family’s Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations, and would occasionally be present for other gatherings. Every Christmas, she’d give each of my three sisters and me money envelopes that contained exactly two crisp $1 bills. Although I liked getting the money, back then I couldn’t appreciate what a sacrifice those gifts must have been.
Aunt Bea was born in 1891. I remember that because I inherited the silver dollar bearing her birth year that she kept throughout her life. Although it’s not an especially valuable coin or in particularly good condition, it was probably her most valuable possession at the time she passed away.
The author’s Great Aunt Beatrice
While I have some old family photographs from when Aunt Bea was young, I don’t know much about her early life. I do know she lost her brother Willits in the great influenza pandemic of 1918. I wish now I’d paid more attention as a youngster when we all got together and she held forth about family history. Being a typical kid, I was bored by stories about people I’d never met.
Aunt Bea’s last job was as a milliner. She sold ladies’ hats during a time when women increasingly went hatless. Her income steadily dropped, while the rent on her shop increased. She stuck at it too long, my mother once told me, and the landlord wanted her out of the space she rented.
Aunt Bea was always hoping fancy hats would come back in style. They never did. Eventually, she was forced to close her little business.
While I was never privy to the details of Aunt Bea’s finances, by the time I knew her, I’m pretty certain she didn’t live on much more than whatever she got from Social Security. I also don’t know whether my father discreetly helped her out financially from time to time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
Aunt Bea rented what would charitably be called a studio apartment, in an older house on the outskirts of town. It was a single large room with the tiniest kitchen area I’ve ever seen.
Aunt Bea didn’t have a car. Her apartment was within walking distance of the local ACME grocery store. Did she have a television? I don’t remember one. I’m guessing she might have had a radio, but I can’t be certain. I really don’t know how she passed her days.
The reason I remember Aunt Bea’s apartment is that one time my parents dropped me off there when they needed an emergency babysitter. With three older sisters, the need for outside babysitting rarely presented itself.
I remember being bored at Aunt Bea’s place. No TV, no games, not much to do. Aunt Bea was a kindly lady, though, and wanted to take good care of me. She boiled some water, and we sat down for a proper tea.
Now, I wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but I had indulged in it before. I saw that for the two cups of tea that she made, she only used one tea bag. When I complained that I should have my own bag, she exclaimed, “Why, I can get four cups of tea out of one bag.”
When asked about my visit with Aunt Bea, I told my parents the tea bag story. My mother burst out laughing—probably mostly due to my imitation of Aunt Bea’s voice. She also explained that Aunt Bea didn’t have much money and had learned to be frugal.
As Aunt Bea aged, her financial situation worsened. Even the rent on her small apartment was a strain. Then, one day, I heard that Aunt Bea—now well into her 80s—was accepted into a church-related retirement home a few towns over. She would assign her small Social Security check to the home, and they would take care of her.
For Aunt Bea, this was like winning the lottery. She had her own room in the large, ancient facility. Her meals were taken care of, and she no longer had to worry about finances. In addition, after living alone for so many years, she was now part of a community. For her, these truly were the golden years. She was so happy to be there.
Aunt Bea continued to appreciate the small things in life. During my high school years, at Christmastime, I would make her a batch of chocolate chip cookies and send it to her at the home, usually with a handwritten letter. Whenever I visited her with my parents, she would rave about the cookies. She would allow herself only one a day to make them last as long as possible.
My letters were a source of amusement for her. The envelopes addressed to “Aunt Bea Cutler” were particularly popular. She loved talking about the letters, even to staff and other residents. I don’t think she received a lot of mail at the retirement home.
Aunt Bea passed away in 1986 at age 95. She had no funeral, and my parents were the only ones present for her burial. She had little to pass on except a box of family pictures and her silver dollar, both of which are now in my possession. Aunt Bea never had much in the way of wealth or possessions. But in the end, she had everything she needed.
Ken Cutler lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and has worked as an electrical engineer in the nuclear power industry for more than 38 years. There, he has become an informal financial advisor for many of his coworkers. Ken is involved in his church, enjoys traveling and hiking with his wife Lisa, is a shortwave radio hobbyist, and has a soft spot for cats and dogs. Check out Ken’s earlier articles.
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Very sweet.
A wonderful story. Thanks for sharing.
Neat story. Riches aren’t about money. It’s family and friends.
What a great story! Continue to keep her memories close to your heart.
Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, comment on, or ‘like’ this article. It warms my heart that Aunt Bea’s story has been so well received.
I get it! That is a humble dollar if ever there was one. My dollars? Not so much.
Thanks for sharing this lovely story. Reminds me of my own Great Aunt Myrtle who lived frugally in much the same way, still caring for ailing neighbors 20 years younger than her 80+ years. These examples do in fact remind us of just how wealthy our own modest belongings make us and that we can be content however life unfolds.
So beautiful, Ken! Your story made me think of my husband’s beloved “Nana.” No relation to Doug, Nana was a childless woman who married a widower, “Poppi,” late in life. Poppi and Nana rented the top floor of Doug’s parents’ home. Both retired, they were Doug’s emergency babysitters and taught him so many life lessons. Like your Aunt Bea, Nana lived in genteel poverty on Social Security when Poppi’s pension ended with his death. Doug’s parents lowered her rent to $50 in the 1980’s, when they noticed she was selling her household treasures. Eventually, one of Poppi’s nieces took Nana into her home for her last years. Like Aunt Bea, she died loved and well taken care of.
It sounds like your Aunt Bea was very content, even with very little in the way of possessions or wealth. I think managing one’s expectations is so vital to one’s happiness, particularly for those of us with modest means. Even for those with financial security, many would benefit from living below their means to see what is truly needed to bring them happiness.
This article beautifully captures the essence of a life well-lived through simplicity and gratitude. Aunt Bea’s story is a poignant reminder of the value of frugality, the beauty of small gestures, and the richness that comes from appreciating what we have. Her ability to find happiness and contentment in life’s basic necessities is truly inspiring. It’s a lesson in how to cherish the simple things and how even modest means can lead to a fulfilling life. Thank you for sharing this touching tribute to Aunt Bea’s remarkable life.
Thanks for the sweet tribute to Aunt Bea. In our discussions here about investment strategies and lifestyle choices, we may forget to be thankful we have plenty to talk about. Your story is appropriate to the approaching season and, hopefully, gives many reasons to reflect on our blessings.
What a lovely story. Thank you for sharing!