Iconic grunge actor believed in “nothing” in life and according to conventional metrics that’s what he leaves behind. Did his apparent failure to plan translate into a plan for failure, or did he get exactly what he wanted?
When Harry Dean Stanton died a few weeks ago, a narrow but deep slice of the social media universe lit up with heartfelt tributes.
Whether people remembered him from the Sam Peckinpah outlaw days, the recent David Lynch oddities or “Pretty in Pink” in the middle, he left a lasting mark on the fans.
But as far as any of us can see, that’s the biggest impact he made across a six-decade career and well over 200 films, cult classics and walk-on roles alike.
There weren’t any children or marriages. If his brothers are still alive, they’re hard to track down. He didn’t take any strong public stands or promote any pet causes.
And he promoted a reputation for letting money slip through his fingers. There’s no huge Hollywood fortune here. He worked steadily as a character actor but almost never played a starring role.
Even the most inflated estimates peg his career earnings at maybe $10 million. There’s a very real chance he ended up leaving only a token estate to a haphazard collection of cronies. He may not have even written a will at all.
Death as a zero-sum game fits the philosophy Harry Dean Stanton lived. Advisory clients rarely reach that level of nihilism, but it’s good to make sure what kind of imprint they do — and don’t — actually want to leave behind.
What to get the client who wants nothing
The obituaries focus on the 91-year-old actor’s quasi-Buddhist lack of ambition as the key to his deadpan mystique. I think it went a little deeper than that.
If Stanton spent any time chasing material goals, even his closest friends aren’t saying. He just wasn’t interested in pursuing an expensive lifestyle or funding a legacy.
Because all outcomes pointed to the same grave, he was content to simply drift along the path of least resistance until he reached that destination.
The idea of planning to raise the odds of achieving one outcome or another is really foreign to that mindset. Pity any advisor he may have had.
While some clients — especially millennial heirs — may share some of the patterns, there’s usually some lever of greed or fear that motivates them. They might be afraid of running out of money. Or they may have aspirations that require putting their money to work in order to reach some concrete goal.
Even when they’re content to drift, the heirs or favorite charitable organizations tend to have strong vested interests in how the money is managed and where it goes.
In these situations, they’re the real clients: the person who currently writes the checks already looks a lot like a living ghost, unwilling to speak up in life instead of simply unable to weigh in from beyond the grave.
If in-depth conversations with these clients truly don’t uncover any significant personal goals, it’s good to bring philanthropy and the next generation forward in the relationship. Your client can bask in the experience of watching pre-mortem bequests advance causes or enrich the lives of others.
And needless to say, those people and organizations may become your clients through charitable trusts or simply setting up their own separate accounts under your supervision.
That said, Harry Dean Stanton doesn’t seem to have had any obvious heirs waiting in the wings. Barring a will leaving his money to friends or causes, his legacy descends on any surviving brothers and their kids.
Either way, it’s critical that advisors know how every client’s estate is structured. If the client truly wants to leave zero footprint behind, even anonymity isn’t free.
Orphaned image, haphazard monuments
The problem for Harry Dean Stanton is that while he may not have ever bought a mansion or accumulated a lot of cash, his fame has commercial value.
If he wanted privacy, suppressing unauthorized use of his voice and likeness costs money. When nobody’s guarding the legacy, fake tell-all “biographies” and pirate T shirts multiply.
Maybe he would’ve simply shrugged at a new generation cashing in on his cult status. But if not, dying in the digital age makes the balancing act between privacy and publicity more complex.
The recent “Twin Peaks” revival that featured Stanton also included reedited “performances” from a few actors who were dead before the production even started.
All were credited and their estates were paid. David Lynch went out of his way to respect their artistic wishes, but unless those wishes were communicated in life and backed up in death, there’s no guarantee that other directors will be so gracious.
Again, Stanton may not have given a passing thought to whether modern special effects wizards turn him into a hologram and keep him working — as the sincerest form of flattery or something sleazier — for as long as his face draws an audience.
The important thing is that he registered a legal and binding opinion one way or the other. If he would have been amused, put the rights in the public domain. Otherwise, lock them up and set up a process for reviewing requests.
Whoever talked to him about his estate should have found out where he drew the line.
What we know is that he never bothered to retire. Acting was his life. People paid him. He cashed the checks.
If his posterity keeps earning money now that he’s dead, someone needs to figure out where that money goes.
Last year the legendary Los Angeles video store Vidiots held a gala ceremony for the first “Harry Dean Stanton Awards.” In the absence of more conventional heirs, that’s as good a place as any to look for his posterity.
At least he wasn’t famous for collecting art. While his memorabilia is worth money, it will need to be either stored, sold off or thrown out.
Ideally his friends will divide the keepsakes. He threw a big party for them early this summer so that would've been a great time to communicate his wishes and give them personal closure.
His agent may need to take over responsibility for what’s left behind.
After all, it’s the agent who broke the news that Stanton was dead. That’s the closest person he had to family or a public communications channel.
Unless someone else turns up, there’s a good chance that he’s also the executor and heir. He nourished Stanton’s career — his life — for a long time. He may end up managing his posterity.
And if Harry Dean wasn’t happy with that prospect, I have a feeling he would’ve spoken up.
