My life as Abe Lincoln's Third Cousin

Not to be confused with "My American Cousin"...

My third cousin, five times removed. He was also the 16th president. Cool!

My cousin Buck Jensen, the only son of my beloved late Uncle Hal (Buck is Hal M. Jensen, Junior, for the historical record), is a genealogy buff. A friend says Buck Jensen is the greatest name for a cousin, ever, and I couldn’t agree more. Buck was my childhood hero. As small children do, they fixate on people, and Buck took me on a camping trip up the Wasatch canyon around 1970. We had a great time and ate chili out of can, heated by a small fire—in the can. It’s not uncommon for him to send me an inquiry about the family tree.

This time I got an e-mail from Buck he informed me that Abraham Lincoln, a person I have also fixated on, is my third cousin, five times removed.

I’m a Lincoln!

If he had told me I was a third cousin of Jack Kennedy, I might have been a bit more excited, but this was really kind of shocking. Actually, I am good friends with Jack Kennedy’s third cousin, and she very much looked like one of Caroline Kennedy’s sisters back in the day when we all looked like someone in our youth. She was a Fitzgerald, and a descendant of JFK’s grandfather John F. Fitzgerald, Jr., AKA “Honey Fitz”. She may even be able to sing “Sweet Adeline”, as Honey Fitz was wont to do at the drop of a bowler.

I posted this news on Facebook the other day, and another good friend informed me that she, too, was a third cousin of Abraham Lincoln. She actually ran for office about 25 years ago as a Democrat, but lost. She shows no other similarities to Lincoln, although her brother, a genius, wrote a fine book on the pivotal year 1862. Her brother isn’t a carbon copy of Abe, although he is indeed rather tall, and writes as well as Lincoln himself, or better.

It’s well-known that Abraham Lincoln now has no direct lineal descendants, although there is a guy who says he is, which I doubt. The last known living lineal Abe descendant was named Robert Todd Lincoln Beckwith.

Robert Todd Lincoln Beckwith, the grandson of Lincoln’s son and former Secretary of War, Robert Todd Lincoln.

Beckwith was married three times, and his second wife, considerably younger than Beckwith, had a child in 1968 named Timothy Lincoln Beckwith.

Timothy Lincoln Beckwith, whose mother claimed he was the son of Robert Todd Lincoln Beckwith.

Beckwith the Younger is an assistant D.A. in Florida.

Note that he might not be the first person one would choose as being in the Lincoln gene pool. No cragginess at all, although he is a lawyer.

Turns out Tim Beckwith’s mom picked the wrong Lincoln to mess around with, which reminds me of a great Lincoln quote, which is “F- - - around and find out.”

Some say that quote is apocryphal. I would be in the “some” group. OK, I made it up.

Anyway, Tim’s mom tried to access the Lincoln fortune, which by that time had grown to $57 million. That’s a lot of Benjamins…or Lincolns, if you prefer five dollar bills.

Turns out the second Mrs. Beckwith had an affair with her chauffeur, and as Robert Todd Lincoln Beckwith had had a vasectomy some years before, it is, um, highly unlikely the Florida assistant D.A. is Abe’s great grandson.

No charity for all, or Tim and the third Mrs. Beckwith. No malice, either. Tim doesn’t talk to the press, and he doesn’t trade on his alleged name.

Nor do I. But it’s tempting.

I suppose you’re all wondering how I live my life as a third cousin of Abraham Lincoln.

Here’s a summary of my day as a Lincoln.

5:07 AM— I ease my rangy, frontier frame (5’11”) out of my bed and perform my morning ablutions, which is a word I am sure was very big in 1860. No one ever says, “I performed my morning ablutions,” except, perhaps, all my other third Lincoln cousins, five times removed.

6:24 AM—I make myself coffee over an open fire, fueled by rails I had split the night before. My arms still kind of hurt, even though I am rangy. I think one of my sons is definitely rangy at 6’2”. He doesn’t look like Lincoln, although his mustachioed, brooding good likes is rather reminiscent of John Wilkes Booth.

7:21 AM: Listening to NPR, I rail (see what I did there?) about whatever happened to the party of Lincoln.

9:23 AM: I put on my long black suit and stovepipe hat, which makes me look like a chunk of the Titanic that has broken off.

11:00 AM: I get a cartoon idea using Lincoln as a metaphor, which happens a lot. Sometimes I think I could do a comic strip about Lincoln, as I can draw him from memory from any angle. I drew the rough on the back of an envelope.

12:32 PM: I text my good buddy in Portland, Tad, whose father was obsessed with Lincoln as well, and even named his two sons Robert and Tad. Tad ironically notes that he was named after the brother wasn’t considered terribly bright.

2:38 PM: I complete the Lincoln cartoon with a crow quill by candlelight on parchment, where I labeled his beard “inflation”.

3:20 PM: I walk in the backyard and look for rails to split, again. All I find are perfectly intact fence posts, which would hurt the look of the house if split, as well as keeping any confederate miscreants (another Lincoln Era word) at bay.

4:48 PM: I sign an executive order at Starbucks, freeing a venti latte. I tip heavily, knowing that I am a Lincoln and would be judged. “Did you see the Lincoln Guy’s tip? What a cheap rail splitter (they do not use the phrase “rail splitter,” but it has a similar cadence)!”

6:02 PM : Enjoy a dinner of varmints, collard greens, and hardtack.

8:23 PM: Watch a documentary about Mary Todd Lincoln, and wonder if she was ever someone I might have dated decades ago, as many of the women I met had parallel emotional characteristics.

10:02 PM: More ablutions. I check my non-existent beard, snuff out the tallow candles, send a few quick telegraphs on my phone to friends, and then don my nightcap and bedgown. I don’t have a four poster like the Lincoln Bedroom, so I consider filing a class-action lawsuit against Trump and the White House. I am not a lawyer, but I am lawyer-adjacent. My wife watches a lot of Law & Order.

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Hey, YBs! It’s true! I am a Lincoln, five times removed. I promise I won’t raise the annual subscription rate, as our estate is worth $57 million. OK, I don’t have access to it, but I might hit my JFK cuz up for a loan. Have a great weekend!—J.