Herbert Fitzgerald III was the grandson of a famous person. He never really understood what his grandfather did exactly, he just knew that he was a big deal. He invented a few things, started his own magazine (for adults, only) and drove a very expensive car. Most importantly, his grandfather was the man who built the Fitzgerlad Museum of American History.
When Herbert III’s father died, he was given a letter from his father’s lawyer:
By now I have passed. As you were made aware, this means your responsibilities have increased greatly. Please take into account what you have learned over the years about our museum. Its glory, significance, and influence has held honor to our family name and I expect that you maintain that, if not improve upon it.
You haven’t accomplished much in your 32 years, so please consider the importance of what I have asked and reminded you of.
Herbert Fitzgerald II.
Herbert wasn’t surprised by the tone of his father’s letter as much as he was the content. He never realized the weight that his father’s death would carry on his life. He had to now take care of this museum.
Herbert had grown up visiting this museum often. Located in upstate New York, it was an attraction that pulled tourists away from the pulse of Times Square and into the familiar peacefulness of museum exhibitions. It gave New Yorkers something to be proud of.
However, he had grown bored with the museum and its exhibitions. He found disappointment in the excitement that came with learning about U.S. History, especially since the museum lacked information on Native Americans (besides displays of their clothing). He felt that the history was bland and that the pride following it was driven by arrogance. Arrogance that he wasn’t too unfamiliar with, thanks to his father.
Slowly, Herbert began envisioning something new for his family’s museum. History? No! Science? No! Art? No! It would all be too boring, too finite. People would come once, then come twice, then never again.
A week after his father’s death, Herbert woke up from his Sunday nap, his heart beating fast and his forehead dripping with sweat.
He knew what he wanted for this museum.
He called his people, and his people’s people, and his people’s people’s people, and he contacted his father’s very good friend who was a billionaire who used to have his own TV show so he could find financial support.
“What an idea!” His father’s friend had exclaimed over the phone. “I love America but I LOVE ambition even more! This country will have the greatest museum in the world! This museum will give America another reason to call itself great ONCE AGAIN!”
It would be called the Fitzgerald Museum of Everything.
“One of each,” Herbert told his archeologists, his CEOs, his mom and pop shop owners. Every object ever invented (apart from food, of course – that would be his next plain: Fitzgerald’s ALL You Can EAT Buffet) would be on display in this museum. Billions, trillions of inventions from dog leashes to sex toys to pencils to Etsy shop creations – one of each of these would be on display in his museum.
He had it planned out:
It would be ten stories high. The first seven floors would have objects from North America, South America, Australia, Africa, and Europe. The last three would be dedicated to Asia. Asia had a LOT of stuff.
Herbert then decided that he’d divide objects into categories: Household. Office. Beauty & Hair. Electronics. ADULT ONLY.
Some categories would fall under other: Pet necessities under Household, school supplies under Office, televisions throghout history under Electronics. He had it all in his head and soon it would be executed for the world to see.
Six years later, the Fitzgerald Museum of Everything was born. People came from all around the world to discover other parts of the world right in this ten story museum.
“Look at me, dad,” he thought to himself one morning as he stood outside the museum.
“I’ve accomplished everything.”