Fortunes made, inherited, or spent on increasingly strange things.

What does it take to invent modern estate planning, compose polytonal symphonies on weekends, and then leave a Pulitzer-winning piece in a drawer for thirty-six years?

Who lobbies the League of Nations, twice, to adopt a calendar he designed himself?

If a man dripping in diamonds dies owning only razors, combs, and a pair of sunglasses, where did the diamonds go?

What happens when a man's collection outgrows every method of counting except weight?

What happens when a man who sleeps on a sofa because his bedroom is full of manuscripts finally has to move houses?

What kind of woman eats cold oatmeal for lunch, sleeps with a revolver tied to her hand, and gets a personal visit from J.P. Morgan asking for financial advice?

He gave away so much gold in Cairo that the Egyptian economy took twelve years to recover — and somewhere on the way home, he ran out of money entirely.

She raised a revolutionary flag twelve days before the revolution was declared — on a warship that was, on paper, a trading ship.

He shipped coal to Newcastle during a miners' strike and sold every piece at a premium.

He inherited 132,000 acres at age two and died in a debtors' prison at thirty-seven, and those are not the strange parts.

He measured the density of the entire Earth. When he saw his housekeeper on the stairs, he built a second staircase.