In July 1794, Eleazar and an accomplice, Phillip Bevan, are indicted for milling fake silver coins and are ordered to pay £35 plus another £70 interest. It sure looks like Eleazar tried to pay off Joshua Anderson in fake money, even though the New Jersey state currency bore the warning, “To Counterfeit is Death.” Defrauding Joshua Anderson (and the public) is lowdown, but roping in some jamoke to help you do it is even more so.
In September 1794, Coffin and Bevan tell the court that there is no way they can pay what they owe, so in October 1794, the court ups that amount to an astounding £300. At more than 21 times the average salary, a personal fine of that size on a fraud-minded deadbeat appears to be “never show your face around here again” kind of money. And I think Eleazar took the hint, because there is no further official record of him in New Jersey or Pennsylvania after that. No census data, no land records, no obituary, no nothing. I suspect he changed his name and went to ground to evade his creditors.
When I relayed all of this to my wife, she referenced someone in our family with a history of sketchy behavior and says “so that’s where they get it from.” As always, she makes a strong point.
We are entering challenging times as a community that is dedicated to business integrity. A CEO was shot dead in broad daylight and people cheered about it online. Companies are proclaiming the closure or rollback of their DEI offices. Public leaders are finding brazen new ways to signal their bad faith. Trust in public institutions remains rock-bottom, but trust in businesses in general has taken its first big step down in recent memory.
It all feels like a collective objection to a truth that we hold to be self-evident: that building strong ethical frameworks also