Hetty Green: The Witch of Wall Street and America's Richest, Most Eccentric Woman

In the bustling financial districts of 19th-century New York City—where fortunes were made and lost amid the clamor of stock tickers and the rise of industrial titans like J.P. Morgan and John D. Rockefeller—stood a figure who outshone them all in sheer wealth and notoriety: Hetty Green, the enigmatic "Witch of Wall Street." Born Henrietta Howland Robinson in 1834, Hetty amassed a staggering fortune estimated at $100 to $200 million by her death in 1916 (equivalent to $2.5 to $5 billion today), making her the richest woman in America and one of the wealthiest individuals globally. A master investor in railroads, real estate, government bonds, and municipal loans, she navigated economic panics with uncanny precision, lending millions to the City of New York during crises while charging premium interest. Yet Hetty's legacy is as much defined by her eccentricities as her acumen: a woman who dressed in tattered black gowns, haggled over pennies, lived in cheap boarding houses to evade taxes, and once allegedly let her son's leg injury fester to avoid medical bills, leading to amputation. Hailing from New Bedford, Massachusetts' whaling elite, Hetty's story weaves through New England's maritime heritage, echoing the region's tales of shrewd Yankees and hidden depths—like the spectral omens of Connecticut's Black Dog or Vermont's disguised highwayman doctors. But was Hetty a financial genius ahead of her time, a victim of gender biases that branded her a "witch," or a profoundly flawed miser whose thrift bordered on self-destruction? Drawing from verified historical records, let's chart the remarkable ascent, peculiarities, scandals, and enduring influence of Hetty Green, a woman who proved that in the Gilded Age, fortune favored the bold—and the bizarre.

Hetty Green's origins were steeped in New England's prosperous but austere whaling industry. Born on November 21, 1834, in New Bedford, Massachusetts—a bustling port city dubbed the "Whaling Capital of the World"—she was the only daughter of Edward Mott Robinson and Abby Slocum Howland Robinson, both from prominent Quaker families. Her father, a stern and successful merchant, owned one of the largest whaling fleets in America, amassing wealth through voyages to the Pacific for sperm whale oil, a commodity lighting lamps across the nation. Hetty's mother died when she was just two, leaving her raised primarily by her grandfather, Gideon Howland, and her aunt Sylvia Ann Howland, who instilled in her a rigorous education in finance. From age six, Hetty read stock reports aloud to her visually impaired grandfather, absorbing lessons in bonds, investments, and frugality. By 13, she managed her own bank account, buying her first bonds and dresses with earnings from family allowances. This early immersion in business—uncommon for girls in the era—forged her ironclad financial savvy, but also her legendary parsimony: she once sued her aunt over a contested will, fighting for years in court to claim a larger share of the $2 million estate.

In 1867, at age 33, Hetty married Edward Henry Green, a Vermont-born millionaire from a silk-trading family with ties to the Philippines. The union was pragmatic: Edward's wealth complemented hers, but Hetty insisted on a prenuptial agreement protecting her assets, a forward-thinking move in an age when married women's property rights were limited. The couple moved to London to escape family disputes, where Hetty gave birth to two children: Edward Howland Robinson "Ned" Green in 1868 and Harriet Sylvia Ann Howland Green (later Wilks) in 1871. Despite Edward's lavish spending—contrasting Hetty's thrift—the marriage endured until his death in 1902, though they lived separately after 1885 due to financial disagreements. Hetty's independence was radical; she managed her portfolio solo, often disguising herself in veils or old clothes to conduct deals anonymously on Wall Street.

Hetty's rise to "Witch of Wall Street" began in earnest after inheriting her father's $5 million estate in 1865 (plus her aunt's contested fortune in 1866), catapulting her into elite investing circles. Operating from a Chemical Bank vault (rent-free, naturally), she specialized in safe, high-yield assets: U.S. government bonds during the Civil War, railroad stocks post-1869, and real estate foreclosures. Her crowning achievement came during the Panic of 1907: as banks teetered, Hetty loaned $1.1 million to New York City at 6% interest, stabilizing municipal finances and earning praise from Mayor George McClellan. She also bailed out railroads like the Louisville & Nashville, amassing control without ostentation. By 1916, her net worth rivaled Andrew Carnegie's, all while paying minimal taxes through clever relocations (Hoboken boarding houses, Bellows Falls apartments) to dodge assessments.

Yet Hetty's eccentricities often overshadowed her brilliance, painting her as a caricature of miserliness in an era of conspicuous consumption. Newspapers dubbed her the "Witch" for her unchanging black mourning dresses (worn since her father's death, allegedly unwashed to save on laundry), veiled hats, and reclusive habits. She haggled relentlessly: once searching all night for a lost 2-cent stamp, or refusing to heat her office, bundling in newspapers instead. Her frugality extended to family: when son Ned injured his leg sledding around 1880, Hetty dressed as a pauper to seek free clinic care; delays led to gangrene and amputation at 17, fueling accusations of neglect. She ate cold oatmeal to avoid cooking costs, carried lunches in paper bags, and lived in dingy rooms despite millions. Eccentric tales abound: suing the City of New York over a dog bite, or storming into banks demanding immediate loans with her fortune as collateral. These quirks, while exaggerated in tabloids, stemmed partly from paranoia—fearing kidnappers or swindlers—and a Quaker-influenced disdain for waste.

Scandals punctuated her life, amplifying her witch-like image. The protracted 1865-1870 lawsuit over Aunt Sylvia's will—challenging a codicil limiting Hetty's share—exposed forged signatures (allegedly by Hetty) and bitter family rifts, though she won partial victory. Her separation from Edward in 1885 arose from his risky investments depleting her funds; she publicly disavowed his debts. Ned's lavish lifestyle (yachts, railroads, diamond collections) contrasted her thrift, but she groomed him as heir, leaving him $100 million. Daughter Sylvia's quiet philanthropy balanced the family's reputation. Hetty's death on July 3, 1916, from a stroke at age 81 in her son's New York mansion, sparked inheritance frenzy; her will divided assets evenly between children, funding Texas politics (Ned) and hospitals (Sylvia).

Of course, separating fact from myth requires scrutiny. Biographies like Janet Wallach's The Richest Woman in America (2012) and Charles Slack's Hetty (2004), drawing from court records, diaries, and contemporary newspapers (e.g., New York Times obituaries), confirm her wealth and investments but note exaggerations: the "unwashed dress" stemmed from mourning customs, not filth; the leg incident involved multiple doctors, though delays were real. Her "witch" moniker reflected sexism—male tycoons like Morgan were "robber barons," but Hetty's assertiveness branded her unnatural. She championed women's financial independence, advising: "I am in earnest about money... because I like it."

Hetty's legacy endures in finance and culture. As a self-made magnate in a male domain, she pioneered strategies emulated by modern investors (value buying, crisis lending). Her estate seeded philanthropies like the Green Memorial Church. Pop culture nods: portrayed in films like The Toast of New York (1937), inspiring miserly characters in literature, and echoing in board games like Monopoly's wealth themes. In New England's lore—paralleling Salem's own dark trials or cryptic figures like Connecticut's phantom hounds—she embodies the Gilded Age's excesses and enigmas.

So, was Hetty Green a visionary trailblazer or a tragic eccentric? Records affirm both: a woman who conquered Wall Street on her terms, yet whose thrift isolated her. Like the spectral warnings or hidden pasts in our prior tales, her story warns of fortune's double edge. Visit New Bedford's whaling museum or Bellows Falls' sites to trace her steps—what eccentricities hide in your own pursuit of wealth?

Mike D. is a Connecticut-based writer who prefers to remain hidden—lest the legends come knocking.