Abel smiled.
‘The hotel’s a little run-down at the moment,’ Leroy admitted. ‘The last assistant manager left without giving notice, so I need a good man to take his place. Now listen, Abel, I’ve watched you carefully for the past five days, and I know you’re that man. Do you think you’d be interested in moving to Chicago?’
‘Forty dollars a week and ten per cent of any increased profits, and I’ll take the job.’
‘What?’ said Davis, flabbergasted. ‘None of my managers are paid on a profit basis. The others would raise hell if they ever found out.’
‘I’m not going to tell them if you don’t,’ said Abel.
Davis didn’t reply for some time. ‘Now I know I chose the right man, even if he strikes a harder bargain than a Yankee with six daughters.’ He slapped the side of his chair. ‘I agree to your terms, Abel.’
‘Will you be requiring references, Mr Leroy?’
‘References? I know your background and your history from the moment you left Europe right through to getting a degree in economics at Columbia. What do you think I’ve been doing the last few days? I wouldn’t put someone who needed references in as the number two in my best hotel. When can you start?’
Leaving New York City and the Plaza Hotel, his first real home since leaving the Baron, turned out to be more of a wrench than Abel had anticipated. Saying goodbye to George, Monika and his few friends from Columbia left him wondering if he’d made the right decision. Sammy and the other waiters threw a farewell party for him.
‘I’m sure we haven’t heard the last of you, Abel Rosnovski,’ said Sammy. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were after my job.’
Abel loved Chicago from the moment he stepped off the train, but the feeling was not extended to the Richmond Continental, despite the hotel being well placed on Michigan Avenue, in the heart of one of the fastest-growing cities in America. This pleased Abel, who was familiar with Ellsworth Statler’s maxim that only three things really mattered about a hotel: position, position and position.
He soon discovered that position was about the only thing the Richmond had going for it. Davis Leroy had understated the case when he said the hotel was a little run-down. Desmond Pacey, the manager, wasn’t old school, as Leroy had suggested, he was just plain lazy, and didn’t endear himself to Abel when he put his new assistant manager in a tiny room in the staff annexe across the street, and not in the main hotel. A quick check on the Richmond’s books revealed that the daily occupancy rate was running at less than 40 per cent, and the restaurant was never more than half full, not least because the food was inedible. The staff spoke half a dozen languages between them, none of which seemed to be English, and they certainly showed no sign of welcoming the Polack from New York. It was not hard to see why the last assistant manager had left in such a hurry. If the Richmond was Davis Leroy’s finest hotel, Abel feared for the other ten in the group, even if his new employer did have deep Texan pockets.
The one piece of good news that Abel discovered in his first week in Chicago was that Melanie Leroy was an only child.
24
WILLIAM AND MATTHEW started their freshman year at Harvard in the fall of 1924.
William accepted the Hamilton Memorial Mathematics Scholarship and, despite his grandmothers’ disapproval, at a cost of $290, treated himself to ‘Daisy’, the latest Model T Ford which became the first real love of his life. He painted Daisy bright yellow, which halved her value but doubled the number of his girlfriends. Calvin Coolidge won a landslide victory to return to the White House - much to the disappointment of the grandmothers, who both voted for John W. Davis - and the volume on the New York Stock Exchange reached a five-year record of 2,336,160 shares.
Both young men - ‘We can no longer refer to them as children,’ pronounced Grandmother Cabot - had been looking forward to going to college. After an energetic summer of chasing golf balls and girls, both with handicaps, they were finally ready to get down to more serious pursuits. William started work on the day he arrived in their new room on the ‘Gold Coast’, a considerable improvement on their small study at St Paul’s, while Matthew went in search of the university rowing club. He was elected to captain the freshman crew, and William left his books every Sunday afternoon to watch his friend from the banks of the Charles River. He secretly enjoyed Matthew’s success, but was outwardly scathing.
‘Life is not about eight muscle-bound men pulling unwieldy pieces of misshapen wood through choppy water while one smaller man bellows at them,’ he declared haughtily.
‘Tell Yale that,’ said Matthew.
William, meanwhile, quickly demonstrated to his mathematics professors that, like Matthew, he was several strokes ahead of the field. He became chairman of the freshman Debating Society, and talked his great-uncle, President Lowell, into introducing the first university insurance plan, where students graduating from Harvard would take out a life policy for $1,000, naming the university as the beneficiary. William estimated that if 40 per cent of the alumni joined the scheme, Harvard would have a guaranteed income of about $3 million a year from 1950 onward. His great-uncle was impressed, and gave the scheme his full backing. A year later he invited William to join the board of the University Fund Raising Committee. William accepted with pride, not realizing that the appointment was for life.
President Lowell informed Grandmother Kane that he had captured one of the finest financial brains of his generation free of charge. Grandmother Kane testily told her cousin, ‘Everything has a purpose, and this will teach William to read the fine print.’
Almost as soon as the sophomore year began, it became time to choose (or be chosen for) one of the Finals Clubs that dominated the social landscape of the most successful at Harvard. William was ‘punched’ for the Porcellian, the oldest, most exclusive and least ostentatious of such clubs. In the clubhouse on Massachusetts Avenue, incongruously situated above a cheap Hayes-Bickford cafeteria, he would sit in a comfortable armchair, considering the four-colour map problem, discussing the implications of the Loeb-Leopold case and idly watching the street below through the conveniently angled mirror while listening to the large, newfangled radio set.
When the Christmas vacation came, William was persuaded to go skiing with Matthew in Vermont, and spent a week panting uphill in the footsteps of his fitter friend.
‘Tell me, Matthew, what is the point of spending an hour climbing up a hill only to come back down the same hill in a matter of seconds at considerable risk to life and limb?’
Matthew grunted. ‘It sure gives me a bigger kick than graph theory, William. Why don’t you just admit you’re not very good at either the going up or the coming down?’
They both did enough work during their sophomore year to get by, although their interpretations of ‘getting by’ were wildly different. For the first two months of the summer vacation they worked as junior management clerks in Charles Lester’s bank in New York, Matthew’s father having long since given up the battle of trying to keep William off the premises.
When the dog days of August arrived, they spent most of their time dashing about the New England countryside in ‘Daisy’, sailing on the Charles River with as many different girls as possible and attending any house party to which they could get themselves invited. They were fast becoming the most respected personalities of the university, known to the cognoscenti as the Scholar and the Sweat. It was perfectly understood in Boston society that the girl who married William Kane or Matthew Lester would have no fears for her future, but as fast as hopeful mothers appeared with their fresh-faced daughters, Grandmother Kane and Grandmother Cabot unceremoniously dispatched them.
On April 18, 1927, William celebrated his twenty-first birthday by attending the final meeting of the trustees of his estate. Alan Lloyd and Tony Simmons had prepared all the documents for his signature.
Well, William dear,’ said Millie Preston, as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders, ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to do every bit as well as we did.’
‘I hope so, Mrs Preston,’ William replied. ‘But if ever I need to lose half a million overnight, I’ll give you a call.’
Millie Preston turned bright red, and never spoke to William again.
The trust now showed a balance of over $32 million, and William already had plans for further growth. But he had also set himself the target of making a million dollars in his own right before he left Harvard. It was not a large sum compared with the amount in his trust, but his inherited wealth meant far less to him than the balance in his personal account at Lester’s.
That summer, the grandmothers, fearing a fresh outbreak of predatory girls, dispatched William and Matthew on the grand tour of Europe. This turned out to be thoroughly worthwhile for both of them. Matthew, surmounting all language barriers, found a beautiful girl in every major European capital - love, he assured William, was an international commodity. William secured introductions to directors of most of the major European banks -money, he assured Matthew, was also an international commodity, and a far less capricious one.
From London to Berlin to Rome, the two young men left a trail of broken hearts and suitably impressed bankers. When they returned to Harvard in September, they were both ready to hit the books for their final year.
In the bitter winter of 1927, Grandmother Kane died, aged eighty-five, and William wept for the first time since his mother’s death.
‘Come on,’ said Matthew, after bearing with his depression for several days. ‘She had a good life, and waited a long time to discover whether God’s a Cabot or a Lowell.’
William missed the shrewd observations he hadn’t fully appreciated in his grandmother’s lifetime, and arranged a funeral she would have been proud to attend. The great lady may have arrived at the cemetery in a Packard hearse (‘An outrageous contraption - over my dead body’), but her only criticism of William’s arrangements for her departure would have concerned this unsound mode of transport. Her death drove William to work with even more purpose during his final year at Harvard, and he dedicated himself to winning the university’s top mathematics prize in her memory.
Grandmother Cabot died five months after Grandmother Kane - probably, said William, because there was no one left for her to talk to.
In February 1928, William received a visit from the captain of the university Debating Team. There was to be a full-dress debate the following month on the motion ‘Socialism or Capitalism for America’s Future’, and he asked William to represent capitalism.
‘What if I told you I was only willing to speak on behalf of the downtrodden masses?’ William enquired of the surprised captain, slightly nettled by the thought that outsiders assumed they knew his ideological position simply because he had inherited a famous name and a prosperous bank.
‘Well, I must say, William, we did think your preference would be for, er - ‘
‘It is. I accept your invitation. I take it that I am at liberty to select my partner?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Good. Then I choose Matthew Lester. May I know who our opponents will be?’
‘Not until the day before the debate, when the posters revealing the names will go up in the Yard.’
For the next month Matthew and William read the leaders in all the leading journals of the Left and Right at breakfast, and spent the evenings in strategy sessions for what the campus was beginning to call ‘The Great Debate’. William decided that Matthew should lead off.
As the day approached, it became clear that all of the politically motivated students, professors and even some Boston and Cambridge notables would be attending. On the morning before, William and Matthew walked over to the Yard to discover who their opponents would be.
‘Leland Crosby and Thaddeus Cohen. Either name ring a bell with you, William? Crosby must be one of the Philadelphia Crosbys, I suppose.’
‘That’s right. “The Red Maniac of Rittenhouse Square” as his aunt once described him. He’s the most committed revolutionary on campus. He’s loaded, and he spends most of his money on the popular radical causes. I can hear his opening already.’ William parodied Crosby’s grating tone: ‘“I know at first hand the rapacity and the utter lack of social conscience of the American moneyed class.” If everyone in the audience hadn’t already heard his views fifty times, he’d make a formidable opponent.’
‘And Cohen?’
‘Never heard of him. Probably a Jew.’
The following evening they made their way through the snow and biting wind, heavy overcoats flapping behind them, as they passed the gleaming columns of the Widener Library - like William’s father, the donor’s son had gone down on the Titanic - to Boylston Hall.
‘With weather like this, at least if we take a hiding, there shouldn’t be many to tell the tale,’ said Matthew hopefully.
But as they rounded the north end of the library they saw a steady stream of stamping, huffing figures ascending the steps and filing into the hall. After they had taken their seats on the podium William picked out some people he recognized in the packed audience: President Lowell, sitting discreetly in a middle row; ancient Newbury St John, professor of botany; a pair of Brattle Street bluestockings he recognized from Red House parties; and, to his right, a group of Bohemian-looking young men and women, some not even wearing ties, who turned and began to clap as their spokesmen - Crosby and Cohen - walked onto the stage.
Crosby was the more striking of the two, tall and thin almost to the point of caricature, dressed absentmindedly - or very carefully - in a shaggy tweed suit with a stiffly pressed shirt and a pipe dangling from his lower lip. Thaddeus Cohen was shorter, and wore rimless spectacles and an almost too perfectly cut dark worsted suit. William could have sworn he’d seen that face before.
The bells of Memorial Church sounded vague and distant as they rang out seven times.
The four speakers shook hands cautiously before the rules of the debate were spelled out. ‘The first speaker will be Mr Leland Crosby, Junior,’ announced the captain of debaters.
Crosby’s speech caused William little anxiety. He had anticipated the strident tone Crosby would take, the overstressed, nearly hysterical points he would emphasize. He recited the incantations of American radicalism - Haymarket, Money Trust, Standard Oil, even Cross of Gold. William didn’t think Crosby had done more than make an exhibition of himself, although he garnered the expected applause from his own little clique. When he sat down he had clearly won few new supporters, and it looked as though he might have lost a few old ones.
Matthew spoke well and to the point, charming his listeners by appearing to be the incarnation of liberal tolerance. William pumped his hand warmly when he returned to his seat to loud applause.
