The Titanic Plan (17 page)

During that month of the comet, young Clara Lemlich was recovering from the injuries she suffered during the garment industry strike that was christened
The Uprising of 20,000
. Lemlich was always at the front of the picket line, leading chants like “We’d rather starve quick then starve slow.” The strikers met with stiff opposition from the factory owners, who initiated a new tactic: fear. Thugs were hired to first intimidate, then actually beat up the girls, often with the police turning a blind eye. When threatened by the mercenary goons, Clara would shoulder up to them, daring them to attack. One day they did, breaking her ribs and fracturing her skull. When word got out that hired thugs were beating the striking girls, help was organized. Society women such as Alva Vanderbilt Belmont and Anne Morgan (Pierpont’s daughter) donated bail money for the thousands of girls that were being arrested. With Clara’s beating, the
Uprising of 20,000
became a national story and touched off wildcat strikes. Ultimately, over sixty thousand workers in America’s major garment manufacturing cities were walking picket lines. Labor strife burned throughout 1910. Even Bill Haywood was growing optimistic, seeing that sympathy instead of scorn was now being given to striking workers across the country.

Halley’s Comet began brightening in May, stretching radiantly across the sky as if brushed onto the heavens by a master painter. The inhabitants of the earth had a serious case of comet fever. Sky-watchers in Bermuda reported the comet acted strangely, wavering in the sky, following the death of England’s King Edward on May 6. Because it was an abnormally cold spring, many believed the comet was drawing the sun’s heat rays away from the earth. It was predicted that the Earth would pass through the comet’s twenty-four million mile tail on May 18. Many people believed it was to be the end of the world.

On the morning of May 18, the front-page headline of the New York Times read: “
If this is the last edition of THE TIMES we wish you a fond farewell
.” Church services were scheduled around the clock and the churches were full. Besides prayer vigils, comet parties were organized. John Astor threw his party on the rooftop of the
Waldorf-Astoria
. It was a dual purpose party: to celebrate the comet (or the end of the world) with buckets of champagne and also to celebrate his divorce from Ava, which finally became official. He invited 150 guests and laid out more than $25,000 for the rooftop soiree. Hearing about the party, Ava decided to throw her own divorce celebration at
Sherry’s
the same night. Harry Lehr, the musical butterfly of the social set, indicated who had the higher social standing by manning the piano at John Astor’s party, serenading breathless society matrons as the comet stretched across the sky above.

As it turned out, the comet’s tail missed Earth by 197,000 miles. The planet survived.

President William Howard Taft was far less concerned about the end of the world than he was by the looming specter of Theodore Roosevelt, who was preparing his return to the United States after a year of African safari.

Roosevelt had arrived in Khartoum in mid-March and was given a hero’s welcome. Banners proclaimed “Welcome Teddy” and American flags waved throughout the city. Crowds of local citizens gathered to greet the ex-President, as did throngs of tourists and a swarm of newspaper reporters, who besieged him with questions about Taft. Roosevelt was uncharacteristically cautious, knowing full well that if he criticized his handpicked successor it would cause a political earthquake in the United States.

From Khartoum, Roosevelt went to Cairo. At a reception at the
Shepheards Hotel
, Roosevelt shook hands with over 700 American tourists. They beseeched him to wield a big stick again. “Won’t you straighten up old man Taft when you get home?” “We want to see you in the White House again.” “We want you back again.” Roosevelt grinned his toothy grin and tried to restrain his urge to comment. He couldn’t, finally saying, “I am not going to make a speech, but I am pleased to meet you Americans so far from home,” then adding a reference to Pierpont Morgan’s famous dinner party remark: “I am glad to furnish you evidence that the lion did not do his duty!”

Taft followed accounts of the ex-President’s travels and became increasingly upset about Roosevelt’s imminent return. On May 28th, Taft wrote a long letter to Roosevelt telling him what he had accomplished during the past year and what he hoped to accomplish in the next three years. When he didn’t receive an immediate reply he began complaining about his former mentor. He griped that he hadn’t heard from Roosevelt during the entire African safari, not even a “thank you” for the gold ruler Taft gave him as a going away present. Taft debated whether he should be dockside to greet Roosevelt on his return or whether it would be too undignified for a sitting President to participate in the return of an ex-President. He finally decided to send Archie to New York as his personal envoy to welcome Theodore Roosevelt back home.

CHAPTER 17

John Astor and George Vanderbilt kept the original list of potential partners in a desk drawer in Astor’s office. It was an ever-shifting roster, filled with cross-outs and additions, stained with coffee and
Courvoisier
. In its margins were notes on how to approach each man and what they had to contribute in money, influence or talent. Astor and Vanderbilt realized that in order for The Plan to succeed, they needed people who could work together. This was no small task; the titans of industry usually functioned as grand captains of their own ships, running their business empires with autocratic authority.

Their first meeting was with Andrew Carnegie. They traveled uptown to Carnegie’s mansion at 91st Street and Fifth Avenue. At age 72 and standing five foot one, Carnegie looked like a mischievous Scottish wood sprite. Few would imagine that this genial elf who sprinkled his talk with old folk tales and moral homilies, was considered one of the most Machiavellian figures in business when he ran
Carnegie Steel
with his partner, Henry Clay Frick.

“
Come in, please gentlemen,” Carnegie said in a squeaky Scottish brogue. “So good of you to visit a useless old man.” Self-deprecation was a disarming technique Carnegie used throughout his life. The “useless old man” was, in pure cash assets, the richest man in America. Through his philanthropy he was working to transform his image from a hard-nosed businessman to a saintly humanitarian.

“
You are hardly useless, Mr. Carnegie,” Vanderbilt said.

“
Ach, people flock to me now only because I’m tossin’ great bundles of cash every which way. I’m not so naïve to think they actually make their pilgrimage because they adore m’charming Scottish countenance.” Carnegie laughed then said pointedly, “so…how can I help you gentlemen?”

Vanderbilt caught the subtle message: Carnegie expected to be asked for money. So rather than pitching the old Scotsman for an investment, Vanderbilt laid out the possibility of providing America with a more efficient commerce system. “It will be a boon to business and worker alike,” Vanderbilt said, playing to Carnegie’s current social conscience. “By lowering the cost of transporting goods and having it reflected in better living costs for the average American citizen, it will revolutionize and revitalize the American economy.”

“
Big plans…very nice, very nice,” Carnegie said at the end of Vanderbilt’s presentation. “But I hope you gentlemen are not asking for my participation in this project as I am in the process of giving my money away, not looking to invest. The good Lord knows I have plenty of money as it is.”

Astor spoke up, reiterating how much good this project would do for all people when Carnegie held up his hand. He started to speak, but before he could utter a word, his eyes reddened and grew misty. “Gentlemen, I am seventy-two years old. I have an eleven-year-old daughter and a beautiful wife that provides me with more gifts than I deserve. Before God takes my tired soul, my purpose in life is to use the money I have made so that it might help others. And while your project seems worthy, it is business, and as such, it is something I have vowed to stay away from.” Suddenly clear-eyed again, Carnegie hopped to his feet and extended his hand. “Good luck to you, good luck to both of you on your endeavors.”

They had been with Carnegie for no more than fifteen minutes and it was over. Astor and Vanderbilt were stunned by how easily Carnegie dispatched them. The butler, who materialized the moment Carnegie sprang up, ushered them out.

Over steaks at
Delmonico’s
the two men conducted a post-mortem of the evening. Long suppressed doubts about the project emerged. Perhaps they missed something. Was such a large project practical? Could it really be accomplished? Was it worth the time and money? Was it even really a good idea?

They took separate cabs home that evening and did not see each other for ten days. When they did get back together, it was to attend a performance of
Madam Butterfly
at the
Metropolitan Opera House
. They sat in stony silence in the Astor box, absently listening to Enrico Caruso and Geraldine Ferrar sing while their minds drifted to commerce centers that would dot America’s landscape. When the Met’s golden curtain descended at the end of Act II, Astor jumped up. “Off to the Men’s Lounge,” Astor said, then quickly scurried from the box. Vanderbilt strolled to a dark corner near the lobby for a private smoke. It wasn’t more than a minute when he heard someone addressing him. “Excuse me, but can I ask you a question?”

Annoyed, Vanderbilt glanced up to see a doughy faced middle-aged man staring intently at him. “Did you say something?” Vanderbilt replied, not wanting to engage the stranger.

“
I just noticed your ring,” the man said, pointing to Vanderbilt’s gold ring with a rough cross of garnet and mother of pearl. “I believe it’s quite rare. Ancient Frankish, yes? If I might ask, how did you obtain such a treasure?”

“
There’s only one way to get a ring like this. Outbid everyone else and pay top dollar for it.”

“
So you must be George Vanderbilt.”

“
I am. And how did you guess that?”

“
Because you were the bastard who outbid me for it,” the man grinned and held out his hand. “Benjamin Guggenheim.”

“
Guggenheim,” Vanderbilt said softly, and then smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Guggenheim. I’m here with John Astor.”

“
Unfortunately, I’m unaccompanied this evening,” Guggenheim said.

“
Perhaps you’d like to join us in our box?”

“
I would love to, Mr. Vanderbilt. Thank you. What a fortuitous happenstance to have run into you.”

“
Yes,” Vanderbilt said. “Fortuitous.”

The Guggenheims were on the list of people to be approached. Not Benjamin, but Daniel, his brother. Daniel was the Guggenheim who headed the business empire, inheriting that position from their father. Benjamin was the black sheep of six brothers. Though he was educated in all aspects of the family business – mining and smelting – he lacked the financial acumen of his brothers. Benjamin found a number of ways to squander vast quantities of the Guggenheim money. The only area Benjamin excelled in was charming the ladies. He married a wealthy banker’s daughter then, after siring three daughters – Benita, Peggy, and Hazel – devoted most of his time to a series of beautiful mistresses.

After the opera, Vanderbilt and Astor took Guggenheim for drinks at the Waldorf. They guided the conversation toward their new business project. By the second glass of champagne, Guggenheim was intrigued. By the fourth glass, his face was red with excitement. By the seventh glass of champagne, he had promised to deliver all the copper needed for construction. By the ninth glass all of them were ready to begin construction that night. The Plan offered more to Benjamin Guggenheim than either Vanderbilt or Astor realized. For Benjamin Guggenheim, bringing such a momentous project to his brothers might put him back in the family’s good graces. That was what he desired more than anything: to be accepted as a full-fledged Guggenheim and not as an outcast brother.

As the evening wound down and they all staggered to their cabs, George Vanderbilt, John Astor, and Benjamin Guggenheim threw their arms around each other and congratulated themselves on the great success that was to be theirs.

CHAPTER 18