by Meryl Gordon
Mrs. Astor prayed at bedtime, asking Christie to get on her knees to join in the Lord's Prayer. Her worn Bible was her talisman against fear, and she took it with her to Holly Hill on weekends. (The car had to turn back one weekend when the Good Book was left behind.) But Christie's notes are heartbreaking: "Refused sleeping pill. Said she wants to be awake if anyone is trying to finish me. Reassured of her safety. Skin very dry, fragile." In order to hear the footsteps of her mythical tormentors, Brooke kept refusing to take her hearing aids out at bedtime, despite the nurse's protests.
Yet Mrs. Astor could still make a comeback, and there were moments when she appeared joyous—a contagious sight for her caregivers. Pearline Noble was delighted by her impulsive gesture as a friend departed, writing in her notes, "Mrs. A curtsied, she did it so gracefully, she's unbelievable!" One evening Mrs. Astor spent an hour trying to pass along her flirting techniques, literally teaching the nurses how to wink at men. Christie laughs as she recalls Mrs. Astor demonstrating her prowess and announcing, "This is how you do it."
As Brooke Astor faded, Tony, at age seventy-nine, was in the midst of an unexpected renaissance. The Marshalls were reveling in their roles as producers, thanks to Delphi's new play, I Am My Own Wife, a brilliant and innovative one-man account of a transvestite who survived in Nazi Germany. Richenthal discovered the property, by Doug Wright, but Tony and Charlene, his chief financial backers, revealed not only taste but artistic daring, since this show was unlikely to appeal to the suburban matinee crowd. The director, Moises Kaufman, was impressed by Tony's and Charlene's earnest and unpretentious attitude. "The first thing that struck me was how kind and unassuming they were," he says. "Usually producers walk into the theater with the sense of entitlement. This was a hard play to sell. They never wavered." He also enjoyed spending time with the third Mrs. Marshall. "Charlene has this kind of exuberance," Kaufman says. "I used to joke with her that she could talk to a wall and the wall would talk back to her."
For the first time in years, Tony was treated as more than his mother's escort. He was portrayed as an avant-garde producer in a profile on December 14, 2003, in Variety. The glowing account highlighted his service in the CIA and the battle of Iwo Jima. "The theatre is a little like going into battle. It is very tense," Tony said. "But you can't get killed, only wounded." Three days later he received the ultimate civilian medal—a gushing profile in the New York Times headlined "He Is His Own Producer, and Much More." Perhaps the most meaningful element of the article for Tony Marshall was that the story mentioned only in passing that he was Brooke Astor's son. How long had he waited to be acknowledged, praised, and recognized for his own merits? The Times's theater reporter, Jesse McKinley, wrote, "Even in an industry populated by moneyed eccentrics and grandiose credits, Mr. Marshall's resume stands out."
Although Mrs. Astor, her son's most important audience, would attend opening night, accompanied by Francis Morrissey again, she was not able to appreciate his triumph fully, given her declining health. On December 13 she was described in the nurse's notes as experiencing "periods of confusion and illusions. Continues to say being afraid and that someone is trying to kill her. Reassured of her safety. Did not want to be left alone. Pain in hip." The following day Mrs. Astor appeared to have lost the will to carry on. "Periods of confusion. Talks constantly about wanting to die. Involuntary tremors lasting 25–50 seconds." By December 17, as her deterioration accelerated, she could not complete full sentences or make her wishes understood. The day nurse wrote, "Paranoia, undecipherable words, disoriented after lunch." The night nurse noted, "Started conversations and then became incoherent."
The nurses saw Mrs. Astor unguarded, at her worst. Yet drawing on a lifetime of social skills, she could still pull herself together for guests, relying on snippets of recycled conversation. "She was on automatic pilot," recalls Barbara Goldsmith. "She would repeat favorite lines, like 'My mother always told me never to get above myself' or 'Vincent Always told me that I would have a lot of fun with the foundation.'" Annette, who went by at least once a week, marveled at Brooke's tenacity in clinging to social niceties. For a brief showing, Brooke could artfully perform like a wind-up doll who brightly repeats, "How nice to see you. How have you been? Would you like some tea?" But close friends were not fooled. They had spent too many years being entertained by, confided in, and bossed around by the genuine article.
Despite the incoherence and disorientation noted by the nurses on December 17, on the next day Mrs. Astor met with Terry Christensen, this time to change her will. Sometimes in recasting her bequests she would give in to whims, revising who got which piece of jewelry, but this was no minor modification. On this fateful day, Mrs. Astor agreed to the first substantial revision of her 2002 will. The change marked a radical shift in her attitude toward Tony: she was now passing along her avocation as a philanthropist. Christensen drafted the document, describing this as the "First and Final Codicil," as if he were giving Tony a message: This is it—no more changes.
Up until now Mrs. Astor had always left the bulk of her estate to charity, with a detailed list of beneficiaries. But under the new codicil she agreed to put 49 percent of the remaining assets left in a trust by Vincent Astor into a new entity, the Anthony Marshall Fund, to allow her son to give away the money. Now the Marshalls could be New York power brokers, able to pass out some $30 million, in total assets, to their favored entities. The codicil that Brooke signed reads: "I have enjoyed greatly the ability to help New Yorkers through Vincent's generosity throughout my long life, and I hope my son will obtain similar enjoyment and satisfaction, and find new ways to benefit the public." Under the provisions, Tony would be the sole trustee, but he could not be paid a commission or name future trustees. Any money remaining in the Anthony Marshall Fund at the time of his death would go to the Metropolitan Museum and the New York Public Library. Six years earlier, Brooke Astor had closed the Vincent Astor Foundation rather than turn it over to her son. Now she was making him a philanthropist for all the world to see.
Later that day, Brooke told the nurses that she was worried about being put in a nursing home. She had spoken of this fear repeatedly of late, and the staff did not know what to make of her anxieties. On December 18, the nurses' notes describing Brooke's mood read, "Wanted to know who was taking her to the nursing home or else she would die."
Mrs. Astor reiterated that thought in a slightly different fashion the next day, inquiring when "they are putting her away." According to the notes, she stated, "I want to live for at least six months but they told me I am going to die tonight." The night nurse added her own commentary: "Reassured that no one knows when she is going to die but God. Appears to be in deep concentration. When asked if she was ok, said she has a lot on her mind but didn't want to talk about it."
When Barbara Walters went to 778 Park Avenue to visit Brooke Astor on December 29, just eleven days later, the anchorwoman was deeply saddened to discover that her friend of forty years no longer recognized her despite their long history. Recalling that day, Walters choked up at the memory, saying, "Brooke didn't know me. I said, 'Brooke, it's Barbara.' She had no idea who I was." They had met back in the mid 1960s at a dinner party given by the journalist Lally Weymouth, and over the years had become close. Yet now, Walters says, "There were words, very slurred, very garbled. I couldn't have a conversation." With Mrs. Astor seemingly "incoherent" from the ravages of old age, Walters decided that this encounter would be their last. "I felt there was no purpose in my visiting," Walters said. "I wasn't bringing her any pleasure and it was painful."
The effect of Mrs. Astor's signature on this document was to put Christensen's reputation on the line. If she was competent on December 18, then presumably she would also be competent to make additional changes in the near future. By his unorthodox wording, Christensen appeared to be signaling that he would not be party to any more alterations to Mrs. Astor's will. If Tony wanted his mother to sign other codicils, he presumably would have to employ other lawyers.
How fortunate for Tony that Francis X. Morrissey, Jr., had become so well versed in Brooke Astor's estate plans.
January 12, 2004, was a bad day to be Brooke Astor. That Monday was so memorable that several people immediately felt compelled to write down their version of events. Even the most self-serving accounts include details that are chilling. As legend has it, Brooke had once dissuaded a would-be thief on Fifth Avenue by politely extending her hand and saying, "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've been introduced." But there was no way to charm the intruders on this day, who wielded a pen. In weak handwriting, Brooke Astor scratched her name on a second codicil, bequeathing $60 million directly to Tony Marshall and thereby disenfranchising the charities on whose behalf she had worked tirelessly for four decades. The new codicil enabled Tony to choose his fellow executors: he replaced Christensen with Charlene and the ever helpful Morrissey.
What was Mrs. Astor's mood on this fateful Monday? According to the lawyers dispatched by Tony, she appeared to be cheerful and sophisticated, dropping bons mots into conversation, discoursing on world events, and reading complex documents without her glasses. What the nurses described in their notes was a frightened old woman being dragged down a hallway against her objections to a closed-door meeting.
In Morrissey's account, Brooke was wearing a blue tweed suit and good jewelry and appeared pleased to see him when he arrived at the apartment at 4 P.M. to meet with her and Tony. "She extended her arm, and we both walked into the library side by side," he wrote. "She looked at me and said, 'We are here for something important.'" Morrissey, using Tony's favored honorific, wrote: "Ambassador Marshall explained to his mother that she had told him on Friday (1/9/04) that he should come to her with any problems. He said he found it difficult to work with Terry Christensen." In addition to Morrissey, the former ambassador had hired new lawyers in early January—G. Warren Whitaker and Robert Knuts of the firm Day, Berry & Howard—to draw up a new codicil.
Morrissey's chronicle goes on to describe an intimate mother-son moment: "She then said she loved him. She wanted to give him money. She turned to me and said you know Charlene and Tony have 'nobody,' they have to 'wash their own dishes.' She said she thought it was terrible and she wanted him to have the freedom to manage her affairs after her death ... Mrs. Astor agreed that she wanted him to be happy and she didn't much care if Terry or Sullivan & Cromwell were disappointed. In fact she said jokingly, 'I don't give a damn. I'll be dead anyway.'"
The next step was to bring in the new team. "I then explained to Mrs. Astor that Mr. Knuts and Mr. Whitaker, both lawyers, prepared a second codicil to her will expressing her wishes so that it would be abundantly clear to everyone," he wrote. "Ambassador Marshall left and Mr. Whitaker and Mr. Knuts came into the library and I introduced them to Mrs. Astor."
These strangers, who had shown up on her doorstep apparently unbidden, had drafted a document for her to sign, based on instructions from her son and Morrissey. "I gave her a pen," wrote Morrissey. "We were sitting on the sofa and there was not a hard surface for the pen to make a strong mark. She commented on the pen and said she would sign her middle name 'Russell' because Tony would like it." According to Morrissey, Mrs. Astor then looked at him directly and said, "How do you think things are going?" As Morrissey put it, "I knew intuitively and from past conversations with her that she was referring to world events." He added that she had gone on to regale him with stories of her girlhood in China. He wrote, "She demonstrated an acute awareness of the presence [present] as well as an awareness of what was going on everywhere in the world."
G. Warren Whitaker, who composed his own memo describing the signing ceremony for his files, was so concerned about getting the nuances right that he wrote four different versions, tweaking the language and description. He met with Mrs. Astor at 4 P.M., or at 4:05 P.M., or at 4:15 P.M. In one version he "reviewed" the changes in her will; in another he "explained" them to her. In one of the memos, Morrissey hands Mrs. Astor a document and tells her that this is "the codicil she had wanted prepared." In Whitaker's three other versions of the same scene, that line is missing and there is no indication that she knew anything about the codicil.
One vivid snatch of dialogue is contained in all of Whitaker's memos. Handed the codicil to read, she replied, "Good, I am not going to be around much longer." According to Whitaker, Morrissey explained that this codicil allowed Tony to leave property outright to his wife. "Mrs. Astor said, 'They are happy?' Morrissey replied that Tony and his wife were happy together. Mrs. Astor wryly replied, 'Are they happy in bed?' and everyone laughed appreciatively."
The nurses were not allowed into this meeting, but they saw Mrs. Astor before and after. Pearline Noble had started keeping a separate log, using easy-to-decipher pseudonyms for the characters: Brooke was Princess Polyanna, Tony was Golden Boy or Golden Retriever, Morrissey was Tutor, Charlene was Miss Piggy or Poor Little Rich Girl. Here's how Noble described that afternoon: "Golden boy & tutor took Princess Polyanna on each arm pulling her into the library ... Mrs. Astor didn't know if she was coming or going. She told Mr. Marshall she don't want to be pushed in any business and she reiterated 'do you hear me' with a bang on the floor with her walking stick. She was having a hard time walking." Noble wrote that Mrs. Astor did not even recognize Morrissey and asked her son, "Who is that?"
Noble later confirmed her written remarks in an interview with me and then physically demonstrated, with her arms around me, how she usually helped Mrs. Astor walk, half carrying her. "They started to pull her," Noble insisted. "They are not holding her to balance her—it ended up being a drag."
That evening Minnette Christie wrote in the regular log that Mrs. Astor was frightened, saying that "four men are in the house who know everything about her and she doesn't know them. Also that the men want her to do things. Very hard on herself, referring to self as a 'dam[n] fool.' Reassured that no men are in the house and of her safety. Remained apprehensive and did not want to be left alone."
Someone had to break the news to Terry Christensen that his services were no longer needed. Christensen was in Florida on business when he got a series of urgent calls from Warren Whitaker. The Sullivan & Cromwell lawyer reacted with a mixture of fury and disbelief when he learned that he had been fired. He did not believe that Mrs. Astor had voluntarily agreed to do so. The lawyer called Tony, who insisted that the entire decision had been his mother's idea. Christensen asked to meet with Brooke; Tony refused.
While Christensen brooded, Tony arranged for his mother to host a lunch at the Knickerbocker Club on February 10 for her financial advisers, including her old dance partner Freddy Melhado, who ran a hedge fund, and Richard Thieke, a director of Deutschebank. Mrs. Astor spent that morning at the doctor's office, undergoing a battery of tests. Renowned for her spontaneous remarks, at this lunch she got up and read from a typed notecard: "It has not been easy to be my son. Tony has had to dance in back of me all of his life. He has proven himself to be a gentleman. He has never asked me for anything. I am proud of his service to our country as a decorated Marine—as was my father—and as an ambassador. I am grateful to him for what he has achieved while managing my affairs. He has done a magnificent job! Most of all, I love him and his wife Charlene and my great hope is for their continued happiness."
Lovely sentiments, to be sure. But Dr. Pritchett later stated that at this point in her decline, Mrs. Astor lacked the mental ability to write or dictate those thoughts. The purpose of the lunch appeared to be to display her in a public forum so that witnesses could see her looking mentally fit and praising Tony. The experience was so traumatic for Brooke that several weeks later, when a friend made a date to take her for lunch to the Knickerbocker, she became phobic outside the club, sitting in her car and finally reluctantly entering the building.
The day after the Knickerbocker performance, Christensen met with Tony and Charlene at their apartment for a largely acrimonious fifty-minute meeting. Tony wrote a revealing letter for his files afterward, referring t
o everyone by initials: his mother is BA, Christensen is TC, Charlene is CTM, and he is ADM. As the memo states, "On entering our apartment, TC declared, 'I thought we were friends.' ...With controlled anger, he declared that if it were to become known that he was no longer BA's lawyer he would be publicly humiliated." Then the conversation escalated, according to Tony. "TC went on to say that BA was incompetent (I interrupted saying that I completely disagreed with him) and that what Warren Whitaker, 'a second rate lawyer' did was unethical and that any respected firm would not have allowed him to do what he had done. TC told us that he had always looked out for our (ADM/CTM) interests....TC commented that he had stood up for us when, he said, BA wanted to cut CTM out of her will some time ago."
Christensen has a different recollection. After being shown Tony's written account, Christensen, who had previously refused to discuss his relationship with Mrs. Astor, citing attorney-client privilege (which in New York continues beyond death), agreed to respond. "I did not describe Mrs. Astor as incompetent or believe she was incompetent," Christensen said. "She was old—her vitality had diminished. What I said to Tony was that given his mother's age and infirmities, it wasn't fair to ask her to make changes in her life, whether removing her counsel, or completely changing her estate plan." Christensen insisted that he did not personally attack Warren Whitaker.
As for Mrs. Astor's desire to cut Charlene out of her will, Christensen confirmed that that had indeed been the case. "I cannot break confidences of private conversations I had with Mrs. Astor, but it is fair to say—given what Mr. Marshall says in his memorandum—that I did urge Mrs. Astor from time to time not to remove Charlene, and some others, from her will." The lawyer adds that the session at the Marshalls' apartment "was sufficiently tense that at the end of the meeting, Charlene said she was worried about Mr. Marshall's health, given his heart attacks, and could we please terminate the meeting."