Citizen Hughes

by Michael Drosnin

  “I assure you that, if you feel even half of what you said in your message, it has to be straightened out to the point where you look at the situation entirely differently.

  “It is just absurd for two people in the position we are in, where each depends as completely on the other as we do, to have the compressed, bursting package of bitterness and resentment, bottled up inside one of us as you disclosed this morning.

  “And, I assure you, Bob, it is not a one-way street,” Hughes continued, abandoning his even-handed approach, “because for every feeling of injustice, or whatever it is that is bugging you, I feel just as strongly in the opposite direction.

  “Just as convinced as you appear to be that I am wrong and that you are getting the bad end of the deal, etc., just as convinced as you appear to be that you are mistreated, and that you have to take some kind of revenge, just as firmly convinced of this as you seem to be, you may rest assured I feel equally strongly that you are 100% wrong.

  “So, I am sure this walled-up bitterness must not be permitted to continue between us,” he concluded, having laid things on the table with a vengeance. He now turned back to the matter at hand.

  “Meantime, Bob, please do not allow us to have a further misunderstanding about the Landmark.

  “I am asking you, for the record, not to give a go-ahead on the basis of any specific date, and not to make any preparations for the opening. Also, I implore you, Bob, not to permit some rumor to leak out about a July 1st opening, or anything else in connection with this matter, until we get these issues settled.”

  Finally, to really nail down an open date, Hughes added a stern P.S.: “Bob, the above is really important if we are to have any chance at all of healing this breach between us.”

  Maheu didn’t know what had hit him. The CIA tough guy was flat on his back, crying for mercy.

  “Even a person who professes to be as rough and strong as I do will eventually hit the canvas when he is consistently clobbered on all parts of his body and head,” wrote the outmatched challenger, throwing in the towel. “He is bound to become punch-drunk. Then to find himself on the canvas and to be kicked in the groin too, I don’t think he is entirely unreasonable if he eeks out: ‘Ouch, this hurts.’

  “As to the Landmark, Howard, I am sure you realize that the logistics involved in an opening are many. If we are not going to open on July 1, we would very much appreciate your giving us a fixed date.”

  With Maheu on the ropes, Hughes now shifted his tactics. There was no need to beat his sparring partner bloody. A TKO was sufficient. Besides, why let Maheu claim all the sympathy? Hughes too was in pain. Deep pain.

  The terror over the opening, which had brought their marital strife to a head, had also forced Howard Hughes to look inward, to examine his life, to search his soul. He began the long journey with a brief but seemingly heartfelt review.

  “Sixty-four years of my life have been devoted to hard work,” he wrote, somewhat sadly. “What I have to show for this consists of assets, liabilities, and a small amount of cash.

  “If the above items will not purchase a certain amount of freedom for me, then my 64 years of effort have been wasted.

  “If I am not permitted to use such funds and resources as I have to purchase a little more time prior to the Landmark opening, in order to remove the weight and pressure on me which would result from an attempt to meet a July 1st deadline, then I must assume that my 64 years of effort has been wasted.

  “I do not say it cannot be done on July 1st, I just say I dont want the July 1st date committed or promised.”

  July 1 was less than three days away. Maheu was in a state of panic. Hughes had just told him that his entire life was meaningless if he could not keep the opening date open, but Maheu desperately needed a decision.

  “Any decision is better than none from this point on,” he urged his boss. “Howard, the impression is being gained in certain quarters that we are not very well organized.”

  It was the ultimate understatement. Hughes, however, took it as the ultimate insult, one that called into question not only the Landmark party, not only his entire Las Vegas adventure, not only his troubled relationship with Maheu, but his entire life. Indeed, he now reviewed the whole of it in detail, all in another attempt to justify leaving the opening date open.

  “I am very grateful to you for the many contributions you have made toward the success of the various activities I have assigned to you,” wrote Hughes.

  “However, Bob, there comes a time when the success of a man’s business endeavors are not as important as his peace of mind and the condition of his health.

  “Bob, I have worked as hard, and devoted myself as completely to my work as anybody I know.

  “So, I now wind up a supposedly successful business man who has wrecked his health and consumed the best part of his life in the process,” he continued, seeming for the first time to glimpse his own sad reality.

  “Bob, I have tried to be scrupulously honest, and I have tried to give, for charitable purposes, a sum in relationship to my earnings in excess of what is considered fair,” he went on, seeking salvation by a spurious statement of his good works.

  “When the newspapers print stories of the unbelievable increase in business revenues in this area and the incredible increase in population, I can’t help but feel I must have given something to this community.

  “Yet, somehow, this supposed success story does not seem to be enough for you, Bob,” he complained, as if to an unflattering mirror.

  “Your messages, every so often, disclose a resentment lying beneath the surface. Sometimes it is only a few words, sometimes it is more.

  “I got the impression from you that the purchase of the Landmark constituted an important contribution to the community.

  “But now, you tell me that I dont have enough reserve of good will on deposit with the Governor and our other friends to permit a moderate delay in the announcement of the opening date of the Landmark.

  “Bob, I think the most disturbing feature of your message is the statement that I should reconcile myself to the fact that the appearance is being gained in ‘certain quarters’ that we are not very well organized.

  “The shocking part of this whole thing, in my opinion, Bob, lies in the fact that you and I dont have enough good will stored up to bridge over a delay of a few days in an announcement of this kind as if it were nothing.

  “So, Bob, my point is that, if, after all the contributions to the community, which have led to unprecedented income and growth, if, after all this, I cannot tell you that I will give you this opening date in a few days without being warned that the Governor, etc. are going to lose faith and think the entire operation is ‘not very well organized,’ then I say my life is drawing too short for this kind of pressure.”

  Not very well organized. He certainly would not sit still for that kind of slander. And all this pressure, where was it coming from? Maheu.

  “Bob,” he continued, “you are one of the most high powered units of manpower I have ever come across. But, like most extremely competant people, you have enough pride in your work to resent any interference at all.

  “I am convinced that you will not ever be happy in an organizational set-up such as we have. I think you will only be truly content when you are in a position comparable to working for yourself.

  “I am sure you can see that, so long as you are in the position of administering all of the details and loose ends that go to make up my every-day life, complete independance free of any interference is just not possible.

  “So, I am going to make a suggestion, Bob.

  “I suggest, Bob, that you assign this Las Vegas job to any of your men you select.

  “On this basis, Bob, I would be happy for you to spend the entire summer in Newport, and on your boat as much of the time as you wish.

  “I think you subconsciously blame me for every week-end you are not on your boat, and it would be my hope that this plan would end that
.”

  It would also end Maheu’s power. No party was worth that. In a desperate bid to avoid being put out to sea, Maheu tried to soothe Hughes with abject deference and nostalgic praise.

  “Howard,” he wrote, “I am familiar with the story of your movie ‘The Outlaw’ and how you decided to delay releasing it against the advice of all the experts. I am also familiar with the fact that in 1947 in your testimony before the Brewster committee—after having listened to all of the inputs—you negated them all and handled Brewster in your own way.

  “I would not want to deprive you of being right once more as to the opening of the Landmark. After all, Howard, it is one thing to argue and for me to make known all of my thinking, but there can be only one Captain.”

  The invocation of past glories had a magical effect. Captain Hughes finally picked a date for the party. Or rather a whole series of dates—July 3, July 4, July 5, July 24, agonizing over each, analyzing all of them quite carefully both in absolute terms and in relation to every rival event from the moon landing to the opening of the International, even considering a three-month delay—before he finally settled on July 1, after all.

  “I dont mind yielding to your wishes as to the Landmark opening, both as to the time and as to the nature of the show,” he wrote Maheu grudgingly, with the big party now only two days away. “I only want to ask that the record show I want the opening delayed.”

  The momentous decision caused Hughes immediate anxiety. His approval of the opening date opened the floodgates of his fears. His melancholy deepened. He could not sleep.

  “I have been doing some very heavy soul-searching all night,” he solemnly informed Maheu at dawn on June 30, one day before the dreaded event.

  “Now that I feel all decisions concerning the opening of the Landmark are in sight (I will have the invitation lists in your hands this morning. I dont want you to start calling until then, but there will be no problem. The changes I want are very simple.) I want to make some very important decisions concerning the future.

  “Bob, I want to lay it on the line with you. I simply am not happy under present circumstances. And I dont have such an abundance of years remaining that I can afford to continue on with a pattern of life which seems to fall such a long way short of what I really want.”

  Hughes was not talking about his grim seclusion, his bizarre lifestyle, or his wretched condition. He was talking about the terrible frustration of not having things entirely his way in Nevada, a feeling apparently intensified by the impending Landmark party. And he was thinking of leaving.

  “I have a number of very important new projects and investments that I want to commence at once,” he continued. “If it is to be in Nevada, fine.

  “On the other hand, if a program to sell the hotels is going to be attempted, then naturally I want to commence the new projects at a new location to be selected either in Baja or in the Bahamas.

  “Bob, I have been in this frustrated position for a number of months. This has left me in an uncertain, faltering frame of mind which, combined with a tendency to be overcautious anyway, has resulted in sort of throwing me off balance.

  “Well, all these months I have been fuming and boiling here in a state of intense frustration,” he concluded, tired of playing Hamlet in his penthouse.

  “I want either to go ahead in a big way, or I want out—and now! Please.

  “Please reply, Bob, on a most urgent basis.

  “I am working on the invitation lists right now.”

  Hughes was, indeed, hard at work on the invitation lists even as he searched his soul, still poring over the lists one name at a time, still seeking that elusive consistency.

  “I have now returned all the names to the list of business men, except only Scott and Tiberti and the two men from REECo. and EG&G,” he proudly informed Maheu.

  “I will think about REECo. and EG&G. I would like you to think carefully and analyze the pros and cons of Scott and Tiberti and report fully to me.”

  Yes, that should just about wrap it all up. Except for one nagging problem.

  “P.S., I still need to look at sometime tonite the list of any added automobile dealers you may feel should be included.”

  Of course. The auto dealers. Now that Ackerman had been returned to the list. One day before the big party, Hughes was still hung up on the auto dealers, as he had been from the beginning, from the first name on the first list.

  With one day to go, Hughes had actually approved only forty-four invitations. He was still refusing to allow Maheu to order any food. He was still questioning every detail of the party, still withholding his consent. And while he had finally approved the opening, he had still not approved the closing. Almost forgotten in the frantic planning for the party was the salient fact that Hughes did not yet actually own the Landmark. He simply refused to close the deal.

  “It appears that the only two people in Clark County who do not know when we are going to close our purchase of the Landmark are you and I,” complained a frazzled Maheu, suddenly gripped by the realization that the five P.M. deadline was only hours away.

  “I have already given you authority to close the Landmark deal at such time as you consider most favorable,” Hughes replied impatiently.

  “What I am not willing to accept is the closure today being rushed thru in the next few hours merely to avoid the inconvenience of obtaining a 24 hr. extension.”

  In fact, any delay would be more than a small inconvenience. It would require a series of complex renegotiations with at least fifteen separate creditors to the hotel’s bankrupt owners. It could take days. It might never be resolved. Hughes, of course, knew that quite well.

  “I simply dont want to see benefits sacrificed,” he blithely continued, “merely to accomodate a rushed closing scheduled to avoid the inconvenience of obtaining a simple extension on the 15 open claims which would become void if the Landmark is closed in the morning instead of tonite.”

  No guests, no food, and suddenly no guarantee that Hughes would even own the Landmark in time to celebrate its opening. Early on the morning of June 30—after listening to the billionaire search his soul and re-analyze the guest list, but refuse to buy the hotel—Maheu flipped out all over again.

  “Howard,” he raged, “here it is 7:00 AM and I am still left dangling.

  “With the present posture of our opening at the Landmark, you might as well be the first to know that if you want to find me during the ‘festivities’ at the Landmark, on the evening of July 1, you might tell your men to start looking for me at the CIRCUS CIRCUS.”

  Maheu was looking for trouble. The Circus-Circus was a particularly hated rival, a new casino Hughes had tried desperately to block, fearing that it would lower the tone of Las Vegas, give it a cheap, honky-tonk, carnival atmosphere. Maheu knew that, but, in a reckless mood, he went on.

  “You see, Howard, I have not yet had any time to spare to visit the CIRCUS CIRCUS once, but I am beginning to believe that since I’ll have nothing better to do on July 1, perhaps I should take advantage of the occassion.”

  The calculated provocation left Hughes seething. He would not, however, give his underling the satisfaction of triggering an uncontrolled outburst. Instead he replied with a restrained fury that hissed more ominously for being kept under control.

  “I know that you have said in the past that you are a free spoken person who cannot keep things bottled up, etc., and that, when you have to let off steam, I should just take it in stride,” wrote Hughes.

  “I usually can. But this situation wherein you seem to think you have to resort to making threats of dire consequences is just more than my nervous system can handle.

  “Suppose you set forth the minimum formalities that will satisfy you for the 36 hours starting now and ending after the hotel is operational.

  “Suppose you do this with no further drama than necessary. I will agree to a program that is satisfactory to you, provided you do your best to outline a program which you believe to b
e as near as possible to what you think I want.

  “I will then tell you what I propose for the remainder of our relationship after the Landmark is opened.”

  Neither Hughes nor Maheu was in a festive mood. By July 1, the day of the big party, their marriage was so strained they were barely talking and there was more than a hint of separation in the air. What had been planned as a celebration of their partnership was looking like a prelude to their divorce.

  Hughes, however, was still busily revising the guest list, too dedicated to be diverted by his unsettled domestic situation. Unfortunately, he was running out of time.

  “Please consider very carefully the matter of a delay,” he urged his estranged helpmate first thing that morning. “I have now gone thru the lists and could give you a go-ahead within a matter of hours.

  “I personally have always favored a delay,” he continued, “but know this would not rest well with you and others in your organization.

  “Anyway, please do not announce anything until further consultation.”

  The consultations went on all day. Hughes and Maheu were civil with each other, but no more. Under the circumstances, that was a considerable achievement. It was too late for Hughes to block the party, having foolishly approved the closing the night before, but he kept on kibitzing right up to the end, besieged by last-minute fears.

  “There is one thing I have been meaning to take up with you,” he suddenly inquired. “How many people are you permitted to have up in the bubble of the Landmark at any one time?”

  A few minutes later came a more elaborate paranoid vision, this one straight out of a disaster movie:

  “One more thing. Are you really sure it is going to be cool enough in that bubble with hundreds of people present? You know a crowd dissipates a lot of heat.

  “To my knowledge there has never been a crowd in that tower and, you will remember, one of my first questions re Landmark was about the air conditioning.”

  The image of partygoers packed into the bubble, trapped inside without air conditioning in the blast-furnace heat of a Las Vegas summer, got fixed in his fevered mind.