The vice presidency was frustrating for someone who was accustomed to running his own show, but this was balanced by Ford’s willingness to utilize Nelson’s enormous expertise in domestic policy and foreign affairs. In addition, if Ford chose not to run for reelection, as had been rumored, Nelson would have the inside track for the Republican nomination in 1976.
None of this played out the way Nelson had anticipated. In November 1975, Ford informed Nelson that he had decided to seek a second term but that Nelson would not be his running mate. The President’s decision reflected the thinking of his inner circle of advisors, especially his chief of staff, Donald Rumsfeld. They were convinced that Nelson’s liberal Republicanism would be a liability in the primaries against Ronald Reagan, the darling of the increasingly dominant conservative wing of the party. There was no doubt—in Nelson’s mind, at least—that Rumsfeld’s own presidential ambitions had played a significant role in the decision-making process. Ford proceeded to select Senator Bob Dole as his running mate and defeat Ronald Reagan in the hotly contested struggle for the Republican nomination; but then he lost the November election in a squeaker to Jimmy Carter.*
Ford’s decision devastated Nelson. The stark reality was that his hopes of becoming president were now permanently dashed. Nevertheless, to his great credit, Nelson never voiced any public criticism of Gerald Ford. He even campaigned vigorously on behalf of the Republican ticket.
After 1976, however, Nelson never again campaigned for another candidate. He lost all interest in politics, letting his network of political friends and allies languish. Thwarted when the greatest political prize seemed within his grasp, he had become an angry and deeply bitter man.
Nelson also found himself in a difficult situation financially. Years of operating at the highest level of state and national politics—including four gubernatorial campaigns and three runs for the presidency—had been costly to him personally. Apparently the combined income from his 1934 Trust and his personal investments had been insufficient to sustain both his political career and his expansive lifestyle, which included the creation of an extensive and magnificent art collection. To make ends meet he had invaded his trust on a number of occasions to a point where the 1934 Trust Committee decided they would no longer allow him to draw down any more principal. Nelson, while still a wealthy man, faced the need to economize for the first time in his life.
Despite political disappointments and financial problems, Nelson retained his boundless physical energy. Denied the public stage, that energy would now be expended within the family.
Nelson had always considered himself the de facto leader of our generation and the guiding force behind all family organizations. He assumed he would simply reclaim these positions now that he had left government for good. Nelson’s assumption that he would automatically pick up the mantle of leadership seemed, at least to me, more than a bit presumptuous. He made his intentions clear even before he returned to New York by announcing, without consulting anyone in the family, that he would undertake a detailed study of the Family Office and the RBF.
As soon as he reoccupied his old office on the fifty-sixth floor of 30 Rockefeller Plaza, Nelson made it clear that he would brook no opposition to his plans. He seemed to have lost his political skills, or perhaps he felt he didn’t need to apply them in dealing with his own family. In pursuing his objective of control he quickly succeeded in offending both the cousins and his siblings, most particularly our oldest brother, John.
A STUBBORN IDEALIST
John’s strenuous and vocal opposition to Nelson could not have been anticipated. John had always been a shy and reserved man, who had allowed the more ebullient and aggressive Nelson to shoulder him aside and to assume the role of leader for our generation—in the purchase of Rockefeller Center, the ownership of the Pocantico estate, and the always intricate task of dealing with Father. But this would not be the case with philanthropy. John viewed himself as the legitimate “heir” of the Rockefeller tradition of philanthropy, which he also considered the core value of the Rockefeller family and the only activity that could over time hold family members together.
While Nelson rose to national prominence as a political figure, John had quietly developed a reputation for strong leadership and significant accomplishment in the field of American philanthropy. He had served as an innovative chairman of the Rockefeller Foundation for twenty years; he had been the driving force behind the creation of New York City’s Lincoln Center, the nation’s preeminent performing arts center; he had tackled the controversial issue of global overpopulation through the Population Council, which he had founded in the early 1950s and largely financed himself for many years; and he had developed a network of relationships in the Far East, most impressive in Japan, through his personal support and advocacy of economic development projects and cultural exchange programs. Along the way John also rejuvenated the Japan Society and brought the Asia Society into being. For most of the 1950s and 1960s, John’s charitable contributions had averaged about $5 million a year—more than 60 percent of his annual income.
Philanthropy was John’s field, and he resented Nelson’s assertions that it was he, rather than his older brother, who should guide the future of the family’s primary philanthropies, particularly RBF.
John’s stiffening opposition to Nelson resulted, at least in part, from a strong shift in his political views. John, like many of us, had been deeply concerned about the social upheaval of the time, but instead of denouncing the younger generation for their perplexing attitudes and rebellious behavior, he set out to understand the causes of their discontent. John and his associates spent hundreds of hours with young people—from Black Panthers to Ivy League undergraduates—listening as they related their complaints, political beliefs, and hopes for the future, and he found himself sympathetic to much that he learned. It was a transforming experience for John, and he wrote a book, The Second American Revolution, that distilled his experience.
The book was very much a reflection of the times, particularly in its suggestion that all wisdom reposed in the young and that the older generation, which had made such a mess of the world, should look to their children for guidance. The book caused quite a stir; senior members of the establishment do not often make common cause with society’s malcontents or even youthful critics. But for those of us who knew him well, John’s ideas and conclusions were not that surprising. He had increasingly come to be what we used to call a “parlor pink,” and the years he spent dealing firsthand with serious and intractable social problems had strengthened his instinctive sympathies for the underdog and the underclass. His political views, as a consequence, had drifted ever more to the liberal side of the spectrum.
In retrospect this was one of the principal sources of conflict between Nelson and John. As governor of New York, Nelson moved consistently to the right on most social issues—the “Rockefeller” drug laws, his suppression of the Attica prison riot, and his last-ditch defense of American intervention in Vietnam were all examples of his more conservative political posture. Nelson was scornful of John’s liberalism and his embrace of many individuals and organizations that had been vitriolic in their attacks on him. He was also outraged by the behavior and beliefs of the cousins and determined that they not gain control of important family institutions. Thus, the stage was set for a contentious struggle, beginning with the future of the RBF.
ROCKEFELLER BROTHERS FUND: THE FIRST BATTLEGROUND
By 1973 the RBF had become the country’s twelfth largest foundation, with an endowment of $225 million. The fund’s program had changed greatly from its inception in 1940 when we five brothers created it in order to manage our annual support for organizations such as the Girl Scouts, the YMCA, and more than ninety other community agencies in New York City and Westchester County. Father’s gift of almost $60 million in Rockefeller Center notes in 1951 provided the RBF with an endowment for the first time (up until then the RBF had depended on annual contributions from each o
f the brothers) and allowed us to broaden the fund’s scope beyond our “citizenship” giving to provide significant support for organizations that had been initiated and led by individual brothers. Among the principal recipients were John’s Population Council, Nelson’s American International Association for Economic and Social Development, and Laurance’s Jackson Hole Preserve, Inc.
In 1961 the RBF received an additional $72 million for its endowment from Father’s estate. This sizable increase in resources enabled us to broaden the fund’s program even further. The RBF continued to handle our “citizenship” giving and to fund the work of a number of family-led organizations, but we now began to reach out to a broader array of groups and institutions. As a result the RBF began to evolve into a more traditional kind of foundation. My brothers and I were comfortable with this process, because we had every reason to believe our children would wish to assume responsibility for the RBF and, through it, pursue their own philanthropic interests.
That change was already well under way by the mid-1960s and was strongly reflected in the RBF’s support for groups working in the area of civil rights and equal opportunity, which were very much in harmony with the interests of many of the cousins. But while my brothers and I strongly supported the RBF’s broader program, we felt a continuing responsibility to “our” family-led organizations that had received significant financial support from the RBF over the years. As we contemplated our own imminent retirement from leadership roles in these organizations, we concluded that simply cutting them adrift without providing adequately for their future would be irresponsible. We envisioned devoting as much as $100 million, or roughly half, of the endowment for this purpose, with the thought that once the grants were made, the RBF “would be relieved of any further continuing responsibility to these organizations.” The RBF board approved our proposal and immediately launched a review process, supervised by RBF president Dana Creel.
Within a year it became apparent that each brother had different expectations and objectives for what we called the “Creel Committee process.” John’s primary goal was to preserve as much of the RBF’s endowment as possible, so he favored sharply limiting the number and amount of the “terminal” grants. Laurance and I did not disagree with John; we also wanted to ensure that our organizations were strengthened for the future. Two institutions in particular—the Sloan-Kettering Institute in Laurance’s case and The Rockefeller University in mine—required substantial financial assistance if they were to survive as centers of excellence. Therefore, Laurance and I strongly endorsed significant capital grants to each. John strongly opposed the amounts we proposed, calling them “inappropriate and self-serving.”
While Nelson took little interest in the early stages of the Creel Committee process, he would be heard from soon enough.
“GIVING AWAY” THE RBF
The Tax Reform Act of 1969, designed in part to regulate philanthropic foundations, had added another layer of complications to our discussions. The act included strong prohibitions on self-dealing by trustees of foundations, most of which were reasonable. However, John, who had played an important role in the Tax Reform Act while it was wending its way through Congress, insisted that there was strong support in Congress for additional legislation that would do away with foundations altogether. Consequently, John argued that since the law implied that donors should begin to relinquish control over their foundations, we should set an example at the RBF by voluntarily reducing family control of the RBF.
To accomplish this John wanted to add more outside directors so that family members would be a minority on the board. In my view, John’s position challenged the basic premise upon which the RBF had been established. It was only because of our common interest in the social, economic, and political issues of the day that the RBF had emerged as one of the country’s most respected foundations. Reducing the role of the brothers in order to placate a temporary political majority in Washington I felt would be a great mistake. But my arguments failed to convince John.
John’s patronizing manner and the implicit assumption that he was arguing from a superior moral position made matters more contentious. While his ideas and manner annoyed Laurance and me, Nelson, who rejoined the RBF board in early 1977 after an absence of almost twenty years, was positively infuriated by them. Nelson accused John of trying to “give away” the RBF in the same way that he earlier had allowed the family’s influence to be diminished and then extinguished at the Rockefeller Foundation.
While I was willing to make some concessions to John’s position in the interest of peace and harmony, Nelson was in no such mood. No doubt Nelson’s condescending approach to John had always rankled, but until then their differences had never erupted into open hostilities. In the past John usually had given in to Nelson, whose innate political instincts had always stopped him before he pushed his older brother too far. But not this time.
John’s sympathy for the cousins and the views they had expressed to Collier and Horowitz in their book drove the wedge in even further. Nelson was livid over what he considered the cousins’ act of disloyalty. Why bother to save the fund if we would simply be turning it over to a younger generation who had publicly spurned the family and who were committed to causes Nelson saw as profoundly objectionable. Nelson’s solution was to distribute the entire RBF endowment to that small group of institutions that had been of the greatest importance to the brothers. Failing that, Nelson wanted to reassert the brothers’ earlier dominance over the RBF’s program and management.
CIVIL WAR
Beginning in early 1977, discussions at RBF meetings became increasingly acrimonious. Angry exchanges between Nelson and John increased, and Laurance occasionally abandoned his role as chairman in order to join the fray. This would have been distressing enough if these family squabbles had taken place in private, but the outside trustees—including Gerald Edelman, a Nobel laureate from Rockefeller University; William McChesney Martin, former chairman of the Federal Reserve; and John Gardner, a former Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare—were forced to witness these intemperate scenes.
The hostilities commenced within days of Nelson’s return to Room 5600 when he declared to the family that he wanted to become chairman of the RBF. Nelson had served briefly as head of the fund in 1956 and 1957, succeeding John, who had held the position for fifteen years. Now, with Nelson back, Laurance insisted he was happy to stand aside since, as he put it, he had only been “filling in for Nelson for the previous twenty years.” John promptly objected, suggesting it was my turn to become chairman. I declined, citing the heavy obligations of my final years at Chase. Laurance reluctantly agreed to remain as chairman until I retired from the bank four years later.
Undaunted, Nelson continued to push his plan to secure control of the RBF. At a nominating committee meeting in March 1977, Nelson proposed Nancy Hanks, former director of the National Endowment for the Arts, and Henry Kissinger for membership on the board. A number of trustees, including brother John, were concerned about their independence as trustees because of their long affiliation with Nelson. On the other hand it was difficult to deny their outstanding ability, and both were elected.
Nelson also proposed that the RBF resume its original role as a vehicle for supporting the personal philanthropy of the brothers and that all the other trustees, both cousins and nonfamily, should serve only as advisors. Nelson’s outrageous idea was a “nonstarter,” but John Gardner was especially offended by the proposal.
Gardner asked for a private meeting with Laurance and me, and we met in my office at Room 5600. Gardner fairly bristled with indignation at Nelson’s proposal, pointing out that under the laws of New York State every trustee of a publicly incorporated foundation has equal legal and fiduciary responsibilities; the vote of an outsider could never carry less weight than the vote of a brother. I fully agreed with Gardner and told him so. But much to my surprise Laurance vigorously defended Nelson’s position and lashed out at Gardner, impugning both his
motives and his personal integrity. Visibly angered by Laurance’s tirade, Gardner stalked from the room.
Within days Gardner resigned from the RBF board, and shortly thereafter a New York Times article reported the RBF controversy in depth. I am convinced that Gardner played a role in leaking the story and casting the issue in terms of ethical impropriety on Nelson’s part. Gardner’s strong reaction to Nelson’s machinations and Laurance’s tirade was certainly understandable, but Nelson’s proposal had no chance of being accepted. That’s why I was extremely disappointed that John Gardner allowed the story to become public. The adverse publicity sullied the RBF’s reputation for some time thereafter.
But Nelson, ever the hard charger, refused to be bridled. He exploded another bombshell at the June 1977 board meeting, proposing that the RBF provide a $3 million grant to help underwrite the construction of a new college of osteopathy at the New York Institute of Technology on Long Island, a proposal inspired by Dr. Kenneth Riland.
For many years Nelson had been under the care of Dr. Riland, who became a trusted friend and permanent fixture in Nelson’s entourage, traveling with my brother wherever he went and carrying along his portable table to administer treatments. It was not unusual when visiting Nelson at Kykuit to find him on Dr. Riland’s osteopathy table, having his joints cracked and his limbs twisted and pulled in all sorts of seemingly uncomfortable ways. On Nelson’s recommendation Babs and Laurance also made use of Dr. Riland’s expertise, and they, too, swore by it.
Nelson’s proposal produced a strong negative reaction from the other trustees, who felt he was trying to tap into the RBF’s resources to support a project of dubious merit sponsored by a close friend. But Nelson refused to back off, and as a compromise the board allocated $100,000 to study the financial feasibility of the college.
Memoirs Page 44