by Sam Moffie
“The fucking media is made up of bloodsuckers!” Hughes screamed to Dick Powell after the American news media gave the H-4 Hercules their nickname of the largest flying boat ever built.
“And they are not smart, Howard,” Dick added.
“No kidding. Calling my plane a ‘Spruce Goose’ and it’s made out of birch wood, not spruce wood,” Hughes pointed.
But now, instead of being mad at his government for taking advantage of him — he found himself focusing all the negativity of the decision to lease the land in South Utah on himself.
It was easy to understand.
As Howard leaned back in his executive chair and swung his feet onto the top of his desk, which was made out of spruce wood, he put down the file on The Conqueror, and reached for his doodling pad and a pencil. After a few minutes of drawing airplanes, big breasts and dollar signs, he started to draw dump trucks. This made him toss the pad into the waste basket and re-pick up the report that had him really pissed off at himself.
Howard Hughes had commissioned the report on the property he thought he’d made a killing on. Hughes usually did his due diligence before a deal was made. Sometimes he did not — he would go on a gut instinct — which is one of the reasons he bought RKO Studios — gut instinct (and a huge stable of good-looking women who were easily available being another). It was this same ‘gut’ instinct that led him to lease the vast amount of land in South Utah for $1.
Hughes had reports done on just about anything and everything in his orbit. Reports on actresses, actors, designs on planes, his enemies and investments crossed his desk every day. For many reasons, he had a great interest in the report he again held in his hands. The most pressing, being that he had found out he had to truck at least 60 tons of sand that The Conqueror was being filmed on back to RKO.
Hughes rifled through the thick report and accompanying memos, notes (both type-written and hand-written), pictures, telegrams, reports and charts as he thought back to his meeting with the top military brass, CIA operatives and civilian advisors when they’d hurried him into a private room after a very boring briefing at The Pentagon. They wanted to talk to him about Southern Utah.
Hughes had been bored to tears by the various politicians, lobbyists and military brass giving one boring talk after another boring talk. The amount of doodling he had finished told him that. He couldn’t remember one person or one topic that these people talked about. He did remember his doodling of airplanes, engines and breasts, though. When the meeting adjourned — Hughes (who wanted to leave so badly) started to sprint out of the room so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Of course, shaking any hands and back-slapping were already out of the question. But once again, he forgot he was the richest man in the world and everyone wanted a piece of him.
“I am their Prospero,” he said out loud as he quickened his pace.
Suddenly he felt himself being pulled sideways. He was mortified that he was being touched. He looked at the hands of the people who were doing the touching, grabbing and pulling and relaxed when he saw that the hands were covered by gloves.
“Come with us, sir,” a voice that belonged to one set of the hands said to him.
“Do I have a choice? Because if I do I’m choosing not to go with you,” a defiant Hughes said as he brought his gaze up from their hands to their faces.
All the men holding him shook their heads no.
“Up and away lads,” Hughes said as he relaxed, because they had let go of him.
They led him to a side door that led to another side door that led to yet another side door, which in turn led to a long, dark corridor.
“This place has more mazes than the one in New Harmony,” Hughes casually remarked.
“Where is New Harmony?” one of the soldiers asked.
“You don’t know where New Harmony is?” Hughes replied sarcastically.
“No sir, I do not,” said the solider.
“Do any of you four?”
They all shook their heads no.
“Why, next to old Harmony of course, lads,” Hughes said as he started walking past them down the corridor. They quickly caught up and surrounded him while all five kept walking.
“That wasn’t funny, sir,” one of the soldiers said.
“I thought it was,” Hughes said. “By the way, New Harmony is in Indiana. There is a maze there in the outdoors that is quite impressive. Supposed to be a replica of mazes in Pennsylvania, dating from the early 1800’s, all of which have something to do with spirituality.”
“We work for the federal government. We are not allowed to be spiritual,” one of the soldiers said.
“Too bad. Remind me to talk to your superiors about that. I hear that a little spirituality goes a long way,” Hughes said.
The soldiers stopped walking about nine minutes later and Hughes couldn’t believe how long the corridor had seemed and how far he had walked. They motioned him to enter two steel doors. As he went to open the one door, it started to open by itself. He also noticed that the four men were not accompanying him to wherever he was going.
“Thanks for the ride gentlemen,” Hughes said as he walked in.
They said nothing, exited the room and Hughes heard the two big doors clang shut.
He looked around the room and was surprised that for all the walking and security he was under it wasn’t much of a room.
“Very plain,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” a voice that Howard Hughes had never heard before said.
“Where are you, voice?” Hughes asked, because after looking around the room, he noticed there was no one else in the room but himself.
“Over here. By the desk,” the voice beckoned.
Hughes walked to the desk and sat down in the only chair in the room that was in front of the desk.
“Make yourself comfortable,” said the voice.
“I could be a lot more comfortable if I wasn’t here talking to a voice that is not connected to a human, after just enduring the most boring talks ever listened to,” complained Hughes. “By the way, where is your voice coming from?”
“See the little box on the desk next to all the items that usually belong on a desk,” the voice said.
Hughes look at the surface of the nondescript desk and saw a writing tab, some pencils, pens and a little box.
“Your voice is coming from a cigar box?” Hughes asked astonished.
“It’s an intercom designed as a cigar box,” the voice said.
“Why couldn’t we have met in person? Don’t you like me?” Hughes asked sarcastically.
“I’m somewhere else,” the voice answered.
“I’m the richest man in the world, not the smartest, but even I could figure that out,” Hughes said as he grabbed the pad of paper, a pencil and started to doodle.
“I wanted to be there. But I couldn’t. You don’t know me, but I know you. I have been put in charge of explaining something to you, because I explain things very well,” the voice said.
“I’m leaving right now unless I get something up front,” Hughes said.
“Like what?” the voice asked.
“I want a glass of my favorite water from the Rockies and I want the technology to this box that you’re speaking to me from. I want to be able to be the voice coming from the box, in the future, when I have to have talks with people I don’t want to see in person,” Hughes said.
“Done,” the voice said. “Go around to the back of the desk and open the bottom drawer. You will find a pitcher of your water. If you want some food, don’t hesitate to ask,” the voice said.
Hughes went to the drawer and found the water. He sniffed the water and knew it was his favorite. “I’m not hungry, so you can send the chefs home,” he said with a chuckle. “You answered yes to my demands of water. What about the information for the box?”
“Double done,” said the voice.
“Good,” said Hughes. “Let’s get started.”
“You are our number-one customer
, Mr. Hughes. Did you know that?” the voice asked.
“I am always number one, but no one has ever said I was a ‘number-one customer’ before,” Hughes answered.
“Well you are. Take my word,” the voice said.
“Since I can’t take anything else, I am stuck with your word. Okay, I am a great customer. You know that I know that you know why that is, don’t you Mr. Voice?” Hughes said.
“You’re the richest man in the world,” the voice pointed out.
“Correct. So what can you give me that I can’t buy?” Hughes asked.
“Lots of things. The information and technology to hook up your speaker box is a good start. Contracts, information on your competitors. The usual inside-game stuff,” the voice said.
“I do that on my own and then I don’t owe anybody any favors,” Hughes pointed out.
“How many westerns are you going to be filming this year? Furthermore, how many westerns are going to be not only filmed but also be on TV this year?” the voice asked.
I bet I am getting a super deal on my TV dinner trays, Hughes thought before he answered “Hundreds.”
“Maybe thousands. How much does it cost to film on location?” asked the voice.
“Hundreds of thousands,” replied Hughes.
“How would you like a deal on the perfect place to film those westerns? And when you’re not filming, you can sub-lease out the land at any price you want?” the voice said.
“I don’t buy land at any price,” Hughes said, playing the role of tough-price negotiator.
“How come you have been buying land around Indian reservations then?” the voice asked.
“Oh boy, you have good spies,” Hughes said very sarcastically.
“The only Indians on this land we are talking about right now will be the actors,” the voice said.
“I’m not interested in spending my good money so you can use it for bad ideas. Besides, a lot of the westerns on TV are going to be filmed on studio back lots,” Hughes said.
“What if I told you that you only had to spend one lousy buck,” the voice shot back.
“I’d say to you, Mr. Voice, that you have me interested… but not for very long if you don’t come to the point,” an agitated Hughes said.
“Okay,” replied the voice.
“Now we’re getting somewhere… hopefully,” Hushed said.
“For the tidy sum of $1, the United States Government will rent you land the size the state of Rhode Island in Southern Utah,” the voice said.
Hughes thought a few minutes before answering.
“Are you still there? Do you need some assistance?” the voice asked.
Hughes cleared his throat and asked “Okay Mr. Voice, what’s the catch?”
“Nothing. You have helped us so much over the years, it was the least we could do for you. When you leave, a complete dossier of what we are offering you, along with anything and everything you need for obtaining your own voice box, will be given to you. Good day, Mr. Hughes,” the voice said.
Horseshit! Hughes thought as he got up to leave. And when he walked to the door that he had entered he was met by the previous soldiers who had marched him down the corridor in the first place. Each soldier was carrying a box. Each box contained all sorts of information that the voice had told him about. Hughes cancelled his plan to fly solo back west and had his private plane pick him up in Washington. He had a lot of things to digest and he knew reading and absorbing everything in those boxes would take time.
What better time than while I’m in the air, he thought as he was helped onto his plane by the co-pilot, because Howard’s injuries from the FX-11 crash had acted up. This plane was staffed with an all-male crew. Hughes wasn’t going to have fun — he was going to study, because he knew that he wasn’t the smartest man in the world — just the richest. And in becoming the richest man in the world, he had been very skeptical of things offered to him that were too good to be true….
“This land for $1 has more holes in it than Hollywood has movies. I better order a report,” he said to himself as he made himself comfortable before takeoff.
Before reading, rereading and thinking about all the information about the land deal, Hughes knew that he was being set up for something… but he couldn’t figure out what that something might be.
But was it the military calling the shots? he thought to himself as he got up from the chair and started to pace his office.
“But it isn’t just the military, is it Howard?” Hughes asked himself out loud.
“But of course! The whole government — especially the CIA and the FBI — are involved in setting me up,” he answered himself even louder.
He started lightly punching his right fist into his left hand as he contemplated.
“But why them? Why me? Why that land?” he repeatedly asked as he continued to punch his left hand with his right hand.
I know these Cold War, warrior bastards better than they know me, he thought, as he considered what his next step should be in finding out why he was being asked to lease land in Southern Utah, the size of Rhode Island, for a measly buck.
Hughes knew he would find out. It might take time and it would definitely take money. Something he had to toss around like a Hurricane tossed the seas.
Howard Hughes was not happy with how long it took to get the bona fide lowdown on why the land in Southern Utah was leased to him so cheaply.
“I am not happy,” he said in a somber tone to the three men he had hired to get the job done months ago.
“We believe that there is nothing in that report but the truth Mr. Hughes,” one of the man said to Howard.
“It took too damn long. And now I have to deal with the fallout,” he said. “Hey, I made a pun!” he suddenly screamed out.
The three men said nothing, but they all agreed later after their meeting was over that it was a pretty good pun.
“Morbid, but good,” said one of the men.
“So very sad, but good,” the second man said.
The third man who helped put the report together nodded in agreement at what his co-authors had said.
The men had given Hughes an excellent report.
Howard Hughes had hired a crack investigating team. He ordered every stone to not only be overturned, but washed, thrown up in the air and washed again. Hughes wanted to know why he was offered such a vast amount of land on the cheap and would spare no expense at finding out the answer to that question. The three-man team he assembled literally received a blank check to do their work. Their conclusion was that Howard Hughes was ‘had’ by the government that had leased him the land for a buck. It took Hughes’ team months to get to the bottom of their findings and to reach their conclusion.
His F.U. money gave him that latitude, but it also made the reports take a very long time to be readied.
“I don’t know what is worse,” Hughes once said to Dick Powell. “A film going over budget or a report that is overdue.”
“Both,” Dick Powell replied.
“Can’t be. Something always has to be first and something always has to be last,” retorted Hughes.
“That’s the American way… I guess,” Powell said.
“No,” said Hughes “the American way is someone comes in first, and someone comes in last. That is why someone or something is first and someone or something is last in ‘the Hughes way,’” Hughes said with a broad grin.
“And that will never change,” added Powell.
“And why not? It has helped make me the richest man in the world,” Hughes said.
If Howard Hughes could have used his vast fortune to change things that had already taken place, the first thing he would have changed was not leasing that land in Southern Utah for one dollar. It had to do with his hunch when it came to being offered stuff — the one that began ‘if it was too good to be true….’
His investigators found out a lot of things that Hughes already knew about and a lot of things that he (to his surprise) was
totally clueless about.
Howard Hughes knew that the Cold War was really a hot war.
“Everyone in power on both sides was hot to make something happen that would tip the battlefield to their side,” he told the investigators as he doodled away at his desk.
They all nodded in agreement. After all, not only was the richest man in the world basically agreeing with one of their conclusions (although they didn’t put in quite that vernacular), he was paying them all a very handsome sum.
The report began with how obsessed the military-civilian authority, industrial-criminal justice quadplex had become with winning the Cold War.
“Sure, I sold them weapons systems. I also worked with other industrial titans on technology and I contributed mightily to all these damn elections that seem to happen monthly. Hell, I almost single handedly finance the whole shebang with my purchases of T-Bills and various bonds, not to mention my income tax payment,” Hughes said when he realized that he was one of the largest contributors (if not the largest) to that quadplex.
But there was more to the report than just material costs… a lot more.
The report dove into the fanatical obsession that was all the rage amongst the people who were in charge of the United States of America’s national security interests. It began with this:
Whether it be five-star generals, rank and file soldiers, the president’s office, common bureaucrats, the big security arms of the FBI/CIA or the senators, congressmen, governors, state legislators, local legislators or local law enforcement — it didn’t matter. All were out of sync when it came to their approach against Communism.
“Do you think that all the people and organizations that you list in this report are wrong?” Hughes asked the three men sitting in front of him, who had also written the words that he was reading.
The first man, whose name was Rosenberg, spoke up, “Yes,” he replied.