That night I fell off peacefully into a deep sleep. If I dreamed, I didn’t remember. The next morning was crisp and inviting. We rose early, just as the light was peeking up from the horizon. I rolled over, pushed her hair aside, and kissed her lightly on her neck. She smiled and nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, “absolutely yes.” Afterward, we ran down to the beach and found a secluded area. We took off our bathing suits, and dashed into the surf
“What a wonderful way to start the day,” I said.
“I have one problem with you this morning, Henry,” Karen said as we dried ourselves with large beach towels. “Your beard is hurting my baby skin. Ill fix us up with Canadian bacon, lots of eggs, and English muffins while you shave. Then we’ll drive into Edgartown and browse.”
12
YOU can count with five fingers, maybe ten, those summer mornings on Martha’s Vineyard when the ceilings and visibilities are unlimited — the expression pilots use is “CAVU.” That Monday I lucked out.
Karen drove me to the airport at 6:30.
“This is without a doubt the only way to start out the week," I said. “You were … oh, I've told you. I particularly appreciate your parents’ non-visit.”
She nodded and patted me on my leg.
“How about dinner one night soon?” I asked.
“Call me tomorrow,’ Karen said. “No, I’ll be in Albany. I'll call you.
I grabbed her hand, kissed it, then kissed her on the mouth. I turned, unlocked the door of my plane, removed the chocks, and untied the two wing ropes and the one holding down the tail. I stowed my gear in the back, ran through the pre-flight checklists, and climbed in.
As I settled into the pilot’s seat, Karen motioned that she wanted to tell me something. I waved her over, and opened the small pilot’s window.
“I would deny this in court, Henry Martin, but I could get to like sleeping with you,” she said, a big grin on her face.
“Thank you. But then it’s obvious I was your first man. Talk to you soon.”
She strolled to her car, sat on the hood, and waved.
I completed the routine for starting the engines and called Ground for departure instructions, which were simpler than they were for the instrument flight from Islip. I didn’t need any reminders to check thoroughly the oil temperature and pressure on the left engine.
If one or both your engines quit and you’re high enough, you may be able to reach an airport. Or pick the best spot to land. If it happens immediately after takeoff and there is no more runway left, you may have to execute a controlled crash. You are likely to walk away from one of those when you fly the plane straight ahead, but if you lose directional control because both engines are not operating, it can result in the aircraft hitting the ground in an unpleasant and unbecoming manner.
I taxied out to the active runway. The warm-up and pre-takeoff procedures indicated no evidence of any problems. “Tower, Three-five-five Hotel Mike ready Runway 24.” The wind was from the northwest, coming in from behind the cold front that had cleared out the humidity. The morning was dazzling, the kind that makes you feel you can do absolutely anything.
“Five Hotel Mike, cleared for takeoff. Departure frequency one-two-four point seven. Come see us again some time. We like your Chancellor,” the tower operator said, his comments almost a whisper. Air controllers don’t usually say things like that, because transmissions are recorded. All conversations are supposed to be strictly business.
“I copy, Tower. She is pretty, isn’t she?”
I swung the plane into the wind, rechecked the instruments and engine pressures and temperatures, shoved the throttles, mixtures, and propeller handles forward, my left hand firmly on the yoke. At rotation speed I eased back on the control wheel and the plane lifted off the runway. Shortly after takeoff I lifted the landing gear knob to raise the three wheels.
Then, at about three hundred feet past the point where I could bring the plane down on the runway, one engine lost power. “Okay, okay,’ I whispered, “airspeed, airspeed. Don’t panic. You know what to do.” My mind raced to the memorized procedure for “Engine Failure, No Runway Remaining.”
I pitched down to blue line, the airspeed at which the plane will fly on one engine without staling or loss of directional control. I shouted, “Mixture, Props, Throttle!” They were already fully forward. I didn’t need to lift the gear because it was already up. Next, fuel: selector on main tanks and auxiliary boost pumps on. All were where they should be. Then, identify which engine failed. Verify it, fix or feather the propeller. My left leg had no effect on controlling the rudder, the confirmation that the left engine was the one without power. I feathered it by bringing the left throttle to idle, the propeller to feather, and mixture to idle cutoff I managed to climb slowly to pattern altitude, which was one thousand feet over the airport.
“Tower, Five Hotel Mike. I’m having a bit of a problem with my left engine,” I said trying to sound nonchalant. “Appreciate an immediate.”
“Roger, Five Hotel Mike. Can you fly the pattern or do you want to land downwind? Any fire?” I knew someone was focusing their binoculars.
“No, the right engine’s fine,” I answered.
“Five Hotel Mike. Cleared for twenty-four. Don’t be concerned when you see the fire truck. It’s required.” The tower instructed two other planes to fly clear of the airport.
I didn’t respond, too busy making sure I maintained the necessary airspeed, altitude, and heading. I had to exert pressure on the right rudder to offset the yaw. I dropped the gear and held a higher airspeed and altitude than I would for a normal landing. I turned left 90 degrees onto the runway, verbally checked off items for landing, my eyes moving up and back between the end of the runway and the airspeed indicator. At the appropriate moment, I increased the rate of descent with the use of partial flaps. Training and instinct and feel — another way of saying experience plus common sense.
It was going well. I was feeling confident. About a half-mile from touchdown the right engine quit. “Goddamn it!” All right, Henry, you’re almost there, I thought. Watch your airspeed! And heading. Drop the nose farther.
It had been a long time since I had practiced landing without power, a dead-stick landing. A little like the training I had in Marine Air in a simulator, only that was for flying single-engine jets.
The landing wasn’t nearly as smooth as I usually make, but at least I didn’t bust the gear. More important, I was able to walk away.
When the plane came to a halt, I dropped my head for a moment. “Thanks, Up There.” What if I had lost the right engine earlier and couldn’t make the runway? “Thanks again.” I felt perspiration on my face. An official car raced out behind the fire truck. I saw Karen jump out of the passenger side as I opened the pilot’s window.
“Henry, what happened? I knew something was wrong when you turned around. And then silence.” She looked shaken. I went to the rear and stepped down the stairs.
“I don’t know what happened. Plane’s designed to fly on one engine, but with none it gets a little more difficult,” I said as we hugged. “I practice this stuff.” I must have sounded like some hero shrugging off death one more time. “I have no idea why both quit. It’s almost impossible.” Then I thought, if I were paranoid I’d say someone had fooled around with both motors. Jesus! Nobody could hate me that much.
I turned to the official. “Can you guys tow me to a place on the field where there’s a mechanic?”
“We have to clear the runway as quickly as possible,” he said. "We’ll bring you to a spot on the side not far from the terminal. There are no facilities. You'll have to bring in someone.”
That would take days, maybe weeks. I’d have Sampson pick me up. He can bring one of the guys from Mid-Island. Then cal MacDougall and tell him.
We drove to the airport manager’s office. “Henry, my flight leaves at eleven, but it goes into LaGuardia,” Karen offered. “Does that help you?”
“Thanks, but It’ll be fast
er if Craig comes for me,” I said, shaking my head.
After saying good-bye to Karen again, I made my call to Sampson, then tried MacDougall at home. He had just left for his Melville office. I reached him on his cellular phone.
“Glad nothing happened to you, Henry.” Whether he was telling a joke or a story or a business anecdote, John MacDougall always spoke in the same monotone and measured cadences. I asked him if he could change our appointment to early in the afternoon. “Sorry, I've got to be in the city for a board meeting,’ he responded. “Look, as long as we’re talking, I heard a disturbing rumor about that lease with Standard General. I hope I heard it wrong.”
Probably one of his golf partners had said something over the weekend. Bad news travels at roughly the speed of light.
“It was one of those political things, John. When I see you I'll explain what Jack Phelan told me. It had nothing at all to do with our deal.”
“That’s most unfortunate, Henry,” he said. “The board is planning to scrutinize our portfolio of loans. Particularly the ones to developers. I'll know more after this afternoon’s meeting.” I listened carefully to the intonations in his voice. It began to sound like my “friend” John MacDougall might not be willing to exercise the power I thought he had in order to help me. Or perhaps he no longer wanted control.
“John, please explain to the board that we have other good prospects and that our cash flows are very positive. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “The bank’s examiners have been after us to place all questionable loans into the non-performing category.” I knew that meant the bank would probably not extend and might demand that the loan be satisfied. If it were a smaller amount they might work with me, but not when it was $51 million. Bank examiners would press them. “Will you be in your office this afternoon?” he continued. “Ill need to talk to you.”
I said I expected to be, but if not, Dianne knew where to find me. After I hung up, I went outside and meandered among old Second World War training buildings. I had to come up with a solution. Past.
13
JOHN MacDougall called that afternoon. “Meet me in New York tomorrow. There’s been a change. I have to have my attorney with me,’ he said in a tight, flat tone.
‘Wouldn’t it be better, John,” I said rapidly, “to assess the situation first? We’ll accomplish more without lawyers. We’re certainly not at an adversarial stage.”
“I thought you might say that, Henry. All right, no attorneys. But I want to impress on you that I’ve received very clear instructions from the board.” Terrific, I thought. “My office at ten?” he asked.
“We could talk about it over lunch at the Players or Lotos,” I suggested.
“No, not this time,” he said. “My office. Ten.”
“Ill cancel whatever I have.” Then I added, “Look, I have some ideas that I think will work.”
He didn’t respond. “Ten o’clock. See you then, Henry.”
I called Steve and Ari on the intercom and asked them to meet me in the small conference room. “Dianne, see if Jack Phelan is in.” My mind was moving as rapidly as runway lights on a takeoff. The bank would demand a plan that would satisfy the examiners because they were calling the shots these days, not boards.
“Henry, Mike Allen called while you were on the phone, and Karen Viscomi is holding,” she reported.
‘I’ll take her call, then get back to Allen. After that, try Phelan.” She acknowledged my request. “Hi, Karen, have you left yet?” I asked, trying to sound chipper. Which was not the way I was feeling.
‘I’m at LaGuardia, on my way. I was concerned about your situation with Federated.” Karen understood how inflexible and demanding examiners and banks were becoming.
“Meeting with MacDougall tomorrow,” I said. “He was right out of a loan committee meeting and sounded all nails.” I had lost the positive edge in my voice so I said, trying to regain it, “I told him I'd repay him with a certified check for the entire amount.” I hesitated, “Confederate currency, of course. MacDougall is from Charleston. I thought he’d appreciate that.”
“You didn’t really say that, did you, Henry?”
“No, Karen.”
"I'll be back tomorrow,” Karen said. “If you want to have dinner, a kosher Japanese place just opened. Fabulous reviews. I want us to appear in the Times with all the other movers and shakers.”
“Let me call you as soon as I see how things are unfolding,” I said. She told me I could reach her at her hotel after ten, after her dinner with some colleagues.
Dianne had Allen on the line. Perhaps between us, Mike and I could come up with a final plan for the partnership we had discussed. There was still enough income from buildings to interest investors. And if I developed an alliance with Allen’s group, it could provide the capital to cope with the building loan.
“Good morning, Henry. No, afternoon, isn’t it?” he corrected himself. “Have a nice time on Martha’s Vineyard?” I must have been noticed in town or at the airport. ‘I’m told you handled that emergency exceptionally well, which doesn’t surprise me.” Then he added, “It’s impressive to see how people behave under pressure.”
“Thanks. I keep up my training.” Undoubtedly Mike knew about the lease, too. “I suppose you heard the Standard General deal is not going to close,” I said.
“Strange the way these things go sometimes,” he said. “Nothing to do with intrinsic values. You offered them an innovative and competitive package.”
“There are plenty of tenants out there,’ I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Ending up with better leases happens all the time.”
“I hope so,” he countered. “But too much space has come on-line at a time when companies are cutting back.” He waited for me, but when I didn’t comment he added, “There’s bound to be a rough period ahead. The marginal developers are overleveraged and probably won’t make it.”
He was leading up to something. “Mike,’ I said, “Three-Fifty-Five is an excellent building. We can be very competitive if we have to. What about our conversation?”
“The Japanese and Germans have pulled out, but I do have investors from Hong Kong who are still interested in income properties,” he said. “However, they’ve become very discerning and expect me to be very conservative.”
“Maybe it could be explored with them?” I asked.
“Maybe, but don’t assume anything will come of it. Prepare a package, and I'll have some of my people come over and review it.” He paused. “I also wanted you to know that my partners and I have decided we don’t want to pursue what you and I discussed the other evening.” Allen had a style of presenting negative news diplomatically. “We consider you the best all-around developer in the East. There may be possibilities for the future,” he said. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course. Look, Mike, my situation is anything but critical. We’ve got depth and can handle any current problems.”
“Henry, I also wanted to warn you. Federated’s board has decided that an example must be made of your loan in order to impress the examiners. Federated went too far. They’ve got to counter that or have themselves placed in a special watch category. Their operating ratios are bad, and capital reserves will have to be beefed up. They’re a candidate for a takeover.”
God, the man was privy to everything. Lazard Frères’ intelligence is better than most countries’ during wartime — one of the reasons they’re so successful. Also having the brightest people on their team.
“Thanks for the information, Mike.” He wished me good luck and hung up.
“Mr. Phelan is in his jet, on his way to San Francisco,’ Dianne advised. “Oh, just a moment, he’s on now. I’ll put him through.”
“Henry, this is Jack Phelan, the poor Irish lad from the Bronx returning your cal from forty-one thousand feet. How are you, my boy?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “First let me tell you that I had lunch on Friday with several
of my friends. We discussed the current banking situation and real estate loans. Most of us are on one bank board or another. The operations people have gotten the banks in trouble. Developers are looking for some loan forgiveness or reductions in their payments.”
He sounded like Allen, I thought. It was like listening to a judge passing sentence on my future. “Just as long as the banks don’t go overboard,” I said. “It would only exacerbate whatever problems the industry is experiencing.”
“Hold on a moment, Henry.” He got off the phone, then came back. “I’ve got to go back to a meeting. Even though I’ve done this many times, it still impresses the he! out of me to be able to fly across the country in my own plane, conduct meetings, eat, sleep, and make calls to all parts of the world. I never believed that the good Lord would provide me with a style fit for a king.
“Anyway, Henry, what you say may be correct, but remember history is filed with overcorrections. In any event, the men and women who have been responsible for excessive lending try to protect their jobs and pensions by taking actions that will rectify — or appear to rectify — their bad practices.” Phelan sounded like an economics professor, but I knew he was right. I also knew that for bankers in positions of high visibility, like MacDougal, it was doubly true.
“By the way, Henry, why did you cal?” he asked.
“Remember you said you might know of a company that needed space?” I said. “Anything turn up?”
“Actually I was going to cal you, but not until something had been finalized.” He paused and then said, “I might have something for you. Not the whole building, but half. Will that help?”
“God, it sure will,” I said. “I’ve been called into a meeting with Federated tomorrow. It would be wonderful if I could announce a new deal.”
The Ego Makers Page 12