Another Life_ A Memoir of Other People - Michael Korda [198]
We met in a hotel bar over the weekend, and it swiftly transpired that the person who had caused this degree of alarm in Dick Snyder was Bill Jovanovich, who had offered to buy S&S away from Shimkin. Paul Gitlin, Harold Robbins’s agent, was also a board member and general counsel for Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Learning of Jovanovich’s interest in acquiring S&S, Gitlin called Shimkin, and discussions between the two principals began almost at once. With Gitlin pushing hard, there was a serious possibility that the deal might happen, despite predictable ego problems between the two men.
In the meantime, however, Dick had met Jovanovich—had been summoned to the great man’s presence, actually—and learned almost immediately that trading Shimkin for Jovanovich would not be in his or my interests. Many of the things that people who didn’t like Dick complained about were true about Jovanovich in spades: his temper, his ego, his impatience, his determination not to be upstaged and to have the last word. Jovanovich, Dick assured me, wanted to run things in detail and to have the last word on everything; he liked to cut his executives down to size; he was proud to run a “lean” company (that is to say, he was against corporate perks for his senior executives); and when it came to managers and editors with “inflated” reputations (i.e., Dick and me), he was from Missouri (metaphorically speaking, since he was in fact some kind of Yugoslav). Most important of all, although Jovanovich claimed to know everything there was to know about trade-book publishing, he didn’t know his ass from his elbow—an amateur, in short, who would be telling us what to do.
Dick’s ear for trouble was flawless, and I had no doubt that everything he said was true. Jovanovich wanted to talk to me, too, Dick told me, and I should take his phone call and be as noncommittal as possible. In the meantime, this was a deal that had to be killed, the sooner the better. Would I mind if he told Shimkin that we would both resign if the deal went through?
In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought—I had always trusted Dick and saw no reason not to now, though I had a certain queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought that I might have to leave a place where I had worked for nearly twenty years—so we shook hands solemnly, and Dick went off to do what he had to do. I received, as promised, a gruff call from Jovanovich, promising me that nothing would change, and a far gruffer one from Gitlin, who had guessed that something was going on. Jovanovich, he promised me, was a man of culture who would respect my opinions. At some point in the conversation Gitlin became aware, if he was not already, that I was not enthusiastic about the deal. What could I possibly have against Jovanovich, he asked? He was terrific with editors (I recalled that he had not been terrific to Tony Godwin) and looked forward to working with me. Dick, Gitlin went on, might have a few problems with Jovanovich, since they were both stubborn men, but I would have none, and if by chance one should arise, I only had to come to Gitlin and it would be taken care of.
But that was something I had been resisting for years, much as I liked Gitlin. Once Gitlin did you a favor, you were his for life, so far as he was concerned. I told him that I was flattered by Jovanovich’s confidence in me, but Dick and I were a team: We went together, and if he wasn’t happy about the deal, neither was I. I was making a big mistake, Gitlin said darkly. Shimkin had already made up his mind: S&S was going to Harcourt, and Jovanovich wouldn’t forget anybody who had come