Citizen Hughes - Michael Drosnin [165]
“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