The Snowball_ Warren Buffett and the Business of Life - Alice Schroeder [24]
Politics, money, and philosophy were acceptable topics for dinner-table discussion at the Buffett house, but feelings were not.20 Even in an era of undemonstrative parents, Howard and Leila were notable for their lack of warmth. Nobody in the Buffett household said “I love you,” and nobody tucked the children into bed with a kiss.
But to everyone outside the family, Leila appeared the perfect mother and wife. People called her peppy, upbeat, motherly, sweet, even “a gusher.”21 In repeating her history, as she was fond of doing, she painted out the awkward bits, describing herself as a fortunate person brought up by wonderful Christian parents. Her favorite stories told of her and Howard’s sacrifices—the three years of school she had missed to earn her college money, the four months Howard had gone without making a sale when he first started his business, walking to the dairy to save streetcar fare. Leila referred often to bouts of “neuralgia” (sometimes mistaken for migraines), which she attributed to the childhood years spent alongside the pounding Linotype.22 Nevertheless, she acted as though she must do everything and drove herself hard—bridge teas and steak fries, birthdays and anniversaries, calling on neighbors and cooking for church suppers. She paid more visits, baked more cookies, and wrote more notes than anyone. When pregnant, she once cooked dinner by herself for the family while trying to quell her morning sickness by smelling a bar of soap.23 Above all her attitude was: anything for Howard. “She crucified herself,” said her sister-in-law Katie Buffett.24
But Leila’s attitude of duty and sacrifice had another, darker, side: blame and shame. After Howard left on the streetcar for work in the morning, Doris and Warren would be playing or getting dressed and suddenly Leila might explode at them. Something in the tone of her voice might give a clue that the fuse was lit, but most of the time there was no warning.
“It was always something that we did or said, and there would be this flash, and then it didn’t subside. All your past sins would be brought up. It was just endless. And my mother attributed it sometimes to having neuralgia, but she never showed that outwardly.”
When in a rage, Leila would verbally lash the children over and over again, always the same: their lives were easy compared to her sacrifices; that they were worthless, ungrateful, and selfish; and should feel ashamed. She would pick at every real and imagined flaw; she nearly always aimed the tirade at Doris, and carried on saying the same things for at least an hour, sometimes as long as two. She never stopped until both children “just folded,” says Warren, weeping helplessly. “She was not content until she reduced you to tears,” says Doris. Warren was forced to watch her explosions, unable to protect his sister and desperate to avoid being targeted himself. While it was apparent that her attacks were deliberate and she had some degree of control over them, it isn’t at all clear how she perceived her behavior as a parent. But no matter what she thought she was doing, by the time Warren was three years old and their sister Roberta, known as Bertie, was born, “it couldn’t be put back together,” he says, for him or for Doris. The damage to their souls was done.
The children never asked for help from their father, even though they knew that he was aware of Leila’s eruptions. Howard might say to them, “Mom’s on the warpath,” a tipoff that a rage was coming, but he didn’t intervene. Usually, however, Leila’s explosions took place out of Howard’s earshot, and they were never aimed at him. In a sense, therefore, he was the children’s protector. Even though he did not save them, Howard still meant security, because when he was around, they were safe.