The Snowball_ Warren Buffett and the Business of Life - Alice Schroeder [255]
While Susie was off on her various unknown pursuits, and his three children were headed in their respective directions—Peter taking off for Palo Alto in his little yellow Triumph convertible; Howie driving a backhoe, gorilla costume in tow; and Susie Jr. embarking on married life with her good-looking surfer—Warren was on a journey of his own. The man of simple tastes who thought of his life as something out of Leave It to Beaver was now spending his time at parties on Embassy Row. Katharine Graham was dragging him into elephant territory as fast as she could.
“She didn’t change my behavior as much as changing what I knew and saw. Everywhere she went, she was treated just like royalty. I saw a whole lot of interesting things that I wouldn’t have seen in the world. I had a lot of things explained to me. I picked up a lot around her. Kay knew so damned much about everybody that she would give me insights on people in the political arena.
“It bothered her that she thought I was teaching her all these things and she wasn’t doing anything for me. She was constantly laboring in terms of trying to think of something she could do to help me out, whether it was inviting me to fancy dinners or something else. You could call all these events glamorous or exotic. I found them quite interesting. I’m not knocking these things. There were probably people who were way more dying to do them, particularly in her presence, than I would be. But I had a good time doing it, you know.”
There undoubtedly were people who were “way more dying” to go. Nevertheless, Buffett did go, over and over again, no matter how ridiculous or awkward for him the events turned out to be.
One night Graham took him to a black-tie state dinner at the Iranian Embassy. She wore a golden gown to match the embassy’s decor. Reza Pahlavi, the Shah of Iran, was an important U.S. strategic ally and a charming host. His embassy sat at the apex of the Embassy Row Washington social scene, and its doings glittered with a fin de siècle magnificence.
After the cocktail hour, Buffett sat down at his assigned table and found himself between one of Empress Farah Pahlavi’s ladies-in-waiting and Illinois Senator Charles Percy’s wife. He turned toward Loraine Percy and found her locked in a tête-à-tête with her other dinner partner, Paul Newman. Seeing that it might be a while before she turned toward him, Buffett revolved toward his right and said something to the empress’s lady-in-waiting. She smiled politely. He said something else. She smiled again, then went blank. Ted Kennedy, seated on her other side, leaned over and uttered some bon mot in French. Her face brightened and they began conversing animatedly in French. Buffett sat stranded in the middle. He turned back to Loraine Percy and found that she was still engrossed in Paul Newman. He realized with a dull feeling that with Paul Newman sitting on her left, it might become a very long evening.
Kay had been seated next to the Shah, at another table. Among these circles, she was the most important and Warren the least important guest there. Kay was the queen and he was some hayseed investor from Nebraska whom Kay had towed along. Forget Supermoney; this was old money. After a while, Ted Kennedy noticed his plight and asked, “Don’t you speak any French?” Buffett felt like a poseur. He had landed in Bora-Bora with only a snowsuit to wear. The meal went on until one o’clock in the morning, and then the band began to play. To begin the dancing, one of the gentlemen waltzed the empress around the floor. Buffett grabbed Graham’s hand and escaped.
And yet, if she had asked him again, he would have gone. Because he was for sure not knocking it. The sightseeing was too good.
As he knew all too well by now, despite the fame from Supermoney