Lehman Brothers has invested in oil.
Wells and drills in Tennessee, in Ontario, in California.
Everywhere apart from Oklahoma
and it’s a mystery why in New York it has no response.
Having gone all the way
into coal and petroleum
into the sacred temple of combustibles
Lehman Brothers has energy to sell:
boilers at full capacity in engine rooms
and such is the force of our fuels
that we can even
give ourselves the luxury of sleep.
Yet the one who doesn’t sleep
literally
is David Lehman.
Especially ever since
in his professional life
he has specialized in the emotional-sentimental branch
or rather in locating
on a large scale
that extraordinary combustible
which draws a male investor
toward a supplier of female labor.
In other words:
the basic law of the industry
by which supply adapts to demand
and the customer
chooses his future commercial partner
on the free market.
No more no less.
Henry’s son
in this respect
is most careful:
before proceeding with a purchase
the quality of the goods
must at least be certified
and subjected
to the only real empirical proof
that prevents the purchaser
from receiving
adulterated damaged
or second-rate consignments.
In that case
—as we know—
it is always possible to send them back
without further obligation:
a cordial yours sincerely
and the deal is safely closed.
The wonders of commerce.
On the other hand
what did Uncle Mayer and Uncle Emanuel do
when they were cotton dealing
down in Alabama?
If the raw cotton was stringy
or the skein poor quality
did they feel entitled
to interrupt the contract
without anyone being offended
And with coffee? And with coal?
And lastly with oil?
“We invest only if the investment yields.”
Too true.
And the yield, we know,
is measured on clear criteria.
Exactly.
Hurrah for clarity, thinks David:
it’s essential in buying and selling.
His father would have said the same.
Even his granddad Abraham
—who sold cows and chickens in Bavaria—
had once written a note
that David has even framed:
“REAL BUSINESS, MY SONS,
IS DONE, NOT WITH FINE TALK,
BUT WITH THE EYES, THE HANDS, THE NOSE.”
Ah, the wisdom of the old.
David Lehman holds the same view:
forget about intuition,
the only rule is to CHECK IT OUT.
And personal involvement
is what distinguishes
a true member of Lehman Brothers
from a hack-businessman.
Of course: it means sacrifice.
But if it costs effort, all the better,
since a good purchase is guaranteed
only through effort.
Having said this
the kid is nevertheless
indefatigable:
a tireless worker
a stern inspector
one who before giving his approval
insists on proof
and doesn’t sign until he’s sure.
So far so good.
The problem is that such proof
without doubt
is for David Lehman
the bodily union
between the seller and buyer.
The boy has reached
this essential stage
naturally—one might say—
developing an experience in the field
which in just a few years
has made him
an almost unrivaled authority.
A force of nature.
Which might be useful.
His Uncle Emanuel
has played a crucial role in this.
For chance would have it
that after the excellent success
built up around the coal business,
Emanuel Lehman
was increasingly convinced
that he could use
his nephew’s natural talent
to carry Lehman Brothers
into the realm of transport.
Not just railroads.
But also boats.
And merchant shipping.
And—why not?—roads and bridges
which America surely so much needed
seeing that industry depends
yes sir
on infrastructure
and on transport links.
Then, yes, we could break through
at last
the suffocating barrier
of the zero-points!
And if for the moment
the railroad
was still a tough nut
for Lehman Brothers,
let’s start at least
with the ports, with shipping
and with the road network!
But let’s do it straightaway
undaunted and without falling asleep
for in all these years
we have slept too much.
Perfect.
From here the turning point.
From a careful investigation by Emanuel
the transport business
turned out still to be concentrated in a few hands:
twelve financiers in all
prominent New York families
equally distributed
between Jews and Protestants:
the cream of the bourgeoisie
top level
and perhaps even more than top: the very top.
Emanuel Lehman
being a good arm
applied himself with maximum dedication
in studying each of the twelve
and obtaining all useful information
—even the most insignificant—
about their habits, tastes,
practices, and preferences.
In the end
there was nothing about them
that he did not know,
including where they took their vacations
what they ate
and even details about their respective dogs.
So that the mosaic fitted perfectly.
Emanuel noted their names.
Or rather: they were so powerful
that he dared not even write them down
but
opted for a coded language
where each financier
was nicknamed
taking as his surname
the city or area where he was building
and as his first name
—after what took place in Oklahoma—
that, of course, of his dog.
And so
the leading figures in American transport
turned out like this:
These were the twelve
who had a share of the great cake
and to taste of it
—and I don’t mean a slice—
the only alternative
was to be invited to their table.
But how?
Assistance came from Brooklyn.
For
one day in March
while sitting at the water’s edge
watching
the construction of the new bridge
all of a sudden he felt a breeze
brush his ear
as with the best of solutions:
why hadn’t he thought of it?
A bridge was needed
over twelve rivers
between Lehman Brothers
and the opposite shore.
And he had an engineer
ready to build these bridges,
exactly the same as Brooklyn.
It just so happened
indeed
that each of the twelve had—in addition to a dog—
at least one daughter
of an age—so to speak—sensitive
to the impetuous pedigree of his nephew.
Who was therefore summoned
privately
away from everyone’s gaze
and particularly that of Uncle Mayer
since vegetables, as it is well known, are asexual:
he would not have understood.
And it was not so easy to explain.
After a long and stirring introduction
about the advantages of having an arm as an uncle
about the current and future merits of coal
about the family’s business sense
and the enormous sacrifices his father had made,
David Lehman
was informed
of the immense undertaking to be placed upon him,
the task of opening
—no less—
a breach in the enemy walls
—no less—
with his masculine charm
as the sole bombardier.
All this of course
explained to him
using a technical-industrial language,
citing
the various properties of iron, nickel, copper
and many other sundry materials.
It was a question
however
of using the greatest caution,
and always moving in the shadows
to gain the fond trust
of princesses of the wealthiest realm,
so that each one
—believing herself to be the only one—
would grant her new suitor
the assurance
—absolute and certain—
of letting one of the Lehman brothers
sit at her parents’ table.
Once indoctrinated by the daughters
the fathers
would comply
without resistance.
This at least
was what Uncle Emanuel
was convinced he had told his accomplice.
David Lehman
however
interpreted the assignment
in a slightly different way
and considered himself
officially
AUTHORIZED
to achieve the given objective
using whatever way, method, and instrument
proved necessary.
They shook hands.
And at that point
with a thousand cautions
the uncle handed his nephew
the fateful list
of the twelve magnates.
Though free to choose where to begin,
the turbulent David
gave a promising example of exactitude:
following strict alphabetical order,
he pointed his bayonet
at the famous Sissy nicknamed “Freckles”
beloved eldest daughter
of Mr. Paperina California.
And had immediate luck.
For it just so happened that the young girl
owed her celebrity
not so much to the freckles that entirely covered her face
as to a story
that had sadly marred
her childhood:
an Irish boy, who had made a passionate declaration
asking her—at the age of six—to marry him,
had broken his neck when he fell on the front door steps
a moment after Sissy
—having consulted her doll—
had asked him for time to think.
From that fortuitous coincidence
Miss California
had developed a kind of terror of refusing
and so as not to see another suitor drop dead
she accepted
her petitioner’s embrace
without too much ado.
David Lehman
therefore
celebrated his debut in the best of ways:
the first eloquent gaze was enough
and he found the large girl
already hanging ’round his neck
ready to promise him much more
than Lehman’s arrival
into the Eden of transportation.
Heyyah! What a girl!
Not even a hug
and he could already call her süsser.
It was much more difficult
to storm the fortress
of a splendid four-eyed mare
daughter of Mr. Milky Chicago:
in this case it was the not insignificant obstacle
of an official engagement
which obliged
David Lehman
to choose a less direct approach,
relying
on the foolproof remedy
of anonymous notes
and anonymous floral gifts
until the filly
anonymously impassioned
left the stable door
open.
And it was a crucial triumph.
For it instilled in David
that added value
engendered
by direct experience
in every profession:
the boy congratulated himself
and this self-congratulation
encouraged him further.
So that
the daughter of Mr. Cincinnati
and that of Banana Colorado
capitulated in the space of six days,
while Mr. Buddy Massachusetts
wondered why
his daughter Polly
allergic to every kind of pollen
suddenly enjoyed
long walks in the park.
He spoke about it to Mr. Missouri
who, in turn, asked his opinion
on the fact that his Christie
knew so much—all of a sudden—about coal . . .
“Coal?”
“Coal.”
Impenetrable mysteries
of the female soul!
How do you explain certain changes
bordering on conversion?
Young Minnie
who taught at the Protestant school
and had always been harsh
toward the “Jewish assassins of Christ”
was seen walking near to the Temple
asking the carriage drivers if by chance
they had seen her beloved Isaac
(for David was well practiced in the choice of false names).
And if there were those who stopped sleeping
“for did you know, dear father,
how many years we waste through sleep?”
it is said that Yvette
daughter of Mr. Lemonsoda San Francisco
—owner of a whole naval fleet—
was congratulated by her father
when she started cooking him
a wonderful recipe
for an aniseed cake
they make in Alabama.
There was no doubt about it:
a strange fever had spread
among the daughters of respectable families.
A change of nature
was noted even in the dogs,
if it is true that Foxy
—the dachshund belonging to the mail-coach king—
began to lose its way back home
forcing
its young mistress
to disappear for whole afternoons
before then finding it
each evening
at the dogcatcher’s.
And Mr. Pennsylvania’s greyhound?
From the wonder it used to be
all of a sudden it grew tired
and took
three hours’ more than usual
to walk around the block.
Poor Speedy, now so tired.
Emanuel Lehman
for his part
was already preparing
to become the thirteenth transport magnate.
In short
everything would have gone
splendidly well
had
his nephew
not gone too far:
having obtained the promise of intercession
he failed to loosen his grip
promising each young girl
simultaneously
that he would marry them
and even make them mothers
of three, four, ten children.
The physical prowess
of which he felt endowed
consoled him further in the task,
deceiving him
in less lucid moments
into actually believing he could
hold out
at the same time
in twelve parallel beds
of twelve goslings.
Or rather: eleven.
Because the twelfth liaison
was based
—at least for the moment—
on a relationship that was passionate, yes, but only epistolary.
She was
in fact
a plump
deeply religious
blond
whose public appearances
alas
were strictly limited
to Temple services.
Furthermore her father
Mr. Jump-Jump Washington
was the head of a strict family
of orthodox Jews
who attended services held
not at the Reform Temple of the Lehman clan
but
in a synagogue with a women’s gallery.
David Lehman
found himself against a brick wall:
any contact with the girl
was in fact impossible
except through cousins of the same sex.
And here he made his mistake.
He wrote a first passionate letter
and placed it in the mercenary hands of a young girl
handsomely remunerated
with combs, hoops, and colored ribbons.
He then awaited her reply.
And when it came
it was only the start of a long exchange
all the more passionate
since it was in ink alone.
But the correspondence was intercepted
through espionage in the women’s gallery.
The little girl had changed alliance
either due to a guilty conscience
or in exchange for a more equitable payment.
The fact is
that David’s love letters
became public news
and within three days
they were the talk
of every New York drawing room
like extraordinary serialized novels.
Oh! Sodom and Gomorrah!
Oh! The Plagues of Egypt!
Oh! The Temple in ruin!
For the twelve girls
amid sobs and tears
immediately
recognized
the style, the metaphors,
the wording and vocabulary
including above all
that unmistakable repertory
of spice aniseed, coal mines,
dead fathers in Alabama,
whole years spent asleep
and last
—but no means secondary—
the request to persuade the parent
to allow Lehman Brothers
into the control room.
“Papa, it’s him! It’s my Isaac!”
“But this is Mordechai!”
“Tell me it’s not Ezekiel!”
“How could you, Solomon?”
“Oh my Jacob master of the heyyahs!”
“He called me his süsser!”
There are catastrophes
even in the history of a bank.
This was equal to the disaster a year before,
when Jay Gould caused
the gold market to collapse
and New York held its breath.
For the Lehmans
in comparison
that was nothing.
They all
tried
to keep a distance:
“David? For us he has always been a wild horse.”
“When he was a boy we used to say: he’ll end up in a circus.”
“None of us had ever thought him much of a genius.”
It was no use.
The damage had been done.
Reputation lost.
But since every time you fall
you find yourself with a choice
between pulling out your hair
and stopping to think about why
and what had made you fall,
so
this time too
there were those in Lehman Brothers
who put all the facts together
and from the facts arrived at a question
and from the question to a constructive thought:
finance is to do with money
and money—we know—is often a filthy business
and yet
the first thing you ask of a bank
is that the person who looks after your money
keeps his fingernails clean.
This is what Uncle Mayer thought.
As for David,
he was punished in exemplary fashion.
Not even his mother defended him.
Indeed Aunt Rosa told him to his face
that his father, Henry,
would never but never in his life
have called two girls süsser
at the same time.
Shame on him.
Shame on him.
Gathered in plenary session
the sacred family tribunal
judged him
unanimously
(with one abstention: from Emanuel, it is said)
GUILTY
of all charges
sentencing him
with no right of appeal
to banishment for life
to be served from tomorrow
in the penal colony of cotton:
he would return to Alabama
and the future of the bank
would be left to his brother.
David Lehman
was therefore the first victim
sacrificed on the altar
of a new morality in banking.
And though the Lehmans
were not Puritans
nor Baptists, nor Mormons, nor Quakers
it was clear to all
that from now on
the sex life of the bank
would be
more or less
chaste.