And to think that at one time
people in Wall Street
looked up only to watch the tightrope walker.
Solomon Paprinski
isn’t too happy
about having partly surrendered control of the air spaces.
Goodness knows what he would say
if he knew it was he who had prompted the investment.
Yes.
For chance would have it
that Lehman Brothers’ entry
into the airplane market
had been a very delicate question
begun almost as an amusement
and destined to have an importance
inside and outside the bank.
These, in short, are the facts.
Bobbie Lehman
who generally kept well away from Wall Street
had met his father one day
not far from the Stock Exchange
to examine a few paintings.
Or rather: this was the excuse,
thought up by Philip Lehman
to drag his son into the den of high finance.
His aim was of no little significance:
to present the bank’s future helmsman
to the most important members of the Stock Exchange
hoping that a love at first sight
might cut clear away
all remaining uncertainty.
So having attracted his son
with the tempting bait of a pair of Flemish masters
Philip
could hardly control his excitement:
at least ten leading business figures
waited impatiently to test out the mood and knowledge
of the next Mr. Lehman Brothers.
Bobbie arrived in white suit and white tie
immaculate
and looked every bit like a Paris art dealer
who had ended up by mistake in a bankers’ haunt.
The contrast was in no way lessened
by the presence of Arthur
perfectly marshaled in financier’s uniform:
black suit (BS)
double-breasted (DB)
black tie (BT)
rounded spectacles (2S) of a confirmed mathematician
and a black pencil (BL) stuck in his hand
to note down the listings of the day.
For his part
Arthur was unaware
of the reason for bringing Bobbie to the Stock Exchange:
he imagined it was a simple sightseeing tour
and in this spirit regaled his cousin
with anecdotes and remarks on customs.
Arthur felt very much at home
happy to show his place of work
to a cousin who happened to be passing by
and who lacked any knowledge of the sector.
They sat down in a large room
with dark upholstery.
Just one window recounted the world outside
open wide at the very same height
that Solomon Paprinski was balancing on his wire.
Philip and Arthur sat at either end of the table,
Bobbie between them.
Around the other sides
sat ten committee members, ready for the examination.
For this, after all, was the purpose.
Philip stood up
in almost ceremonial manner:
“Gentlemen, I present my son, Robert,
ready to answer your questions.”
Bobbie nodded, and added a “With the greatest pleasure.”
For, despite the disturbing emergence of that Robert,
he had no reason to lose his smile:
he was waiting for the arrival
at any time
of the paintings to be examined
and there wasn’t a single moment
in which he doubted that those before him
were not gallery owners, critics, and collectors
with an interest, like his, in the art market.
On the other hand
the one to whom all had suddenly become clear
was his cousin Arthur
who well knew
the identity of the ten sharks gathered in that room
and felt a genuine quake of terror (Tx).
The first of the ten
began to speak straightforwardly:
“So, Mr. Lehman,
what in your view is the market situation?”
Bobbie smiled,
like a master just waiting for the question.
After all, in the last month alone,
he had attended thirty or so auctions
from Bordeaux to London and Frankfurt:
“I think I can say that our sector
is in feverish activity: everything’s on the move, since the war,
and fortunately for us in America
the situation for many Europeans is not so florid
so we find we can make the best offers.”
There was a unanimous murmur of approval
while Philip gestured assent with his chin, his neck, his fingers,
in a true blaze of muscular energy.
Arthur meanwhile broke into a cold sweat (CS).
The second member spoke sternly:
“Am I wrong or is this a proposal for large-scale buying?
Since Europe is in crisis, ought we to be taking advantage?”
Bobbie smiled again:
“With all respect: yes, that’s what I think.
An opportunity like this won’t present itself again.
If we want to establish ourselves in this sector of ours
we can’t hold back.”
A third voice rose from the far end of the table:
“I’d like to understand more clearly what you are referring to.”
Bobbie showed not the slightest irritation:
“It seems so clear, quite frankly:
until a few years ago
we felt the superiority of the French, of the Germans, of the Russians.
Not to mention the English.
I’ve spent whole years in Europe:
I can testify from personal experience
that—so far as my own satisfaction is concerned—
not infrequently the best deals
were all in marks, sterling, francs, and rubles.”
A blond Viking nodded: “Especially in marks.”
Bobbie continued:
“In Europe they know that Lehman
was one of the first to invest dollars in this sector.
There was us and a few others, then I can say we outdid them.”
The Viking was elated:
“I agree, I approve, and I associate myself without hesitation:
we can alter the axis of the whole market
bringing it at last to this side of the Atlantic.”
It was now the turn of a small thin man,
swamped in his own double-breasted suit:
“For the future, therefore,
must we expect Lehman
to expand its range of action
not just in America
but on an international scale?”
Bobbie stretched his arms wide: he seemed to be among amateurs.
“With all due respect: America? In our sector?
Come, it’s of little importance.
The real business is done far away
and I imagine you know.
I, with the agreement of my father, Philip,
went to Europe immediately after Yale
and I realized from the very first day
that the only problem was knowing where to start.”
Philip didn’t let the opportunity slip
and, laughing like a drunkard, he remarked:
“He used to write, I remember, ‘send money Dad!’
And straightaway I provided the capital!”
Bobbie at this paternal encouragement
grew bolder still:
“But let me point out
that this new American role
cannot be simply a predominance;
we also have duties
that can benefit all the people of the earth.”
At these words
an old man with wild eyebrows
banged the knob of his walking stick on the dark wooden table:
“I detest these philanthropic gestures:
it’s money all the same! It’s business all the same!”
Bobbie stopped his father from any mediative effort
by responding immediately:
“No sir! If this were so, we would buy to resell,
and would sell to then perhaps rebuy!”
The old man protested again by banging his stick:
“And isn’t that what we do?”
“Not on behalf of Lehman, my dear sir:
I like to think we are not traders
but people inspired by a mission.”
“And what might this mission be? Let’s hear it!”
began a young buck glittering with gold rings.
Bobbie replied without even letting him finish:
“To make the world better
since what are we investing in after all?
In man’s ingenuity, in his genius,
in his extraordinary capacity to create.”
A smartly dressed young man with mother-of-pearl teeth
jotted this phrase in his notebook
whispering to the one beside him: “I like the way he talks.”
And the other: “At least there’s some vision.”
Bobbie now bristled with pride:
emerging from within was a comradely zeal
that he was neither able nor willing to repress
along with the memory of his military glories:
“I, gentlemen, have even fought for this
putting my life at risk
but I would do it again tomorrow!”
A warrior at the Stock Exchange!
A Homeric banker!
The enthusiasm became uncontainable.
The only one not to have spoken so far
was a gaunt middle-aged man
who had spent the whole time
endlessly stroking his fingers
as long as spindles.
Now, however, he felt he should make himself heard:
“If it is appropriate for me to ask, I’d like an example
of this great urge of yours—highly personal, I have to say—
to invest in humanitarian terms.
I do not see around us
all this burgeoning of intuition.”
In a long silent pause
Bobbie looked at him as though he felt offended.
Then announced:
“Quite honestly, I don’t know whom I’m speaking to.”
And the reply came immediately:
“That’s very strange. A Lehman ought to know very well.
In any event, I’m Rockefeller.”
“Ah! No less!” Bobbie retorted, furiously:
If I’m not mistaken you swiped a triple deal from me
last month in England!”
(for the Rockefellers had indeed managed
to get their hands on three late Imperial Roman altars).
“Simple law of the best bidder!”
Rockefeller replied
referring to a triple purchase of Swiss banks.
“Is a Rockefeller asking me what is pure genius?
With respect, I see it wherever I set my eyes.
Here, for example:
look there, outside that window . . .
He is no more than a tightrope walker, after all.
But in the frame of the window, he is a true picture:
humanity is no longer satisfied with walking on the ground,
but is competing with the birds for air space.
This is pure art, Mr. Rockefeller.
If for you it is only a question of money
then I believe that you and I don’t have much to say to each other.
Begging your pardon: I have here somewhere
two Flemish masters that await me.
Am I not right, Dad? I’d like to go.”
And without adding more, he left the room
in such haste
that everyone wondered who were the Flemish financiers
who had come from Europe to meet him.
Before they could ask him
however
the old man with the eyebrows
waved his stick at Philip:
“Devil of a Lehman: you hadn’t told us anything!
Competing with the birds for air space!
Civil aviation!
Your son wants to fly humanity up and down the planet?
A sensational idea: pure art, he’s right!
Rather than using airplanes just for war
let’s use them to move ourselves about for pleasure!
My bank is prepared to support you in the deal.”
“We too!”
“May I join in?”
“I offer a third of the capital!”
“Very smart, Lehman!”
“A textbook success!”
While all these voices were echoing ’round the room,
Philip could barely hold back the tears:
a baron’s baptism had just been performed.
And so, with paternal pride,
he uttered a phrase that turned into a shout:
“Talk all of you with Robert, not with me!
Talk with him tomorrow!”
Well.
It was here that Arthur Lehman’s
own mathematical dose of tolerance (TL)
reached a definite end.
He could expect anything from his cousin.
Anything apart from seeing him emerge
without warning
as a claimant to the throne.
And then what shred of good sense did he have?
Hadn’t Bobbie always been a wastrel?
Okay, he had graduated from Yale
but who had ever heard of him discussing finance? (BY ≠ FIN)
Through what algebraic formula
was old Philip
now wanting to promote him in the bank?
Yes. All this whirl of question marks
exploded like a volcano in Arthur.
And as often happens with human beings
anger doesn’t always go hand in hand with logic (A ≠ L)
so that
this was what he yelled:
“Well done! That’s it! Go on! Why not?
You want to fill the sky with airplanes?
They’ll go crashing into skyscrapers!”
“I heartily hope not”
came the immediate reply from Louis Kaufman
who was financing the Empire State Building.
“It’s a mathematical certainty!”
Arthur said or thought
(this was never clear)
before slamming the door.
In any event
this was how Lehman Brothers
began investing in Pan American Airways.
And apart from this
it was how Bobbie Lehman
without realizing it
rose from chamberlain to heir to the throne.