The Right Places (30 page)

The pattern of tragedy has continued. Walter Annenberg's only son, considered brilliant, was a suicide, and Annenberg was so staggered by this blow that news of it was withheld for a week, as though he could not bring himself to believe that it had happened. One of his nieces was also a suicide, and another died tragically of cancer. A nephew, Robert Friede, was involved in a drug-manslaughter scandal several years ago for which he served a prison sentence. All Walter Annenberg's sisters except one—a widow—have had divorces, and Walter's own first marriage was a particularly unhappy one. The Fates at times must have seemed relentless.

And yet it is absolutely certain that His Excellency Walter H. Annenberg, United States Ambassador to the Court of St. James's, would not be the man he is or where he is if it had not been for the grim day in 1939 when he heard the verdict passed down against his father. Walter was thirty-one at the time. Up to then, he had been a shy, withdrawn young man living in his father's shadow. Suddenly he was head of the house, responsible for his mother and the seven sisters, older and younger. Ever since, he has worked diligently to enrich his family—as he certainly has done, to the point where, barring the most unusual circumstances, Annenberg heirs will be wealthy for many generations to come—and has worked even more doggedly to vindicate his father, to clear and elevate his father's name. Engraved in gold on a wooden plaque, prominently displayed in all his offices wherever he goes, are the words:

CAUSE MY WORKS ON EARTH TO REFLECT

HONOR ON MY FATHER
'
S MEMORY

This has been the single most important, most consuming, mission in Walter Annenberg's life. He may not always have succeeded, but he cannot be faulted for not trying. Sitting behind his big desk at the Embassy in London, he said, “Tragedy will either destroy you or inspire you, and I continue to have many inspirations to reflect credit on my father. In fact, I feel sorry for people who do not have great
incentives in their lives. Great incentives can be sobering and inspiring.” Walter Annenberg is a man who lives by mottoes; in fact, he has his favorite quotations typed up and printed on mimeographed sheets so he can carry them with him and refer to them for inspiration. Some of the ones he finds most comforting and reassuring are: “Today, well lived, makes every yesterday a dream of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope”—William Osler; “Our main business is not to do what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand”—Thomas Carlyle; “The high places occupied by those who are genuinely repentant cannot be reached even by the righteous”—the Talmud. His favorite is this, from an unknown source: “There is no misfortune but to bear it nobly is good fortune.”

Annenberg says, “For every advantage a citizen has, he has a corresponding responsibility. Having had more than my share of personal success, I have felt my obligation particularly strongly. All my life I have endeavored to be a constructive citizen.” He has endeavored to be constructive through philanthropy, and heads three charitable foundations, one named in his father's memory. He has given the Annenberg School of Communications to the University of Pennsylvania, and the Annenberg Library and Masters' House to the Peddie School, the latter given in honor of the masters who taught him as a student there. He has also toiled for the Philadelphia Art Museum and, in the process, has assembled an imposing collection of nineteenth- and twentieth-century paintings which he has been generous in lending to galleries and museums. He has striven to have the Annenberg name linked with philanthropy and public service, and clearly he feels that his ambassadorial post is just another way he can “reflect honor” on his father's memory.

But is he the right man for the job? Or is he, as his harshest critics say, actually hurting U.S.-British relations with his ineptitude and lack of experience? Of course, much of the criticism of the Annenberg appointment started in America and preceded his arrival in London. It was pointed out that he knew little of Britain, except as an occasional tourist, and that his biggest newspaper, the
Inquirer
—since sold—didn't even employ a foreign correspondent. Much was made of the fact that two Annenberg publications were racing papers, “a service that supplied bookies with racing results.” This, of course, is rather
like calling the
Wall Street Journal
“a service for illegal manipulators and shady speculators,” because Annenberg's
Morning Telegraph
, after all, is the official newspaper of the Thoroughbred Racing Association and of the National Association of State Racing Commissioners. It lists among its subscribers none other than Queen Elizabeth II, who knows more about horses than about ambassadors' addresses. Needless to say, at the time of the appointment, Moe Annenberg's tax troubles were taken out and dusted off.

Leading the criticism in America was the New York
Times
—now known in the Annenberg family as “The goddamned New York
Times
.” In a sharply worded editorial, the
Times
took President Nixon to task for “returning now to the unhappy practice of parcelling out key embassies to major campaign contributors” and said that Kennedy and Johnson had “scrapped” this tradition. Today, Walter Annenberg carries the
Times
editorial, slightly dogeared, in his date-book, and appears to have it committed to memory—the way actresses sometimes memorize bad notices. He takes it out, brandishes it, pounds the desk as his gorge—and voice—rises. “I made no political contributions!” he cries. “I have not one nickel. This is an editorial based on falsity. This is a textbook example of yellow journalism!” He also claims that at least two ambassadorial appointments of which he has personal knowledge—Matt McCloskey as envoy to Ireland, under Kennedy, and Frederick Mann, to Barbados, under Johnson—were both the result of money contributions. He knows this, Ambassador Annenberg says, because both President Kennedy and President Johnson telephoned him and told him so at the time.

On this rather important point—whether or not Walter Annenberg gave money to the Nixon campaign—it is hard to get a definite answer. Back in New York, John B. Oakes, the
Times
's editorial director, expressed astonishment that Annenberg had accused the
Times
of lying, and said, “Why, it's been part of my general knowledge that Annenberg has been a big contributor,” which seems a somewhat flimsy basis for an editorial claiming this to be a fact. Since the appointment, the
Times
has continued to needle Annenberg, once commenting that a room in the Embassy where a reception was being held “looked like a place where people gulp down a quick, cheap lunch.” With the British press continuing to be hostile or mocking or
both, there were signs, by the fall of 1969, that the Annenbergs were visibly wearying of the attack and that Annenberg might indeed offer his resignation by mid-1970. Later, though, the British press became kinder, led by the
Evening Standard
, which commented that “Mr. Annenberg has impressed independent observers by his sincerity and determination. Perhaps the critics will relent a little when they get to know him better.” Even the New York
Times
has adopted a gentler tone.

Socially, the Annenbergs still have problems. In this, it is a question of the Annenberg style. No two men could be more unlike than Walter Annenberg and his predecessor, David Bruce. Bruce was elegant, urbane, soft-spoken, polished—a trained diplomat of many years' experience. Annenberg is bluff, tough, forthright and—in some of his overexplanations—incautious. To the mannered world of social London he seems—well, coarse. The Annenbergs have never been exactly shy about admitting how rich they are and, to social London, talking about one's money is something “not done.” When asked how much the Annenberg collection of paintings was worth, the Ambassador replied, “Priceless.” When asked if it was true that he was personally spending over four hundred thousand pounds of his own money on “refurbishing and rehabilitation” of the residence in Regent's Park, he exclaimed, “It'll be closer to five hundred thousand pounds!” Social London tittered, and
Queen
magazine noted that the Annenbergs' decorator was William Haines, “a former star of silent screen, who appeared in ‘The Fast Life,' ‘Tell It to the Marines,' and ‘Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford,'” adding that the new ambassador possessed an honorary doctorate of laws degree from Dropsie College. In yet another interview, the Ambassador was asked whether he could be photographed on an exercise slab where he works out for ten minutes each morning. “I do that without any clothes on!” he roared. “May I tell you that as a representative of the President, I've got to consider the dignity of my office.” Tee-hee, went smart London.

The ambassadorship to the Court of St. James's has become a social post, and was certainly used that way by the very social David Bruces. The job is not one that is considered “politically sensitive.” Though it is the most prestigious post an American can occupy, it is also—from the standpoint of politics and American diplomatic goals—one
of the least important. What does the American ambassador in London need to do besides go to parties? There are signs, however, that Walter Annenberg may see his role as a somewhat broader one than the purely social one it can easily be. “Our overriding goal,” he said, “should be to contribute to the Anglo-American relationship and to show in tangible and visible ways to the British people the depth of our common interest.” He intends, he claims, to extend himself deeper into British life than that part of it populated by dukes and duchesses. He has instituted a series of lunches with both business and labor leaders, and recently enjoyed a miners' gala in Durham. He is also eager to prove himself a
working
ambassador. In a recent 77-day work period, he made 45 official calls, received 189 callers, went to 35 lunches, 24 receptions, 53 dinners and 16 excursions, including the miners' gala.

David Bruce is a very
English
American, and Walter Annenberg is a very
American
American. He champions traditional American values—motherhood, virtue, President Eisenhower. His house in California has an “Eisenhower room,” with nothing in it but photos and mementoes of his late friend and golfing companion. He also has a “Mother's room,” in memory of his mother, with a pale pink carpet—his mother's favorite color. Her portrait, in soft pastels, dominates his private study now in the house in Regent's Park. He calls Mrs. Annenberg “Mother.” He dislikes swearing, hippies, student activists, Democrats, and he and his wife take turns at writing a long and chatty weekly newsletter, headed “Dear Family,” that goes out to all his sisters and other relatives.

Jocelyn Stevens, publisher of the
Evening Standard
, is not only an influential Briton, but also a very dashing young man about London, with all proper social credentials. “It's really gotten to be very bad,” he says. “You're invited to a party, and your hostess will say, ‘I'm afraid we're having the Annenbergs.' On the other hand, do the bitches matter? Do they count, in the long run? I tend to suppose that, once their house is finished and they throw a few good parties, people will come around.”

It's true. All the costly refurbishing had held the Annenbergs back, because they had been unable to entertain. Now that William Haines's ministrations are complete and the great paintings are hung on the
walls, the doors at Regent's Park are open, music is playing and wine is flowing. Certainly in Philadelphia no one ever complained about an Annenberg party, where, needless to say, few expenses were ever spared.

And Walter Annenberg is a tough, determined man, and one gets the impression that he will not let social London get him down. Still, at times, he displays a certain nervousness, small signs that he is under a strain. Not long ago, speeding across London in his long limousine, on his way to pay an official call upon the Rumanian ambassador, his car drew up to the curb. The chauffeur hopped out and opened the door for Ambassador Annenberg. Suddenly, in an anxious voice, he asked, “Are you sure this is the place?”

“Yes, sir, this is it. Number one Belgrave Square.”

The Ambassador seemed unconvinced. “Are you positive?” he asked, touching his chauffeur's sleeve. “Are you sure I'm where I'm supposed to be?”

Part Five

SO THE RICH ARE LIKE YOU AND ME

Photo by Stanley Rosenfeld

Emil “Bus” Mosbacher at the helm

16

Yachting: Everybody's Doing It

They have all been individualists, and they have generally all been gentlemen,” said Mr. Cornelius Shields of Larchmont, New York, several years ago. “This has helped the sport of sailing have the feeling of a knit thing.” Mr. Shields, grand panjandrum among international yachting figures, was commenting on yachtsmen in general, but specifically on the men who, over the past hundred and twenty years, have competed in what is easily the world's most portentous yachting match, the America's Cup Race.