The Auerbach Will (32 page)

“I disagree,” Charles said, “on two counts. First of all, seventeen percent is just too much to make sense from a business standpoint. Second—and even more important—is the public-relations factor. All the talk in the papers is of shortages, of belt-tightening until the Allies win the war. I think Eaton and Cromwell's first wartime catalogue should reflect this. Instead of an even fatter catalogue, I think we should present one that's noticeably slimmed down. We want to say to the American public—maybe even say it on the cover—something to the effect of, ‘Look, we're in this too. We know there are shortages, and that's why this year's catalogue is thinner than it's been in years. Eaton and Cromwell is doing its part for the war effort, too.' Or something like that. It would give us prestige in the public's eyes.”

“I agree with Charles,” Jake said.

“Abe—how about you?”

“Agree,” said Abe Litsky.

“That leaves you, Cy,” said Charles.

Cyrus Cromwell, who never had much to say at these meetings, fidgeted in his chair. Finally, he said, “Damnit, seventeen percent is just too much. We stand to make a lot of money on this war. Why not keep the profits for ourselves? Why squander it on advertising? Yes, I agree.”

“Then,” said George Eaton, “I take it I am outvoted?”

“Afraid so, George.”

“Very well,” he said, rising a little stiffly from his chair, “in that case, I resign.” He turned and walked out of the room.

“How much will it take to buy him out?” Jake asked when he and Charles were alone again.

Charles scribbled some figures on a piece of paper. “Roughly, I'd say something in the neighborhood of ten million dollars,” he said.

“Christ. Where do we come up with that kind of money?”

Charles was smiling. “Actually,” he said, “this is a moment I've been waiting for. We raise the money by going public—a public offering of Eaton and Cromwell stock. We're ready for it, Jake.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. And I don't need to remind you, Jake, that with twenty-five percent of the stock in public hands, with another twenty-five percent in Cy Cromwell's, you and Abe would own half the company. You'd be the dominant stockholders. You'd be absolutely in complete control.”

“That's true,” said Jake, steepling his fingers and gazing far into space.

“As for me, I have only one request.”

“What's that?”

“When the offering's made, I'd like to buy a few hundred shares, at a discount from whatever the initial offering price may be. As a nest egg for Cecilia and me.”

“That's not unreasonable, Charles,” Jake said. “That's not unreasonable at all.”

“Good. Then, if you approve, I'll handle the details.”

Jake nodded. “I approve.”

From the
Wall Street Journal:

Chicago, May 5
. Eaton & Cromwell & Co., the large mail-order retail-manufacturing firm, announced today its first public offering of stock. The offering will be underwritten by Goldman, Sachs, New York. The company, according to a Goldman, Sachs spokesman, posted pretax profits of $20,000,000 in fiscal 1916, and, as a result of recent Government contracts for the production of war-related goods, is expected to show an even brighter profit picture for fiscal 1917. The initial offering, of 500,000 shares, has not yet been priced but, according to Goldman, Sachs is expected to be offered in the $18 to $20 price-per-share range.

In a not unrelated development, Mr. George Eaton, one of the founders of the company, has announced his resignation as vice-president and Director of Advertising. It is expected that some of Mr. Eaton's holdings in the company will go into the public offer.

Up until now, the company has been closely held by only four individuals: Mr. Eaton, co-founder Cyrus Cromwell, Jacob Auerbach, a member of New York's retailing Rosenthal family, and Abraham Litsky. Mr. Litsky is Mr. Auerbach's brother-in-law.

After reading this item, Mr. Marshall Field put down his newspaper and buzzed for his secretary. “Get me Robert McCormick of the
Tribune
on the phone,” he said.

“Bertie,” he said when the publisher came on the line, “I want to ask a favor of you. Did you by any chance see the item in today's
Journal
about Eaton and Cromwell?”

“S-sure did,” said Bertie McCormick, who had a slight stammering problem.

“I'm interested in this Abraham Litsky, who seems to be a large shareholder,” Field said, “I'd like you to assign a reporter to find out everything he can about Litsky—his background, his education, where he came from, everything.”

“B-but why, Marsh?” Bertie McCormick said. “Th-they're not considered competitors of yours, are they? I m-mean they sell just ch-cheap stuff, don't they? They're not in a class with F-Field's.”

“I know, Bertie. Let's just say it's personal. I've got an old score I'd like to settle. As a favor, Bertie. Everything you can find out about Litsky.”

Mr. Joseph Duveen was a small, immaculate, elegantly groomed man with a pencil-thin mustache, bright eyes, impeccable manners, wondrous enthusiasm, and a British accent that seemed as though it had been cultivated at Oxbridge, though his actual origins were somewhat more humble. Though he had not yet become Baron Duveen of Milbank, he seemed already in anticipation of the title, and he much preferred working with women than with their usually oafish husbands. Women, he had found, were much more susceptible to his impish charm and flattery, which were at the cornerstone of his extraordinary international career of selling art and other precious objects to the very rich.

“A magnificent dwelling,” he said to Essie as he accompanied her through the nearly finished rooms, “Designed for magnificent entertainments, on the grandest scale, by a hostess of magnificent accomplishment—as, Mrs. Auerbach, I can see you are. This house must be filled with magnificent objects, beautiful things, for a life cannot be beautiful unless it is surrounded by beauty, don't you agree? Now here, in this room, I have recently acquired a number of Venetian pieces, which I think would be more than suitable. And on that wall, I think perhaps—yes, a Titian. As luck would have it, I have just come upon a magnificent example which the owner, a French duke, is willing to sell at a ridiculously low price in order to pay off a bothersome mistress.…”

“I want to keep within some sort of budget, Mr. Duveen,” she said.

“Budget? Ah, dear lady, do not talk of money. Money is of no interest to me. Beauty cannot be bought by mere money. Beauty has no price. Beauty can be purchased for a farthing, or for a million dollars. The cost of beauty is of no consequence, and should not for one little moment be considered. Besides, dear lady, Mr. Auerbach has given us—you and me—carte blanche. We will create our beauty—your beauty, the beauty which will surround your life—together, with no thought of mundane matters. Beauty, of course, is in the eye of the beholder, but what is in the eye that the beholder beholds? If that be beauty too, then the union is complete—complete and harmonious and eternal as perfect marriage, the union between great art and a great collector, an indestructible union. Now here, in this room, I happen to have some fine Louis Quinze pieces.…”

“I don't want the house to look pompous or formal.”

“Pompous? Formal? You have not yet seen what I have in mind, dear lady. These pieces were all especially designed for a château on the Loire, and here—here, instead of the Loire, you have your magnificent lake. No, definitely not pompous or formal. These pieces are light, airy, in a way whimsical, they are like soft chords of music—dainty and elegant. They will seem to sing to you in this room, in this wonderful north light. I will order them shipped to you tomorrow, for your inspection and approval, and you will see what I mean. And against that large wall—I think not a painting. I think, instead, a Gobelin tapestry which I have just chanced upon. A magnificent specimen. Its only rival hangs in Versailles, and that,
entre nous
, dear lady, I suspect of being a forgery. The one I have in mind, and will be shipping to you for your approval, has been completely authenticated. And now, for this little sitting room, this I want to be
your
special room, and I propose covering the walls with a watered green Chinese silk I have come across, very rare, and which perfectly matches the color of your eyes.”

“Mr. Duveen,” Essie said, “there are a few things about me that you ought to know, if we are going to be working, as you say, together. For one thing, I was born in Russia, in a little
shtetl
which probably doesn't exist anymore, and I grew up in New York on the Lower East Side, where I learned the value of a dollar. I also learned everything there is to know about dealing with a Jewish peddler.”

The future baron threw his head back, laughed and clapped his hands. “Ah, dear lady!” he cried. “I can see we are going to get along very,
very
well!”

The young newspaper reporter whom Bertie McCormick had assigned to investigate Abe Litsky for his friend Marshall Field was named William O'Malley, and at the end of a month, moving back and forth between New York and Chicago, O'Malley had learned a good deal. He had typed up his story, and was about to present it to his publisher, when he—clever and hardworking and ill-paid fellow that he was—had a better idea. Now he was sitting in Jacob Auerbach's office, and Jacob Auerbach was reading what William O'Malley had written:

EATON & CROMWELL PARTNER IS EX-NEW YORK CRIME FIGURE

Abraham Litsky, a partner and substantial shareholder in the burgeoning Eaton & Cromwell mail-order empire, has been a fugitive from the New York Police Department since June, 1912,
Tribune
sources learned today.

Mr. Litsky and an associate, Frankie (“The Thumb”) Corelli, were arrested on May 31 of that year, NYPD records show, and charged with operating a large-scale rackets enterprise, which included illegal gambling, extortion, and prostitution. Released on $5,000 bond, Litsky skipped bail, and up to now his whereabouts have been unknown. Corelli was tried and sentenced to ten years imprisonment, and is currently serving this sentence at Sing Sing, the state penal institution in Ossining, N.Y. Litsky's presence in Chicago came to light last month as a result of accounts in the financial press, announcing the first public offering of Eaton & Cromwell stock, and listing Litsky as a major shareholder in the corporation.

Litsky's position with Eaton & Cromwell appears to be no coincidence. Litsky's sister, the former Esther Litsky, is married to Jacob Auerbach, the company president and, for the past four years, its guiding light. Auerbach, a member of a prominent New York family, met his wife when he was doing volunteer social work among the poor of the Lower East Side. Mrs. Auerbach's mother, Mrs. Minna Litsky, still operates a small shop in the well-known slum neighborhood. When questioned, Mrs. Litsky claimed to have no knowledge of her son's whereabouts.

Prior to his association with Eaton & Cromwell, Mr. Litsky's only known employment in Chicago was a brief stint as bartender at the Chicago Opera House.

The revelation of Litsky's “wanted” status in New York would appear to come at a particularly awkward moment for the mail-order firm. The company has recently sought, and been granted, substantial military contracts from the United States Government, for the production of uniforms, mess kits, and blankets.

Asked to comment on his brother-in-law's status with the company, Mr. Jacob Auerbach replied:

“That's what I'm here for. Your comment,” William O'Malley said with a wink.

“This is simple blackmail, isn't it?” Jake said.

“Let's call it a case of wartime shortages,” said O'Malley. “I'm on the short side of cash.”

“And you'd even drag my wife into it. You scum. I should call the police.”

“But I don't think you will, will you? The publicity?”

“How much do you want?”

O'Malley twirled his fingers in the air. “Oh—ten thousand dollars,” he said. The minute he had said it, he knew the figure was too small. The story was worth more than that. But it was too late now.

“Wait right here,” Jake said. “I have to confer with an associate.”

“Pay it,” Charles snapped. “If this story got out, it could ruin us.”

“But what's to prevent him from coming back for more?”

“Stale news is never as good as fresh news. By the time he comes back for more, your brother-in-law will be stale news.”

“You mean—”

“There's no alternative, Jake. Abe has got to go. Now. Today.”

“Of course.”

“And I think you can handle that better than I can,” Charles said.

Back in his office, Jake wrote out the check. “Here,” he said. “Here's your blackmail money.” Then he took O'Malley's story and tore it into tiny pieces. It was an angry, futile gesture. The reporter undoubtedly had other copies and, besides, all the facts were in his head. “Now get out of here. You scum,” he said. Then he sent for his brother-in-law.

“One million, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Jake said. “That's what I'm offering you.”

“But Eaton got ten million, and his share was the same as mine,” Abe said.

“Very well, a million and a half. My God, Abe, you came into this with only fifty thousand. You'll be going out with thirty times that figure—not a bad return on your investment. You'll be a rich man. You can start another business of your own.”

“It's not enough.”

“A million and a half. That's my final offer.”

“And what if I don't accept?”

“Then I notify the New York police of your whereabouts.”

“You drive a hard bargain, don't you, Jake?”

“Yes,” said Jake. “I think I do.”

From the
Wall Street Journal: