Honorable Men

by Louis Auchincloss

  “I have that in mind. But we haven’t reached that point yet. The public is still willing to pay more for less. Welcome to the twentieth century!”

  There was also some opposition to Chip in the family. Two of his sisters, Flossie and Elaine, were now married to men who worked for the company, and Margaret, the youngest, still unwed, acted as her father’s secretary. All three had developed considerably from the boy-crazy, giggling sillies who had visited us in Charlottesville, but there were times when I almost wished they hadn’t.

  My two married sisters-in-law offered an interesting contrast in their ways of dealing with husbands who had no money. Flossie, the elder, a big, breathless, emotional, easily hurt woman, had decided that her cool, tight-lipped, rather condescendingly aesthetic spouse, Ted Millbank, was the spiritual superior of all the Benedicts and that the latter were indeed fortunate to be able to supply the money needed to promote his career. But there was a certain element of the Benedict push behind her noisily announced adoption of the Griselda role, and Ted Millbank had been pressured into giving up what might have been an adequate curatorial career in Williamsburg, Virginia, to take over the small glass museum of the Benedict company. Ted had taste and capability, but he had also many of the limitations of the scholar and tended to view the business community as so many Philistines. Regarding the museum as the primary purpose of the glass business, instead of, as it was, a small public relations agency, he and his too vociferously loyal spouse were on an early collision course with Chip.

  Elaine, on the other hand, had married a Saint Luke’s and Yale classmate of Chip’s, Alvin Barnes, who, although his family, formerly rich, had lost all in the depression, had certainly not married for mercenary reasons. Indeed, it was a joke in Chip’s family that Alvin had married Elaine to separate her from her money. He was a short square man with a deceptively boyish face and tousled hair, who combined a strong will power and a bad temper with toughness and integrity. He had taken a position at Benedict only at Chip’s solicitation, and he insisted that his wife subsist entirely on his salary. Elaine, who had a sunny disposition and a pleasant ability to laugh at her husband without offending him, complied, but I always felt that had Alvin’s income proved inadequate, she wouldn’t have hesitated to defy him and make use of her own. Elaine, in her own way, was almost as strong as Chip.

  The first serious friction between Ted Millbank and my husband occurred on a night when Ted and Flossie came to dinner with us to meet Chip’s old commander, Gerald Hastings. The latter, now a rear admiral, and his rather subdued, but eager-to-please, tiny wife were spending the weekend with us. I don’t remember just what year it was, but it was before the Soviet Union had attained full parity of nuclear power with the United States, as will be shortly made clear by what happened. I was rather in awe of Hastings because of the deep respect that Chip felt for him, though certainly the flatness of his discourse—at least when he talked to women—was not impressive. That evening, however, he made the whole table sit up when Chip asked him what action he would take, were he President, to counteract the Russian atomic threat.

  “Oh, I’m quite clear about that,” Hastings responded in the voice of easy authority that he always knew how to adopt if the conversation became military. “I should do the only sane thing a great nation can do. And which we will probably have only another year or so at most in which to do. I should present the Russian authorities with an ultimatum. Either they consent at once to a total dismantlement of all their nuclear plants, subject, of course, to our military supervision, or they take the consequences.”

  There was a tense silence around the table.

  “And what would those consequences be?” demanded Ted Millbank, in a voice that trembled with anticipatory indignation.

  “The consequences would be an atomic attack on their nuclear bases. I have little doubt that we could bring their production to a halt.”

  “And what about the people?” Flossie Millbank cried out. “What about the millions of people who would be killed?”

  “I daresay it would not be millions. I should limit our strike, insofar as possible, to military targets. But yes, there would certainly be appalling casualties. However, the Russians have only to choose.”

  “I never heard anything so barbarous!” Ted exclaimed shrilly. “Of course no proud nation could cave in before so arbitrary an ultimatum. You would give them no choice. It would be genocide!”

  “I beg your pardon, sir; it would be just the opposite. We would be saving the human race. For I should send the same ultimatum to any other nation, friendly or not, that was making nuclear arms. My position would be the simplest: that we Americans have brought this terrible weapon into being and that it is our responsibility to ensure that it should never be used. The nations of the world would henceforth have to settle their disputes without resort to nuclear arms.”

  “Except for us,” Ted sneered. “Rather an exception, don’t you think?”

  “It is a high calling to live up to the challenge of civilization,” Hastings continued imperturbably. It was obvious that he had faced such opposition before. “The fact that we alone have the bomb imposes on us the terrible duty of using it to save the world.”

  “I agree with Gerry,” Chip put in flatly.

  “And do you think for a minute,” Flossie demanded angrily of her brother, “that anyone in our government would go along with this mad idea?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “I agree with Chip that we may lack the guts to do it,” Hastings continued. “But I also believe that in ten years’ time everyone at this table will wish to hell we had!”

  Chip and the Millbanks did not confine their differences of opinion to international affairs. They found even more explosive territory at home. The glass museum, which had been started as an additional attraction to the glass-blowing for the increasing number of summer tourists who passed through Benedict on their way north, had grown, thanks largely to Matilda Benedict’s interest, from a couple of rooms of Colonial bowls and tumblers to a small but exquisite Palladian pavilion that was on its way to demonstrating the whole history of glass-making from Roman days through Venice right down to Tiffany and John La Farge. But now Ted had conceived a greater plan. He wanted to show the use of glass in architecture, in medicine, even in warfare. He wanted to suggest a world where glass was God !

  Chip had asked me to be present when the museum committee, consisting of Ted Millbank, his wife and motherin-law, were to present his master plan. We met in Chip’s office, which occupied the whole of the blue dome on top of the administration building, with four great oval windows that commanded views of the town and the countryside. Chip’s round desk stood in the middle of the chamber in the center of a round blue carpet. The tables and shelves along the walls were covered with specimens of glasswork, including some huge unshaped pieces of ruby red and emerald green. Ted had spread his plans out on the floor, and we walked about, perusing them.

  Basically, the project called for the erection of four glass wings, radiating out from the four corners of the present pavilion. The wings would be dedicated to different functions of glass: glass in architecture, glass in science, glass in history, glass in art.

  Chip studied the blueprints for some fifteen minutes before he spoke.

  “It’s a great plan, Ted,” he said at last.

  Ted could not forbear a look of premature triumph at his wife and motherin-law. How quickly he anticipated victory! As if even such a materialist as Chip could hardly fail to succumb to his genius. But my heart seemed to lose a beat. I knew that forward thrust of my husband’s chin.

  “I thought you’d see it, Chip. You really couldn’t not.”

  “Wait a second, Ted. I said it was a great plan. It is. But for whom? General Motors?”

  Ted frowned. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that it’s far too grand for the likes of us. Do you know what percentage of our annual gross this would cost?”

  “That’s
hardly my concern, Mr. Chairman. My task is to determine quality. Whether or not it pays is your concern.”

  “Just so.”

  “Except that I happen to believe that one can never lose with the best.”

  “But that’s not your responsibility, Ted, is it?”

  “Of course, you know, Chip,” Matilda Benedict now put in, “I might be able to contribute a part of the cost.”

  Chip turned at once to his mother. “I trust not by selling or pledging company stock.”

  “Would that be my only recourse?”

  “For any significant contribution, yes.” He turned abruptly back to his brother-in-law. “Let’s not drag this out, Ted. The extensions that you propose are out of the question. The most that I’ll consider is a small gallery devoted to glass in art.”

  I watched Ted’s eyes congeal as he took in the finality of this response. “Is that really all, Chip?”

  “It’s all I have to say.”

  “Then I’ll have to take it to the board.”

  “That is your privilege. It hardly seems likely that the board will go against the recommendation of the chairman in such a matter. Still, you can try.”

  As Ted now moved grimly to pick up his plans from the floor, Flossie turned furiously on her brother.

  “You think you rule the roost, Chippy boy, but some of those chickens may have been counted before you know what! We’ll see what Daddy has to say about this.”

  “We certainly will,” Chip replied.

  “You think you have Daddy sewn up, the way you do Mummie, don’t you?”

  “Please, Flossie!” Matilda Benedict remonstrated. “Don’t be vulgar. Nobody’s ever had me ‘sewn up.’ ”

  “Haven’t they? You’re as bad as Alida, in my books. All the man of the family has to do is crook his little finger, and you both come running.”

  “While you, of course, are totally independent of Ted,” I retorted.

  Flossie turned her big, red-shot eyes on me in bitter contempt. “You! What do you care what happens to a small-town company? What’s it to you but a source of dough to spend on New York clothes and jewels? What do you care if we make the cheapest and ugliest glass in America so long as you get your share of the loot?”

  “Oh, Flossie, go home,” Chip snapped at her, and Ted, the plans now under his arm, propelled his wife silently from the room. Mrs. Benedict, in her usual stately way, tried to pick up the broken pieces of our dissension.

  “I apologize, Alida, for my daughter’s rudeness. It was quite uncalled for. Nobody cares more for the company than you, my dear, or has done more to help out. Florence gets so engrossed with Ted’s projects and ideals that she forgets herself. All this will blow over.”

  “I’m afraid, Ma, it won’t be as easy as you think.”

  “Well, seriously, Chip, doesn’t she have a bit of a point? When you get right down to it, must we condemn ourselves to mediocrity?”

  “The times condemn us. Look, Ma. For a hundred years now every forward-looking person has been working for better conditions for labor, for more pensions and welfare and so forth. Well, all those things have come. We’re up to our ears in them. I’m not complaining. I’m adjusting to the facts. It should be obvious that paying the wages and taxes that we have to pay, we must forgo some of the quality in our products. The finest workmanship in the future will have to be left to nations with less developed welfare programs. If you don’t believe me, you and Alida, look about and see what’s happening in the areas you most care about, the cultural areas. Ask your publishing friends how they feel about bringing out the first novel of an unknown. Ask your producer friends how they feel about that interesting, intellectual new play. And it’s all just beginning, too, mind you. Inflation will continue to rise until the only public entertainment will be on TV, and that will be trash. Opera and ballet will follow drama into the bottomless pit. Oh, philanthropy may put it off a couple of decades with productions of old chestnuts like Aïda and Carmen, but the end is clear.”

  “But you seem so enthusiastic about it!” I cried, appalled. “I’m not enthusiastic about it,” he retorted brusquely. “I see it, that’s all. And I’m not going to have an ass like Ted, who can’t see anything, look down his snotty nose at me!”

  Ted Millbank, anyway, was ass enough to take his fight to nonfamily stockholders, and this proved a declaration of war, for the stock of Benedict was no longer solely owned by Benedicts. Chip, seeking greater capital for his business expansion, had “gone public,” with the result that the family now owned less than half the outstanding shares, but as the Benedicts voted in a block, and as the other stockholders were numerous and unorganized, control of the company had not been lost. The risk of a combination against the Benedicts, however, was always a dread possibility, and it was for this reason that any dalliance by a Benedict with unrelated shareholders was regarded as the direst treason.

  When Alvin Barnes, Elaine’s husband, called on Chip and me one night after dinner to report what he had heard about Ted’s activities, it was like the discovery of an enemy atomic plant within national borders. Alvin’s young face and middle-aged eyes struck me as almost comically grave.

  “There’s no question about it, I’m afraid. He’s been in correspondence with every holder of more than two hundred shares. It’s a campaign!”

  “Very well.” Chip’s features had frozen. “He must go. I’ll see Dad and Ma tonight.”

  Chip did not take me with him when he called on his parents, but when he came home late that night he was able to tell me that he had prevailed.

  “It was pretty grim,” he said. “Flossie came storming over, without Ted, and made the most fearsome scene. Really, I’ve never seen such a Valkyrie! She howled and stormed. She said she’d leave Benedict and never come back. Ma wavered all over the place, but Dad was a rock. When I made it clear that it was Ted or me, he had no choice.”

  “Oh, darling, couldn’t you just give Ted a warning? One last chance?”

  “With a guy like Ted that never works. He hates my guts, and he’s determined to get me. Talk to Alvin. He agrees.”

  “Oh, Alvin will do anything you say!”

  “Alida, my dear, you’re a wonderful wife, but you don’t understand business. You must leave this decision to me.”

  Well, what else could I do? Ted Millbank, after all, had dug his own grave. When he loomed the next morning, gray and somber, like some resurrected John the Baptist, at our breakfast table, I wanted to push him out of the house, get him out of my sight, anything to avoid the contemplation of his misery. I was hurrying from the room when Chip bade me stay.

  “Yes, I too would just as soon you were a witness, Alida,” Ted volunteered. “All I really have to say to your husband is that I regard him as a man without vision in business affairs, without sensitivity in matters of art and without heart in his dealings with his fellow men. Flossie echoes my sentiments. We hope never to have to see him again.”

  “How can you be so horrible, Ted?” I cried. “You know you were trying to stab Chip in the back!”

  “If trying to bring a little beauty into the dull grays and browns of life in Benedict is stabbing Chip in the back, then indeed I have stabbed him.”

  “Why don’t you go now, Ted?” Chip asked in his coldest, most patient tone. “Now that you’ve made your little speech.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  “There isn’t any point saying anything more to a man like you. I have no wish to hurt you, and I know that your mind is unchangeable. You are determined to separate Flossie from her family. You are making a big mistake.”

  “Why?” Ted demanded in surprise, almost in spite of himself.

  “Because when she doesn’t have us to turn on, she’ll turn on you.

  Which in fact was just what happened. Flossie left Ted within two years. But the poor man, unconscious of the second Benedict doom hanging over his head, now presented us with his back.

  I wondered why Mrs. Ben
edict had given up so easily, but it was not long before the reason was clear. Like me, she was dominated by her husband. Not only did Mr. Benedict confirm the dismissal of his son-in-law; he arranged that Chip should have voting control over all the family stock, which placed the management of the company now squarely in his hands. Chip reigned as supremely over Benedict as the Sun King over Versailles.

  When I tried to discuss the situation frankly with my motherin-law, she presented her entire acceptance of it like a wall between us.

  “I think we’re on the path to a new job for Ted,” she told me blandly. “There may be an opening at the Boston Fine Arts. He’ll be better off away from Benedict. Of course, Flossie may never forgive Chip, but as old age comes on, I’m learning that I have to face the fact that I can’t control the affections or animosities between my children.”

  “It surprises me that Mr. Benedict doesn’t have more concern about Flossie.”

  “Oh, he does. But shall I tell you something, Alida? My husband is basically what your daughter Ellie calls a male despot. The rack wouldn’t get it out of him, but he believes in a male-dominated world. I’ve always known that he cared more for Chip than for all his three daughters. And when Chip came home to take over the company, Elihu was ready to chant his Nunc Dimittis. Ted and Flossie have been the victims. Let us hope they’ll be the last. I wouldn’t even bet on my humble self if I crossed swords with your glorious husband!”

  I think it was at that moment that I became just the tiniest bit afraid of Chip. I wondered whether I could not detect a slight hardening in his features. Chip was almost as handsome as he had been when I first met him; he had lost no hair and gained no more than ten pounds. But there was something about his eyes … how shall I put it? Well, I kept thinking of an idiotic cinematic trick in a film about King Arthur’s Round Table, where the sapphire light in Lancelot’s eyes had gone out after he had slept with Guinevere. Something not too unlike that seemed to have happened to Chip. And it wasn’t just because of a woman, either.