by Tom Bower
Maxwell, The Outsider
Tom Bower
New York : Viking, 1992. (1992)
Tags: Non Fiction
Non Fictionttt
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SUMMARY:
Traces the life of the controversial British publisher, recounts how he built his empire, and examines the charges of mismanagement that surfaced after his mysterious death
THE OUTSIDER
'Forced to choose one book, it has to be Tom Bower's highly unauthorised version. It is Bower who asks the tough questions and who comes closest to explaining the 'mystery' of Robert Maxwell, so far as that will ever be possible.'
Raymond Snoddy, Financial Times
'Bower ends up presenting a much more convincing and rounded portrait of a clearly remarkable man.' Alan Rushbridger, Guardian
Tom Bower has spent his life studying politics, finance and warfare, having graduated in law from the London School of Economics. He is a distinguished BBC television producer and award-winning documentary film-maker. His first book, Blind Eye to Murder, is recognised as a definitive account of war criminals who escaped post-war justices; the second was his devastating biography of Klaus Barbie; and the highly acclaimed The Paperclip Conspiracy. His most recent book, The Red Web, was hailed as a unique account of M.I.6 and CIA operations in the USSR. He frequently contributes to leading newspapers throughout the world. He lives in Hampstead, London, with his family.
Other books by Tom Bower
Blind Eye to Murder Klaus Barbie, Butcher of Lyons The Paperclip Conspiracy The Red Web
THE OUTSIDER
Tom Bower
To Veronica
A Mandarin Paperback
First published in Great Britain 1988 by Aurum Press Limited This edition published 1991 Reprinted 1991 by Mandarin Paperbacks Michelin House, 81 Fulham Road, London SW3 6RB
Mandarin is an imprint of the Octopus Publishing Group, a division of Reed International Books Limited
Copyright © Tom Bower 1988, 1991
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN o 7493 0238 o
Picture research by Valerie Boyd
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Contents
Introduction 1
Preface 7
Chapter 1 12
Chapter 2 40
Chapter 3 71
Chapter 4 100
Chapter 5 116
Chapter 6 150
Chapter 7 183
Chapter 8 214
Chapter 9 241
Chapter 10 269
Chapter 11 297
Chapter 12 316
Chapter 13 358
Chapter 14 403
Chapter 15 447
Chapter 16 488
Chapter 17 535
Sources 558
Glossary 569
Scheme of Maxwell's Companies 571
'He that has much to do will do something wrong, and of that wrong must suffer the consequences; and if it were possible that he should always act rightly, yet when such numbers are to judge of his conduct, the bad will censure and obstruct him by malevolence, and the good sometimes by mistake.'
Samuel Johnson, Rasselas
'Whatever his weight in pounds, shillings and ounces, He always seems bigger because of his bounces.'
A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner
Introduction
Robert Maxwell's first writ came as no surprise, but no one expected that eleven more writs would follow. It was Robert Maxwell's style: don't rely upon a sniper if a howitzer might perform the task.
His target was this book which, long before the text was even printed, he had condemned as, 'malicious and defamatory'. The writ was dated 23 February 1988 and the book was due for publication three weeks later. He had not read the book or even seen the cover. It was the first climax of a bizarre battle between a biographer and his subject.
Conceived by Belinda Harley as a launching pad for a new publishing company called Aurum Press, the book's production had been planned with military precision. Under the codename 'Robin Hood', the book was typeset in Singapore, printed in Finland and flown to Britain in circumstances which eluded those who broke into the publisher's offices searching for clues.
Not surprisingly, in the months before its publication, Maxwell had sought to discover my intentions. The co-ordinator of his counter-intelligence network was Peter Jay, the office manager. Those whom I interviewed about Maxwell were asked by Jay - about one hundred people, he confided - to submit full reports. Those, like Lady Falkender, who had initially refused to meet me, were invited to reverse their objections and offer their availability. Lady Falkender's report to Jay did not accord with my recollection of our meeting but amateur sleuths are sadly unreliable.
This same network approached virtually every person I quoted, asking them to say whether they were correctly quoted, thoughtfully telling them they would not be sued if they cooperated.
Even Maxwell's professional spies made mistakes. My lunch with his former secretary and confidante, Anne Robertson, was unknowingly watched by a private detective. As we left the restaurant, I pointed out that her handbag was open. Mrs Robertson asked me to hold an envelope while she closed the bag. When Maxwell's writ for breach of confidence arrived, the evidence he produced was the detective's eyewitness account of Mrs Robertson handing over secret papers.
My only advantage was surprise. Sometime after Maxwell heard about my intentions to write the book, he commissioned an authorised biography. Since I had deliberately 'leaked' in September 1987 that publication was due in July 1988, Maxwell's trusted author felt that time was not pressing. That changed in January 1988 when the serialisation agreement with the Sunday Times became known. The race began. Since Maxwell owned Europe's largest printing company, he found few production problems hindering his bid to catch up.
Naturally Maxwell wanted to stop the Sunday Times endorsing my book. Repeatedly he telephoned the editor, Andrew Neil, and the owner, Rupert Murdoch. Neil manfully resisted the pressure while Maxwell's own book was serialised every day in the Daily Mirror, supported, according to his publicity, by a £500,000 budget. That was more than Aurum's turnover!
By then the ownership of Aurum had been transferred. Andrew Lloyd Webber's Really Useful Group had become the publishers. As the curtain fell in New York after the premiere of Phantom of the Opera, the telephone rang in Lloyd Webber's box. It was Maxwell urging the composer to dump his author. When his pursuasion failed, he defamed Lloyd Webber in an 'exclusive' article in the Sunday Mirror.
Throughout this saga, Andrew Lloyd Webber's support, which has cost a substantial amount of money and time, has been generous, remarkable and principled. I am particularly grateful to him and to the Really Useful Group's executives, especially Keith Turner, for their continued endorsement. 'Bullies,' as the
Independent supportingly wrote at the beginning of this epic, 'thrive on the cowardice and weakness in their victims.' The ability to resist Maxwell's attempt to suppress the freedom of expression depended upon RUG.
The battle seemed equal until Maxwell used his own newspapers to publish defamations about myself. My retort was to issue writs against him. Bower v Maxwell had a particularly suicidal resonance until those that produce Private Eye supported my cause. Christopher Silvester, Ian Hislop a
nd Richard Ingrams may not be everyone's friends, but their interest and encouragement were invaluable to me.
Maxwell's first writ had been issued before Christmas in relation to an article in the Listener, Bravely, the BBC stood its ground so that by the time the second writ arrived, just before the Sunday Times publication, repeated discussions with lawyers were becoming a way of life.
Fortunately, the judge, Michael Davies, declined Maxwell's application for an injunction. Before he retired from the bench, Mr Justice Davies would see us all many more times and his decisions would be queried all the way to the House of Lords. 'Bower v Maxwell' or 'Maxwell v Bower' established legal precedents on obscure matters and I wish the lawyers well who depend upon them.
Maxwell's writs transformed the book into an author's dream - a 'Number One Best Seller'. The only handicap was that the book was gradually no longer on sale. Having failed in the courts, the subject turned his guns on the trade which supplied the alleged poison.
Letters, phone calls, telegrams and writs cascaded upon a trade reeling before the outrage of a publisher. The first to fall were the wholesale distributors, followed by the shops. Individual phone calls and individual letters on the notepaper of his own publisher Macdonald falsely alleged that he had obtained an injunction against the book. Every bookshop in the land was a recipient and those who dared to continue displaying the book were rewarded with a Maxwellian writ. Led by Julian Blackwell, some tried to fight back.
Courageous booksellers responded by refusing to deal with Macdonalds's representatives, which provoked another letter from Macdonald closing their credit. In retaliation, those shops refused to stock the authorised biography. That refusal combined with Maxwell's repeated failure in the courts prompted another Maxwell letter defaming myself and instructing the recipients that bookshops had a duty to sell the authorised biography which 'tells the truth'. Only Hatchards of Piccadilly bravely continued sales.
One year later there was little progress. Maxwell's promise of 100 pages of complaints had been reduced to 30. A two-day hearing in February 1989, employing eight lawyers, produced legal precedents but no remedy. The writ against the book soon withered because Maxwell feared the public investigation it would provoke. Successfully, three times, he prevented the paperback appearing. On one occasion he even bought the paperback company to prevent publication. Thankfully, the brave managing director revoked the rights hours before the take-over.
Maxwell's attempts to stop the book were not limited to Britain. Having successfully pressured all the leading publishers in New York and Germany not to buy the rights, he believed his influence extended to France. Fortunately, he was mistaken. But after the book's publication, he issued four writs against me in Paris and elsewhere, including an action for the invasion of his privacy. He complained that I had reported that he had lost a lung and demanded Frs 100,000 in compensation for that disclosure. Characteristically, he ignored mention of exactly the same point in his authorised biography. Thanks to the diligence of Maitre Zylberstein, Maxwell not only lost his actions but was even ordered to pay me Frs 10,000 damages.
Maxwell's litigation employed at least twelve lawyers, several accountants and two private detectives. I received several anonymous calls warning me of investigations into my past life. I thank those good folk for their warnings and would ask the investigators to send me their results.
Throughout this battle, I realised the value of the experience. Thanks to Maxwell, I have become even more fearless. Whenever I am given a price, I immediately consider, am I buying or selling? Whenever a professional adviser submits his account, I offer him half and hope to settle for less. Whenever a situation suggests fear, I recall Lex Maxwelliana: the answer to threats is counter-threats for there is no such thing as fear. Above all, I have learnt that Lex Maxwelliana is to savour the sheer enjoyment of life.
Lest it should be misunderstood, despite my criticisms of Robert Maxwell, he had qualities which I admire. I met him in 1973 when, with Max Hastings, we agreed to produce a television documentary about him. We fashioned it on Citizen Kane which he, unfortunately, did not consider complimentary. After six weeks together, the relationship between Maxwell and myself terminated. The relationship between Bower and Hastings became ever closer. Energetic attempts by Maxwell to stop the film's transmission on editorial grounds failed. But during the night before the transmission an unprecedented event occurred. The room where the film had been edited was entered and the sound track was stolen. Fortunately, the thief failed to realised that the film editor, John Williams, had stored a copy elsewhere.
Because of all the above, I never failed to follow Maxwell's activities and today I miss my daily search in the financial pages for his latest ploys. Although I spent little time with him, I felt that I knew him intimately and understood him perfectly. That was why he disliked this book so much, especially the title.
One important note. For this edition, I have barely changed the original text of chapters one to fourteen. In the original, nothing was included which lacked sufficient proof to satisfy a jury. Although now the risk of defamation has been removed, and material detrimental to Maxwell could be included, I think it would be wrong to depart from the initial criteria.
Nevertheless, there are an additional 45,000 words contained in three additional chapters and interspersed in the original. Within the original text, one aspect is new. Namely, his activities in the Soviet Union.
Over the past four years I have travelled regularly to the Soviet Union to produce documentaries and write articles and books about espionage during the Cold War. More than any other western journalist, I have received unique access to retired KGB officers. In the course of the many conversations with those officers, I often asked whether there was a Maxwell connection. Six months before his death, I received a flicker of acknowledgement which only in retrospect, on the day after his death, did I understand. I was in Moscow at that time. Until then I had rejected as ridiculous the suggestions of a KGB link. Only in the last weeks have I realised that I had been mistaken.
Over the past three years, as the above reflects, I have received enormous help and support from many people. In the roll call of honour stand Aurum's original publishers Michael Alcock and Tim Chadwick whose professional skills, good humour and determination were invaluable while their money was essential.
David Hooper, our libel lawyer, saved us from many mistakes and, in his inimicable way, delighted us all with his display of legal skills to outwit Maxwell's batallions. He was ably assisted by Kathryn Garbett.
Michael Shaw of Curtis Brown was a pillar of strength and a good friend.
I am particularly grateful to people at Private Eye, the Really Useful Group, Brian McArthur, Belinda Harley, Derek Terrington and all those who, having declined to speak, eventually prefaced their remarks by saying, 'It's off the record . . .'
The additions were produced within eighteen days. That would have been impossible without the tremendous help of Israel Goldvitch in Jerusalem, Adele Gooch in Madrid, Robert Fink in New York, Tim Witcher in Paris and Rod Pouncet and Kemlin Furley in Moscow. Lara Marlowe was responsible for the excellent research in France for Chapter Fifteen. In London, I am grateful to John Ware, Nisha Pillai and especially to my BBC colleague Paul Hamann.
Finally, one of the essentials of a writer's life are his friends and family. I am particularly fortunate in that regard. Survival would have been impossible without all of them. Especially without the support of my best friend, my wife.
Preface
He stood calmly at the entrance while the packed room fell silent. Over one hundred people had spotted the man who desired immortality but would compromise with glorification. Tall, bronzed and immaculately dressed (bright blue suit, white shirt and dazzling red bow tie), Robert Maxwell, alias 'the publisher', glanced at his watch to judge whether the precise moment had struck for his next public appearance. Behind him stood four uniformed security guards. Hovering in front was his chief of staff, clas
ping a portable telephone. The publisher places a premium upon instant communications. Noticeably erect on his left, attempting to peer into the room, were two secretaries. Their employer prides himself on churning out decisions at a faster rate than most can speak and requires their constant attendance to transmit his thoughts instantly. At the rear of the hall waited a photographer. Like recent Presidents of the United States of America, the chairman of the British Printing and Publishing Corporation wants a visual record of history-in-the-making and the photographer is on permanent call to satisfy his single-minded zeal for self-promotion. Eight floors above hums the nucleus of a growing empire. Even higher, on an adjoining building, is a heliport for the publisher's favoured mode of transport to and from the capital. In the garage below is an immaculate Rolls-Royce. The publisher has always displayed a penchant for the biggest and the most expensive cars. Scattered elsewhere are a mansion, apartments, offices, factories, a luxury yacht and twenty thousand employees. Sixty-four years earlier, the dollar billionaire was born into
a community whose poverty and hardship would be unimaginable for those who were now witness to his ease amid wealth and power. Most in the room regard him with puzzled awe because his path to fame and fortune is as spectacular and peculiar as the mystery of his origins. None can understand how a self-educated peasant can become a redoubtable financier, publisher, politician, industrialist and tycoon extraordinary. The enigma of his inexhaustible tenacity, energy and bravado inflates their deepest suspicions. His huge frame, his piercing eyes and his subliminally alert gestures as he glances around the room confirm that he is a hunter and to be feared. For forty-five years the hunter has sought acceptance but remains an outsider. Undeterred, his ambition for the last quarter of his life is to impose himself not only upon Britain but upon the entire world. Time is pressing for this aspiring superstar for he is determined to score a chapter rather than a mere footnote in history.
