The Titanic Plan

by Michael Bockman

  “Serve it, dad,” Vincent yelled. Astor did, sending the ball high over the net, over Vincent’s head and right at the group of girls who shrieked and giggled as the ball came at them like a runaway missile.

  “Good game, Vincent,” Astor said, scampering around the net, totally ignoring his son and heading right toward the teenagers. “So sorry, ladies. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

  Vincent rolled his eyes and walked up to the group.

  “You didn’t scare us,” one of the girls said. She was tall and slender, with light brown hair and a shy smile.

  “That’s good. No need to be scared of me,” Astor replied.

  “What scared us was your tennis game,” another of the girls said. “It was actually quite terrifying.” All the girls laughed, as did Vincent.

  “For any fright I may have given you ladies, I do apologize. Let me offer you all lunch to make up for it.” An awkward silence descended over the girls. “Of course, you will be joining with my son, as well. I am John Astor and this is my boy Vincent.”

  The girls tried to swallow their surprise upon hearing the name “John Astor.” While they may have been young, they were quite aware of the name “Astor” and the riches associated with it. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Astor,” the tall brunette said quietly. “But we are busy this afternoon.”

  “Tomorrow then?” Astor pressed. “My pleasure. You, me, Vincent, we’ll all have a gay old time.”

  The girls looked at each other. A chubby blond in the group chirped, “Sounds like fun.”

  “Great,” Astor said quickly. “Noon at the Club’s lounge. And now I must ask you lovely ladies to introduce yourselves.”

  “I’m Henrietta Thaw,” the chubby blond said, all the while eyeing Vincent.

  “I’m Carol Brown,” a slight, mousy one said, bowing a little to Astor.

  “And I’m Leta Wright,” a full figured, more mature one said.

  The last girl, the tall brunette, waited, her eyes exploring Astor.

  “Yes, m’dear, don’t be shy, do end the mystery of your identity,” Astor said.

  “Madeleine Force,” the girl said softly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Astor.” And she smiled at him again.

  “What in the world were you thinking?!” Vincent Astor screamed at his father. They were on the bow of the Nourmahal, taking an afternoon sail through Frenchman Bay just off Bar Harbor.

  “What was I thinking? I was thinking, ‘Oh, what an enchanting girl. I’d love to get to know her.’”

  “Dad, she’s my age.”

  “You think?” Astor answered.

  “I bet she’s still in finishing school.”

  “I like that name. Madeleine. It’s common but with a musical lilt to it. Madeleine.” Astor let her name roll off his tongue. “And you have to admit, Vincent, she had a delightful quality about her.”

  “It’s called innocence. And I can understand why you might be attracted to it, as it left you long ago.”

  Astor laughed. “You’re a very clever boy, you know that?”

  “The girl is too young for you, dad. Let me be the Astor who flirts with débutantes.”

  “There are three others you could flirt with at lunch, Vincent. You have to understand, age is blind when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  “I’m not going to lunch. I’m not going to watch you try and make conversation with a group of silly young girls. You’re forty-six years old, for god sakes.”

  “In spirit, my dear son, I believe I’m younger than you. So let’s not argue about trivial matters. We’re on vacation, after all. Relax. Enjoy yourself. We only live once. Besides, it’s only some harmless bit of fun.”

  “No, I’m not sure it is a harmless bit of fun. She could be your daughter.”

  “But she’s not,” Astor said. “She’s a lovely young woman.”

  “And why would she be attracted to you? Because you’re rich?”

  “God gives gifts to everyone. To some he gives good looks, to some he gives muscles, to some he gives musical talent. God gave me money and I see no reason to deny it. If she’s attracted to me because of my wealth, well then, she is attracted to me and that’s all I care about. Would you deny a beautiful woman because you have money?”

  “If that’s the sole reason of her attraction,” Vincent said with the indignation of an insolent teenager, “then yes, I would deny her.”

  “That’s good, son. I hope you remember that in thirty years.” A wave rolled into the bow, spraying a mist of salt water over them. “You know, I do love the sea,” Astor said. “I feel so at home on it.”

  At lunch the next day, Astor ordered raw oysters and showed the girls how to slide them down the throat. Vincent actually enjoyed himself, as he was the main focus of attention for three of the four girls. Madeleine let Astor flirt with her. As it turned out, she wasn’t Vincent’s age – she had just turned 17, more than a year younger than him.

  Later that evening Astor asked his uncle, John Kane, whose estate he and Vincent were staying at, if he knew of Madeleine’s family and if they were from proper society. Kane told him that her great-grandfather had been the mayor of Brooklyn. The family, while not wealthy, had vacationed in Bar Harbor for many years. He also informed Astor that Madeleine was engaged to William Dick, a twenty-two year old heir to a sugar fortune. The wedding was to be in the fall.

  Rather than being discouraged, the news that Madeleine Force was to marry sent Astor off on a romantic quest. He became obsessed with Madeleine, showering her with gifts of flowers and jewelry. Though they appeared an ill-matched couple – he, the shambling, middle-aged man; she, the shy, virtuous young maiden – it was becoming obvious that they were growing fond of each other. Astor and Madeleine were seen together at social events and parties throughout the summer. He was always attending to her every whim like a chivalrous knight. And she delighted in the attention.

  William Dick, Madeleine’s young fiancé, quickly disappeared from the scene. By summer’s end Astor had arranged for Madeleine and her mother to move into a Manhattan townhouse close to him. He set upon the new challenge of getting his bashful young sweetheart accepted into the shark filled world of high society. His ex-wife Ava – now living in luxurious exile in England – was held in high esteem by New York society because she was so very much one of them: ravishingly beautiful, extraordinarily vain, viciously cruel, and way over the top in her tastes and spending habits. The shy seventeen-year-old Madeleine Force possessed none of these traits. She was a lamb hardly ready for the knives that were being sharpened for her.

  CHAPTER 22

  Summer turned to fall. William Howard Taft stayed away from Washington D.C. for as long as he could, finally returning from his summer break in the middle of October. Without fully unpacking he left again, traveling to his home state of Ohio to vote in mid-term elections. On November 8, 1910, Taft received the country’s verdict on his two years in office. “It seems to be a landslide,” Taft’s secretary informed him on the train back to Washington. “I should say it is not only a landslide,” Taft replied bitterly, “but a tidal wave and holocaust all rolled into a general cataclysm.”

  Republicans lost control of the House of Representatives and barely held onto the Senate.

  At his Sagamore Hill home in Oyster Bay, Theodore Roosevelt was suffering the results of the Democratic landslide in his own way. Many Republicans blamed Roosevelt for his party’s defeat. Even though he had returned from Africa only a few months earlier and even though he had not publicly attacked Taft or his administration, the election loss was blamed on the split between the progressives and the conservatives within the Republican ranks. That split was laid squarely at Roosevelt’s feet.

  Roosevelt became a pariah to friends and foes alike. The stream of visitors to his Sagamore Hill home dried up. Like many personalities who live life exuberantly large, when failure visits, their exuberance plunges them into dejection. During the late autumn of 1910, Theodore Rooseve
lt grew depressed on a Rooseveltian scale. Archie visited him once and reported the ex-President’s dismal state back to Taft: “All of Roosevelt’s old buoyancy is gone and he really seems to be a changed man.”

  “That distresses me deeply,” Taft replied, seemingly sincere. “More deeply than anyone can know, to think of him sitting there at Oyster Bay alone and feeling himself deserted.” Taft reached up and wiped a tear from his eye. Archie wondered whether the tear was for the loss of Roosevelt’s friendship or Taft’s own disloyalty toward the ex-President.

  * * *

  George Vanderbilt returned to Biltmore in late November, full of optimism. By early 1911, everything had changed. With no immediate income, Vanderbilt’s money worries were crowding in. He tried to cut expenses by reducing Biltmore’s staff and stopping all new construction. When that failed to balance his books, he tried to sell off part of the massive forest around Biltmore. There were no takers. To add to his anxieties, Astor had suddenly disappeared. There were no replies to letters, no returning of phone calls, no answer to telegrams. Vanderbilt grew increasingly distressed. He couldn’t imagine what was wrong and began conjecturing. Perhaps Astor lost his enthusiasm for the project. Perhaps he found another partner. Perhaps…perhaps what? In the vast solitude at Biltmore, Vanderbilt’s mind created hundreds of different scenarios and none came out well. Finally, in early March of 1911, Astor wired back.

  “Busy,” was all the telegram said.

  Vanderbilt began phoning Astor furiously, up to 10 times a day. When he finally got a hold of him, it became clear something was different. Astor was distant.

  “I wired you, George,” Astor’s scratchy voice came over Vanderbilt’s receiver. “I’ve been busy.”

  “We have a project, Jack. A big project that requires a lot of work and attention.”

  “Yes, of course we do,” Astor said, “and I’m sorry to have been absent. But some things are more important than business, you know?”

  Astor’s contriteness, however minor, calmed Vanderbilt. “Well, we have to get this moving forward again.”

  “Absolutely,” Astor answered, “maybe we could meet in a couple of months.”

  “Jack!” Vanderbilt erupted into the mouth horn of the phone. “Morgan is waiting for us. A couple of months are too long!”

  “I’m very occupied,” Astor said, and then blurted, “If you must know, I’m in love, and it’s changing my perspective on everything. You understand how that is?”

  Vanderbilt didn’t understand. He married his wife on account of duty, family, and class – certainly not love. Love was one thing, business another. “Yes, love is wonderful,” Vanderbilt said. “But we have our work cut out for us. We have to keep our project going. We can’t be sidetracked by anything.”

  Astor seemed miffed. “Are you saying that finding the love of my life has gotten in the way of business?”

  “I’m just saying we have to take the next step, Jack.”

  “I don’t need this project, you know,” Astor answered, sounding shrill and strained over Vanderbilt’s receiver. “I have all the money in the world. What I don’t have…what I didn’t have…was love. Until I met Madeleine. And now that I have love, quite honestly, I really don’t need anything else.”

  Vanderbilt sensed the whole project slipping away. “Of course you don’t,” he said. “But don’t you realize what’s at stake here? Madeleine…that’s her name, right?”

  “Yes. My love’s name is Madeleine.”

  “Madeleine will adore you even more when she sees you in charge of the most important American project of this century.”

  Astor didn’t say anything; Vanderbilt could almost hear him chewing on what he had said. Vanderbilt didn’t let up. “It’s time to move, Jack. It’s time to tie up all the loose ends and put the final pieces of the puzzle in place. We’re ready. Let’s go!”

  CHAPTER 23

  After the mid-term election debacle, Taft searched for a way to reinvigorate his Presidency. As a first step, he decided to embark on a campaign style trip to New York City to get back in touch with his Republican constituency. It would include seven speeches, nine meals and four appearances throughout the city. All in two days. Taft left Washington by train on a bright winter’s morning, accompanied by Archie and a small secret service entourage. His first speech in New York was at the Waldorf-Astoria to the Society of Foreign Wars. John Astor was the most prominent member of that organization. With Madeleine on his arm, Astor stood at the head of the reception line. “Fine speech, Mr. President,” Astor said, clasping Taft’s hand. “May I introduce you to Madeleine Force who is an ardent fan of yours.”

  Taft glanced at Madeleine and nodded. “Thank you, Colonel Astor. Thank you,” was all the President answered then quickly turned to the next person in the line. Not to be deterred, Astor spotted Archie and saluted. “Captain Butt, may I introduce you to my fiancée, Madeleine Force.” Archie glimpsed the young girl and smiled absently. Madeleine tugged Astor’s arm but he wasn’t quite done; he wanted to be recognized, wanted Madeleine to see him acknowledged by someone who carried an aura of power. “By the way, that project I spoke to you about at Kebo is quite alive. And we still have need of a man with your capabilities, Captain. If you are interested at all, do give me a call at my office.”

  “Will do,” Archie said distantly and saluted before completely turning away.

  “I need a lemonade, darling,” Madeleine said, knowing that a request from her was one thing that would get him moving.

  “Of course, my love,” he answered and they quickly walked away.

  Taft attended a benefit for the blind at the Metropolitan Opera House at nine o’clock then was ushered back to the Waldorf to put in an appearance at a banquet for the Sixty-ninth Army Regiment. The unit was mostly made up of Irish-Americans who had lubricated themselves with numerous rounds of Guinness and Bushmills while waiting for Taft to arrive. Archie led the President to the dais where Taft tried to give a short speech that was interrupted by, what Archie described as, “ hilarious but good-natured yells from the enthusiastic Irishmen.”

  Archie stood to the side of the room as Taft spoke. Somewhere in the middle of the speech a beautiful, redheaded girl, no more than five years of age, approached him.

  “Hello,” the little girl said with an unsettling sense of composure.

  “Hello, my dear,” Archie smiled at the young girl.

  “I’ve been asked to tell you something.”

  “Is it a message to deliver to the President?”

  “No, it’s for you.”

  “For me?!” Archie exclaimed in mock surprise. “Who in the world would want to deliver a message to me rather than the President?”

  The little girl did not crack even the hint of a smile at Archie’s exaggerated geniality. “The message is that a man has been arrested for the murder of my father.”

  Archie was taken aback by the girl’s words. “I’m so sorry for your misfortune, young lady.”

  “You could help us. It’s important to find out who that man is. He is currently in the 23rd precinct jail.”

  Archie was beginning to feel uneasy about engaging the girl, but her absolute earnestness kept him from breaking away. “Haven’t the police told you who the man is?”

  “No,” the little girl said. “We don’t trust the police.”

  “It’s important to trust law enforcement. They’ll help you where I can’t. Perhaps you can tell me your name and I can pass along a message to someone who is able to assist you.”

  “My name is Maura Shaughnessy and we want you to assist us,” the little girl said.

  Of course, the strength, the composure – this angelic little girl is Mick’s child. Tears sprang to Archie’s eyes.

  The girl’s clear blue eyes met his and it seemed she knew exactly the realization he was having. “We loved him too,” she said simply and motioned for Archie to lean down. She moved her head toward his face; her soft skin brushed his cheek. “Thank y
ou, Captain Butt,” she whispered, then she turned away and ran toward the back of the hall, losing herself in the crowd. Archie took a step toward her but Taft had just finished and the enthusiastic Irish throng leapt to their feet and roared an ovation.

  Archie moved Taft off the stage and escorted him through the crowd. Taft greeted and shook hands with his supporters while Archie scanned the thicket of people for the little girl, to no avail.

  A limousine was waiting for Taft outside the Waldorf to take him to his last appointment, a dinner given by the Republican Hungarian Club at the Café Boulevard. It was a famous restaurant known for its exotic delicacies that, at one in the morning, completely captured the heart and stomach of the food-loving President. Archie wasn’t able to get Taft away from the table until 3 a.m., at which time he loaded the President into his limousine for the ride back to Taft’s brother’s house, where Taft was staying.

  CHAPTER 24

  The 23rd precinct building in New York’s Tenderloin district was built to resemble a foreboding fortress. The architects wanted to create a station that “forcefully asserted the authority of the police.” And so they designed a citadel that rose above the street like a gothic castle – four stories high topped by cornices and a crenellated roof parapet.

  Archie came to the station directly from the Hungarian dinner, still in his white dress uniform and gold trimmed officer’s cap. The front desk cop raised his sleepy eyes to Archie and thought, They really crawl out of the woodwork at this hour.

  “Good evening, officer,” Archie said.

  “Yeah, good evenin’. How can I help ya?” the cop answered.