The Titanic Plan

by Michael Bockman

  CHAPTER 26

  For the men who gathered at the Astor mansion, the Triangle fire was tragic, but also familiar. As captains of industry, they all had accidents happen to their workers. And they too were blamed like the owners of the Triangle Shirtwaist Company. But these men believed that if businesses were to thrive and jobs created, then certain risks must be taken. If tragedy strikes, sorrow should be expressed but never dwelt upon. These men’s vision was toward a new horizon. They moved forward, played large, created empires. That’s why they came to Astor’s, to hear of a new empire to be built.

  The Astor library was festooned for the occasion. Four rows of plush leather chairs were arranged in a semi-circle that faced a single lectern, which stood next to a table that was covered by a red silk spread. A large American flag loomed behind the lectern.

  Astor and Vanderbilt entered the room and circulated quickly, greeting the assembled guests with gracious hellos and earnest handshakes. When Astor spotted Archie, he saluted. “Good to see that you made it, Major Butt. I read about your promotion. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you for inviting me, Colonel,” Archie said, as non-committal as possible. Then Astor saluted again and Archie reluctantly saluted back.

  The men found their way to seats and quieted, waiting for the presentation. Archie settled into a chair in the last row to be as anonymous as possible. Vanderbilt walked behind the lectern while Astor positioned himself to the side of the large covered table. “Gentlemen, thank you all for coming,” Vanderbilt began. “I can say without understatement that this evening you will hear the most ambitious, innovative, and promising undertaking America has seen since the great Transcontinental Railroad was completed some 40 years ago. The fact that we have two great railroad men with us tonight, Mr. Thayer and Mr. Hays, is a testament to the magnitude of our project.” Vanderbilt gestured to Hays and Thayer, who waved.

  “Gentlemen,” Vanderbilt started formally again. “Colonel Astor and I have peered into our great country’s future and asked how we can make it even greater. Realizing we are not politicians…thank goodness…we, as builders and businessmen, pondered how to reignite American’s great capitalist engine. We studied the old to determine what was needed for this new century. We concluded that despite America’s great capability to produce goods, the distribution of products suffers because of a haphazard commerce infrastructure. It’s as if we live in the greatest mansion ever built but the pipes that deliver our water are antiquated and could burst anytime.

  “If,” Vanderbilt struck the lectern with his open palm, beginning to hit a passionate stride, “we would have a more efficient commercial distribution system, America’s wealth would grow even greater than that of the last century. Gentlemen, this is the next great frontier in American business. Commerce in America is virgin territory, waiting for visionary businessmen like…well, like all of you, to bring it into being.

  “And so, gentlemen, Colonel Astor and I have carefully and scientifically designed a schematic for a completely new American commerce network that will be faster, cheaper and, for its owners, more profitable than any system now in existence.”

  Vanderbilt was sounding more like P.T. Barnum than a moneyed aristocrat. He swept his arm toward Astor and announced: “Gentlemen, I present…The Plan!” Astor climactically pulled the red silk spread from the table to reveal a complete clay model of a commerce center down to every exacting detail – the bridges, the roads, the depots, the power plants, the streetcars; there were even little clay figurines of workers loading and unloading goods at a dock along a river.

  “Our plan,” Vanderbilt continued, “is to create commerce centers in strategic areas around the country. By building such a network, we will become the obvious choice for any business that wishes to transport goods. If our projections are correct, our commerce network will become the prevailing artery through which the commercial economy of the United States will flow.”

  Vanderbilt looked over the faces of the men and could see they were captivated. He wasted no time in getting down to details: “Thirty self-sufficient commerce centers, gentlemen, including eight regional hub centers costing approximately 45 million dollars each to build. Most people would say it is an absolutely impossible task. But with the skills and the resources of the brilliant men assembled here, I know that this plan, far from being impossible, will become a reality.”

  Vanderbilt stopped to catch his breath. Benjamin Guggenheim shouted out, “Here, here,” and then a cascade of “here, here’s” swept through the room. Though not joining the outpouring of enthusiasm, Archie was surprised by what Vanderbilt presented. He had expected some grand investment scheme that would add to the wealth of the rich investors but hardly benefit anyone else. But this was something different, original, something that could actually be beneficial to the nation. Archie got so caught up in the excitement, he momentarily forgot that his purpose in coming was to ascertain if Astor had some sort of relationship with Mick.

  Vanderbilt held up his hands for quiet. “Thank you, gentlemen, thank you. Now, if I might take you along a little geographic excursion.” He nodded to Astor who went to the front of the library where he pulled a cord that brought down a large relief map of the United States.

  “The centers are real, gentlemen. The Plan is in the first stage of development,” Vanderbilt trumpeted. “Preliminary agreements to buy the land for our commerce centers are in place. To date, John Astor and I have made down payments on land here,” Vanderbilt walked to the map and with a long pointer, touched an area just south of Chicago. Astor stuck in a large red tack on the spot. Then Vanderbilt pointed to another spot and Astor added another tack “and here…” With each new location of a commerce center marked, the men in the room caught the enthusiasm. Vanderbilt’s voice rose, “and here…and here…And Here…And HERE!!…AND HERE!!!”

  The map became dotted with tacks from coast to coast. The assembled tycoons jumped to their feet, shouting their approval. The ovation was overwhelming. After a long, glorious minute, Vanderbilt held up his hands to quiet the enthusiastic businessmen. The men would not quiet though; they were stamping their feet, continuing to holler and applaud. Vanderbilt turned to Astor. Both men’s faces were flush with happiness. Tears of joy began welling in Astor’s eyes. Vanderbilt walked to Astor, took his hand, held it up triumphantly and both basked in the glory of the moment.

  Archie caught the 11:30 train from Penn Station back to Washington D.C. He took a window seat in a rail car that had only seven other passengers. The train clattered away from New York and the glittering lights of the city faded quickly, replaced by an inky darkness and the odor of rotting reeds that rose from the New Jersey swamps. Archie shut his eyes, leaned his head back, and prepared to fall into his usual deep, easy sleep. But easy sleep didn’t come. Instead, his mind jumped with flickering images like a matinee at the movie show. He saw himself dining at the Metropolitan Club of Washington. He was holding court with Senators and Congressmen, charming the powerful men as he usually did. He was not in his Army uniform, but in a striking gabardine suit. In his half dream, Archie was daring to step into the role of a wealthy Washington power broker, playing politics not as a loyal soldier to Taft or Roosevelt, but for his own benefit.

  His mind wandered into a tributary. A successful man would need a home. Maybe two. One in Georgetown and another in Augusta. And the house would need a family. A wife. He would marry. The face of Belle da Costa Greene floated before his mind’s eye. Archie shuddered. Just the thought of her sent the familiar electric jolt through his body. But Belle as a wife? His wife? No, it wasn’t Belle’s image by his side at the marriage altar. That was taken by a different woman. But his bride’s face didn’t make itself clear, though Archie could feel her presence next to him. Her essence was that of a vast ocean, a sea of love in which he floated through the gentle currents. Archie felt her arms around him. He could smell the salty scent of her soft skin and could feel her moist lips on his forehead. Her hands tilt
ed his head against her breast and she gently rocked him into the sweetest of sleeps with a blissful, eternal, loving, embrace.

  CHAPTER 27

  Three weeks after their triumphant meeting at Astor’s home, George Vanderbilt and John Astor were in the west wing of the Morgan library recreating their presentation for an audience of one: J. Pierpont Morgan. As before, Vanderbilt talked passionately about the commerce centers and how they would reignite America’s economy. As before, Astor stood to one side of a large table and at the appropriate time unveiled the model of a commerce center. There was a tripod at the side of the model on which Astor placed display boards detailing the estimated costs, profits, construction outlays, timetables, workforce size and finally the strategic locations that had been secured.

  It was the same exact presentation they did before, with one difference – Astor unveiled one last display board that listed the names of the prominent people who had been at the first meeting: Frick, Guggenheim, Straus, Roebling, Widener, Hays, Thayer, Butt.

  “Well, gentlemen, it appears you have accomplished much since we last met,” Morgan said. “That is an impressive group of men. And all of them have committed to your project?”

  Vanderbilt paused. Morgan had misinterpreted the list. He was about to tell Morgan the men had not committed but expressed enthusiastic interest when Astor spoke up, “Yes, they’re all committed.”

  “You deserve congratulations, Mr. Astor. But…” Morgan blew cigar smoke into the air. “I still have reservations.”

  Vanderbilt tried to hide his disappointment. “And what may they be, Mr. Morgan?”

  “For one, government intervention. The government could care less about what we businessmen do ‘for the good of the country.’ They believe we’re all greedy bastards who would sell our grandmothers if there’s profit to be made.”

  “But we have a representative of the government on our team,” Astor said.

  Morgan stroked his chin. “Major Butt?”

  “That’s right,” Astor smiled. “And he has influence beyond measure with the President.”

  “And Major Butt is fully committed to the project?”

  “Yes,” Astor answered with a boldfaced lie. “Major Butt is absolutely on board.”

  Morgan reached across his desk to a mahogany box and pushed its buzzer. Within moments the light clicking of a woman’s heels was heard outside the door. Then a knock. “Yes, come in,” said Morgan, his gaze on Vanderbilt and Astor as they watched Belle step into the ornate office. “Gentlemen, this is my librarian, Belle da Costa Greene.”

  Vanderbilt nodded politely. Astor wasn’t as circumspect. “Well, I must say you do live up to your reputation for beauty, Miss Greene.”

  “And you for social grace, Mr. Astor,” Belle shot back with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  “Belle, I have a question,” Morgan said. “You’ve spent a little time with Taft’s military aide, Archie Butt, haven’t you?”

  “A bit,” Belle said, noticing Archie’s name along with others listed on the board. “We had an interesting walk through the Washington Mall some time back.”

  “What would you say about the quality of his character?” Morgan queried.

  “Loyal. A very loyal soldier. That’s the sense I got of him.”

  “And did you have a sense of his influence with the President?”

  “I believe he is Taft’s closest confidant. The President depends on him greatly.”

  “Thank you, Belle. That’s all I wanted to know.” Belle nodded politely then quickly left the room.

  “Gentlemen,” Morgan said, abruptly reaching out to shake both Astor’s and Vanderbilt’s hand. “Let me study your proposal more. I will say that I have been favorably impressed by your diligent work and you will hear from me shortly.”

  * * *

  Archie’s phone rang at his office that afternoon. It was Belle. She was friendly, overly so. She said she needed to see him as soon as possible. Despite his weakness for her, Archie was reluctant. “See me about what?”

  “Can’t we have a little mystery in our relationship, Major?” Belle said flirtatiously.

  “I’m a busy man, Miss Greene, and I don’t have time for games of any sort.”

  “This is no game,” Belle answered, growing serious, “it’s an important matter. I believe it would be in your benefit to spend an evening with me in New York.”

  “I need a better reason than that to come to New York,” Archie answered.

  “Mick Shaughnessy,” Belle said, dropping the hook in the water. “There are things you don’t know about your friend.”

  “Perhaps it’s best those things remain unknown,” Archie answered.

  “You don’t want to solve the mystery of his death?” Belle continued to dangle the bait.

  “There are many mysteries I’d like to solve, Miss Greene. One is why I allow myself to be tempted by you.”

  “Because you know that temptation may lead to something wonderful.”

  “Will it, Miss Greene?”

  “In your case, Archie, I believe it will.”

  He could only sigh, resigned. “Where and when? ”

  “Wednesday. We’ll start with drinks. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “I hope so. For both of our sakes, I hope so.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Near the corner of Fifth Avenue on the northern edge of Greenwich Village, stood the Brevoort Hotel. The Brevoort’s dark, smoky cellar café was the center of the Village’s bohemian life. It vibrated with the chaotic energy of sex, politics and combat. The conflicts were usually fueled by alcohol and the combatants were anarchists and intellectuals who would scream and argue about their latest manifestoes before falling into each other’s arms and having another drink together.

  Archie perused the raucous café. Having ventured into the heart of bohemia once before, the bacchanalian scene lost its shock value. He spotted Belle waving to him from a corner table. She looked more ravishing than usual in a shimmering red silk dress that hugged her body.

  “Archie!” Belle said, rising as he approached. “I suppose we must label this our first secret rendezvous.” She held her hand out for Archie to kiss in his gallant Southern manner. He shook it. “So serious, Major?”

  “Yes. So serious.” Archie pulled out a chair opposite her.

  “I’m having a champagne cocktail. I’ve ordered you one as well.”

  “I prefer coffee.”

  “Don’t be such a wet blanket,” Belle chided like a stern mother. Then she laughed. “Oh Archie, if you only knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  Belle took Archie’s right hand between hers. She started gently rolling it like a kindling twig that she was trying to smolder into a fire. “Just knew,” she said in her low, sensual voice. He took his hand back. The drinks arrived and she lifted her glass. “Here’s to you, Archie, for venturing to the wilds of Greenwich Village.” She clicked his glass and took a sip. He let his champagne stay on the table.

  “Miss Greene, you asked me here for a reason and I would like to know what it is.”

  “I need a handsome man to escort me to a party this evening.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Not at all.”

  “You thought I would come all the way to New York to go to a silly party with you?!”

  “Of course not. That’s why I didn’t tell you. But it’s a party that I think will interest you. In fact, I believe many of the answers you’re seeking are there. And I thought it would be a good way for us to get to know each other better. Maybe even have some fun.”

  Archie sighed. “Miss Greene, you may well be the death of me yet.”

  “No, that’s not my intention at all,” Belle smiled.

  They walked less than 100 yards from the Brevoort to a stately old mansion that graced the northern edge of Washington Square. The elegant building was a reminder of Greenwich Village’s refined past. Belle slipped her arm under Archie’s as they entered t
he mansion and climbed the blue-carpeted stairway. A din of voices poured from the penthouse apartment, sending Archie’s thoughts back to his adventure with Mick at the Liberal Club. But this room turned out to be different. It was not a hot, sweaty meeting hall filled with grimy radicals; rather, it was the sort of room Archie was most comfortable in – a bourgeois salon. The walls were ivory white; the Italian furniture was finely crafted. Large green vases filled with bouquets of colorful flowers were scattered throughout the room to add to the room’s elegance.

  The crowd was different too. There were the anarchists – Emma Goldman and Max Eastwood among others – but Archie recognized a number of famous artists and writers who were there as well. His favorite poet, Edward Arlington Robinson, was talking with the writer Sinclair Lewis. Well-dressed Negroes, loud and boisterous, caught Archie’s attention, as did a young piano player with a bush of wild red hair who was banging out a Chopin mazurka and looking frustrated that no one was paying attention to his showy mastery of the music.

  “I’ll introduce you to the hostess,” Belle said, leading Archie to a dark haired woman with a plain face and ample figure. She sat sphinx-like on a green divan, watching the wild menagerie of people with a blank smile fixed on her face.

  “Archie, I’d like you to meet...”

  “Hello,” the hostess said in a flat monotone before Belle could finish the introduction. A handsome young man then slid behind the hostess and kissed her neck, causing her to turn away.

  “Short attention span,” Archie whispered to Belle.