Kane & Abel (1979) (34 page)

‘Come on,’ said Matthew, after bearing with his depression for several days. ‘She had a good life, and waited a long time to discover whether God’s a Cabot or a Lowell.’

William missed the shrewd observations he hadn’t fully appreciated in his grandmother’s lifetime, and arranged a funeral she would have been proud to attend. The great lady may have arrived at the cemetery in a Packard hearse (‘An outrageous contraption - over my dead body’), but her only criticism of William’s arrangements for her departure would have concerned this unsound mode of transport. Her death drove William to work with even more purpose during his final year at Harvard, and he dedicated himself to winning the university’s top mathematics prize in her memory.

Grandmother Cabot died five months after Grandmother Kane - probably, said William, because there was no one left for her to talk to.

In February 1928, William received a visit from the captain of the university Debating Team. There was to be a full-dress debate the following month on the motion ‘Socialism or Capitalism for America’s Future’, and he asked William to represent capitalism.

‘What if I told you I was only willing to speak on behalf of the downtrodden masses?’ William enquired of the surprised captain, slightly nettled by the thought that outsiders assumed they knew his ideological position simply because he had inherited a famous name and a prosperous bank.

‘Well, I must say, William, we did think your preference would be for, er - ‘

‘It is. I accept your invitation. I take it that I am at liberty to select my partner?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Good. Then I choose Matthew Lester. May I know who our opponents will be?’

‘Not until the day before the debate, when the posters revealing the names will go up in the Yard.’

For the next month Matthew and William read the leaders in all the leading journals of the Left and Right at breakfast, and spent the evenings in strategy sessions for what the campus was beginning to call ‘The Great Debate’. William decided that Matthew should lead off.

As the day approached, it became clear that all of the politically motivated students, professors and even some Boston and Cambridge notables would be attending. On the morning before, William and Matthew walked over to the Yard to discover who their opponents would be.

‘Leland Crosby and Thaddeus Cohen. Either name ring a bell with you, William? Crosby must be one of the Philadelphia Crosbys, I suppose.’

‘That’s right. “The Red Maniac of Rittenhouse Square” as his aunt once described him. He’s the most committed revolutionary on campus. He’s loaded, and he spends most of his money on the popular radical causes. I can hear his opening already.’ William parodied Crosby’s grating tone: ‘“I know at first hand the rapacity and the utter lack of social conscience of the American moneyed class.” If everyone in the audience hadn’t already heard his views fifty times, he’d make a formidable opponent.’

‘And Cohen?’

‘Never heard of him. Probably a Jew.’

The following evening they made their way through the snow and biting wind, heavy overcoats flapping behind them, as they passed the gleaming columns of the Widener Library - like William’s father, the donor’s son had gone down on the
Titanic
- to Boylston Hall.

‘With weather like this, at least if we take a hiding, there shouldn’t be many to tell the tale,’ said Matthew hopefully.

But as they rounded the north end of the library they saw a steady stream of stamping, huffing figures ascending the steps and filing into the hall. After they had taken their seats on the podium William picked out some people he recognized in the packed audience: President Lowell, sitting discreetly in a middle row; ancient Newbury St John, professor of botany; a pair of Brattle Street bluestockings he recognized from Red House parties; and, to his right, a group of Bohemian-looking young men and women, some not even wearing ties, who turned and began to clap as their spokesmen - Crosby and Cohen - walked onto the stage.

Crosby was the more striking of the two, tall and thin almost to the point of caricature, dressed absentmindedly - or very carefully - in a shaggy tweed suit with a stiffly pressed shirt and a pipe dangling from his lower lip. Thaddeus Cohen was shorter, and wore rimless spectacles and an almost too perfectly cut dark worsted suit. William could have sworn he’d seen that face before.

The bells of Memorial Church sounded vague and distant as they rang out seven times.

The four speakers shook hands cautiously before the rules of the debate were spelled out. ‘The first speaker will be Mr Leland Crosby, Junior,’ announced the captain of debaters.

Crosby’s speech caused William little anxiety. He had anticipated the strident tone Crosby would take, the overstressed, nearly hysterical points he would emphasize. He recited the incantations of American radicalism - Haymarket, Money Trust, Standard Oil, even Cross of Gold. William didn’t think Crosby had done more than make an exhibition of himself, although he garnered the expected applause from his own little clique. When he sat down he had clearly won few new supporters, and it looked as though he might have lost a few old ones.

Matthew spoke well and to the point, charming his listeners by appearing to be the incarnation of liberal tolerance. William pumped his hand warmly when he returned to his seat to loud applause.

‘It’s all over bar the shouting,’ he whispered, but that was before they’d heard Thaddeus Cohen.

The young unknown took everyone by surprise. He had a pleasant, diffident manner and a sympathetic style. His references and quotations were catholic, pointed and illuminating. Without patronizing the audience, he conveyed a moral earnestness that made a failure to support those less fortunate than oneself seem to be irrational. He was willing to admit the excesses of the Left and the inadequacy of some of its leaders, but he didn’t leave the audience in any doubt that, in spite of its dangers, there was no alternative to socialism if the lot of mankind was ever to be improved. ‘Equality in the end is more important than equity.’ He sat down to loud applause from both sides.

William was flustered. A surgically logical attack on his adversaries would be useless against Cohen’s gentle and persuasive presentation. But to outdo him as a spokesman of hope and faith in the human spirit might also be impossible. He concentrated first on refuting some of Crosby’s more outrageous claims, then attempted to counter Cohen’s arguments with a declaration of his faith in the ability of the American system to produce the best results through competition, both intellectual and economic. He felt he had played a good defensive game, but no more, and sat down feeling that he had been well beaten by Cohen.

Crosby was their opponents’ rebuttal speaker. He began ferociously, sounding as if he now needed to beat Cohen even more than William or Matthew, demanding if anyone present could identify the
enemy of the people
among us tonight. He glared around the room for several long seconds as the audience squirmed in embarrassed silence, and even his most ardent supporters studied their shoes. Then he learned forward and roared:

‘He stands before you. He has just spoken in your midst. His name is William Lowell Kane.’ Gesturing with one hand towards William - but without looking at him - he thundered: ‘His bank owns mines in which the workers die to give its owners an extra million a year in dividends. His bank supports the bloody, corrupt dictatorships of Latin America. Through his bank, the American Congress is bribed into crushing the small farmer. His bank …’

The tirade went on for several minutes. William sat in stony silence, occasionally jotting down a comment on his yellow legal pad. A few members of the audience had begun shouting, ‘No!’ Crosby’s supporters shouted ‘Yes!’ loyally back. The society officials began to look nervous.

Crosby’s allotted time was almost up. He finally raised his fist and said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I suggest that not more than two hundred yards from this very room we have the answer to the plight of America. There stands the Widener Library, the greatest private library in the world. Poor and immigrant scholars pass through its doors, along with the best-educated Americans, to increase their knowledge of the world. But why does it exist? Because one rich playboy had the misfortune to set sail sixteen years ago on a pleasure boat called the
Titanic
. I suggest, ladies and gentlemen, that not until the people of America hand each and every member of the ruling class a ticket for his own private cabin on the
Titanic
of capitalism, will the hoarded wealth of this great continent be freed, and devoted to the service of liberty, equality and progress.’

As Matthew listened to Crosby’s speech, his sentiments changed from exultation that with this blunder the victory had been handed to his side, to rage at the reference to the
Titanic
. He had no idea how William would respond to such provocation.

When a measure of silence had been restored, the debating captain walked to the lectern and said, ‘Mr William Lowell Kane.’

William walked slowly to the lectern and looked out over the audience. An expectant hush filled the room.

‘It is my opinion that the views expressed by Mr Crosby do not merit a response.’

He sat down. There was a moment of surprised silence - followed by thunderous applause.

The captain returned to the lectern, but appeared uncertain what to do next. A voice from behind him broke the tension.

‘If I may, Mr Chairman, I would like to ask Mr Kane if I might use his rebuttal time.’ It was Thaddeus Cohen.

William nodded his agreement.

Cohen walked to the lectern and blinked at the audience disarmingly. ‘It has long been true,’ he began, ‘that the greatest obstacle to the success of democratic socialism in the United States has been the extremism of some of its exponents. Nothing could have better exemplified this unfortunate fact more clearly than my colleague’s rebuttal speech tonight. The propensity to damage the progressive cause by calling for the physical extermination of those who oppose it might be understandable in a battle-hardened immigrant, a veteran of foreign struggles fiercer than our own. In America it is inexcusable. Speaking for myself, I extend my sincere apologies to Mr Kane.’

This time the applause was instantaneous. Virtually the entire audience rose to its feet and cheered.

It was no surprise to either William or Matthew that they won the debate by a margin of more than 150 votes. As the audience filed out of the hall, talking animatedly at the tops of their voices, William walked across to shake hands with Thaddeus Cohen.

‘How did you know my father was on the
Titanic
?’ he asked.

‘Because my father told me years ago.’

‘Of course,’ said William. ‘You must be Thomas Cohen’s son. Why don’t you join us for a drink?’

‘Thank you,’ said Cohen. The three of them set off together across Massachusetts Avenue, barely able to see where they were going in the driving snow. They came to a halt outside a big black door almost directly opposite Boylston Hall. William opened it with his key, and the three entered the vestibule.

Before the door was closed behind him, Cohen spoke. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be welcome here.’

William looked startled for a moment. ‘Nonsense. You’re with me.’

Matthew gave his friend a cautionary glance, but saw that William was determined.

They went up the stairs and into a large room, comfortably but not luxuriously furnished, in which there were about a dozen young men sitting in armchairs or standing in knots of two or three. As soon as William appeared in the doorway, the congratulations began.

‘You were magnificent, William. That’s exactly the way to treat that sort of people.’

‘Enter in triumph, the Bolski slayer.’

Cohen hung back, but William had not forgotten him.

‘Gentlemen, may I present my worthy adversary, Mr Thaddeus Cohen.’

Cohen stepped forward hesitantly.

All conversation ceased. A number of heads were averted, as if they were looking at the elm trees in the Yard, their branches weighed down with snow.

There was the creak of a floorboard as one young man left the room by the far door. Moments later there was another departure. Without haste, without a word being spoken, every other member filed out. The last to leave gave William a long look, then turned on his heel and disappeared through the door.