Berte
was even more shocked than Alan because she remembered the details more vividly. She
had
worked for a market-research company and Columbia Pictures
was
one of the company's clients. There was no question about any of
that. Market research was Berte
Hirschfield
's professional career, to the extent that she had a career. It was difficult for the wife of the chief executive of a major corporation to have an independent career. The husband's activities made fre
quent demands on the wife. Berte
, however, had decided in 1974—a year after Alan became president of Columbia—that she could accommodate his needs and still pursue her own career. She had sought the advice of her sister's husband, Andrew Fogelson, who at the time headed Columbia Pictures' advertising and did business with several market-research firms;—firms that measured public response to new products by means of psychological testing. One of the comp
anies Fogelson recommended to Be
rte was E. J. Wolf & Associates Incorporated, a respected New York firm which conducted research for a range of clients including Warner-Lambert, Monsanto. Burlington Industries, and Pepsi-Cola, as w
ell as Columbia Pictures. Berte
took a job with the Wolf company, whose proprietor. Ed Wolf, had a background similar to hers in psychology and counseling. She did some work on movies, including a few Ray Stark films. Most of her time, however, was devoted to clients in the fashion and toy industries, where she had independent expertise and contacts. She was responsible for b
ringing substantial new non-movie
business to the Wolf firm, and in late 1975 Wolf
offered Be
rte a 5 percent participation in the firm's profits as a way of rewarding her contribution and spurring her incentive. (Her annual salary had never exceeded $20,500 and she received negligible bonuses.) After conferring with Alan, and with two Columbia lawyers, she decided to turn down the profit participation because it might give the appearance of being related to the volume of work Wolf did for Columbia Pictures. His Columbia business was increasing in direct proportion to Columbia's commitment to extensive market research. Alan
Hirschfield
discussed Berte's employment with the Columbia board of directors, who in turn consulted Todd Lang. The con
sensus was that so long as Berte
did not have an equity position or profit participation in the Wolf firm there clearly was no conflict of interest because Alan Hirschfield would have no significant stake in the amount of business Columbia did with Wolf. It wa
s agreed, however, that if Berte
should ever decide to accept Wolf's offer, she and Alan should review the matter again with Columbia's legal counsel. The Hirschfields, of course, fully appreciated the possible appearance of a conflict of interest and eventually concluded that Berte could never realize her financial potential at the Wolf firm without having it look as if her advancement was related to her position as the wife of the president of one of the firm's client companies. Therefore, she left the Wolf firm and began seeking opportunities elsewhere.
Irwin Kramer, as chairman of the Columbia audit committee, which ruled on possible conflicts of i
nterest, had been informed of Berte
's employment at the time and had raised no objection. Now, nearly a year after her employment had ended, and two years after the conflict-of-interest question had been resolved in her favor, it was being raised again by Irwin Kramer on behalf of the board of directors in the heat of u dispute on a wholly unrelated issue on which the board was trying to bend Alan Hirschfield to its will. The odor of blackmail seemed unmi
stakable to Berte
, who could not believe that Irwin and Herbert would stoop to that level. She had known that Alan was feeling a lot of pressure to reinstate
Begelman
but she had not realized that the dispute had gotten out of control. The Hirschfields had nothing to hide, of course.
Berte
's employment had been perfectly legitimate. But suppose a twisted version of it were leaked to the press. She could picture the headline:
hirschfield. Trying to Censure Begelman. Has Skeleton in Own Closet
. The facts neve
r quite catch up with
such headlines.
The cancer institute ceremonies ended, Alan took his seat, and the movie began. But the pleasure of the evening had been punctured, and the rest of it became a blur. There was a gala supper dance after the premiere, across the street in the Trianon Ballroom of the New York Hilton.
Berte
ran into Herbert Allen and Ray Stark on her way into the ballroom. When Stark leaned forward to kiss
Berte
, she shrank back, saying softly, "I'm not kissing you, Ray," then glared at Herbert and moved on through the crowd. Herbert and Ray lingered only for a few minutes; it was past Herbert's bedtime. But nearly everyone else stayed.
The guests at the Hirschfields' table included Andrew Heiskell of Time Incorporated, Richard Bloch of the Filmways Corporation. Judd Weinberg of Columbia's pinball-machine company, and their wives.
Berte
was a bit subdued during the meal, imperceptibly so to anyone who did not know her well, but subdued nonetheless. Alan, however, was at his gregarious and expansive best, working the room avidly, greeting and chatting with Barry Manilow, Clive Davis, Michael Phillips, David Bowie, Buck Henry. Louis Nizcr, Mary
Laskcr, Edgar Bronfman, Monique Van Vooren, Nathan Cummings, Sam Le
frak, and others until well past midnight.
"I was impressed," Earl Wilson wrote in his syndicated column the next day, "by the beautiful party at the Hilton where Alan
Hirschfield
and Michael Phillips, the bosses and creators, were confident about a booming box office."
Almost everyone loved the evening, and almost no one knew that their host was a man in agony.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The Columbia Pictures Industries board of directors room on the eleventh floor of 711 Fifth Avenue was bland in comparison to other movie company boardrooms. Unlike, say, the MGM boardroom in Los Angeles, which contained an immense antique conference table that had been in the Lincoln White House, the mostly beige Columbia Pictures chamber boasted little finery. It was distinguished only by the 109 golden Oscars that peered from glass cases at both ends of the forty-foot room.
From Here to Eternity. Lawrence of Arabia. All the King's Men. Bridge on the River Kwai. On the Waterfront. It Happened One Night. A Man for All Seasons.
The meeting on the Begelman issue was called for ten o'clock Wednesday morning. Everyone was on time except Alan Hirschfield, who was in his office across the hall, suddenly entrapped by telephone in an emergency board meeting of another company, an oil concern called Diamond M Drilling.
Hirschfield
had helped form Diamond M a few years earlier, and it was a major asset of the Allen family. Assuming
that
Herbert Allen, who knew about the Diamond M meeting and
had
a
Make
in its outcome, would cover for him,
Hirschfield
did
not bother to inform the Columbia board of his whereabouts. Unbeknownst to
Hirschfield
, however, Herbert told the Columbia directors only that Alan had an important call and offered no further explanation. The directors became predictably angry as the time passed. 10:15. 10:30. 10:45. The angriest was James Wilmot of Page Airways, who had flown down from Rochester especially for the meeting and had narrowly escaped death that morning when
his
small private jet just missed hitting an airport service vehicle which had suddenly appeared out of the fog on a runway at La Guardia. Wilmot. a
close friend of Herbert's, was
intending his first Columbia board meeting since before the Begelman problem had arisen.
Hirschfield
finally ambled into the boardroom at 11:15, an hour and a quarter late, as casually as if he were returning from the men's room.
"Well, one down, one to go," he muttered.
"You have treated this board with contempt and disdain," Jim Wilmot growled.
The mood of the meeting deteriora
ted from there. Leo Jaffe gavele
d it to order and called on Todd Lang, who reiterated the "business-judgment rule" and the main points of the two legal memoranda the board had been given.
Peter Gruenb
erger, joined by Michael Passare
lla of Price Water-house, outlined the methods and techniques they had used in investigating David Begelman. "I know David Begelman's personal finances better than I know my own," Passarella said. Gruenberger then began a detailed recitation, lasting more than an hour, of the facts his group had developed.
The pro-
Begelman
directors frequently interrupted Gruenberger with hostile comments or questions. When he explained how
Begelman
had embezzled $
35,000 to supplement what the company had appropriated for his home projection room, someone said: "That's not very important. If he'd asked, we'd have allowed him the extra money."
Hirschfield spoke up: "The point is, he didn't ask, and instead stole thirty-five thousand dollars."
When Gruenberger described the misleading automobile lease, someone said: "So what. He was entitled to two cars. What difference does it make how he accounted for it?"
"He lied about it," Hirschfield said.
When the Martin Ritt forgery was outlined, Matty Rosenhaus said: "That's nothing new. It's just like all the others. If you don't have anything new, why
are
we
wasting our time?"
Gruenberger then mentioned Begelman's employment in th
e insurance business. "While we
haven't been able to establish the details, we have heard reports that when Mr.
Begelman
was associated with an insurance concern in New York in the early 1950s. he left that employment under questionable circumstances."
The boardroom erupted in angry shouts. Herbert Allen accused Gruenberger of character assassination. Jim Wilmot said: "What may have happened thirty years ago is none of our business. This is supposed to be confined to his time at Columbia. You're doing a hatchet job!"
"I'm not going to sit here and be accused of doing a hatchet job!" Gruenberger shouted back.
"1
won't stand
for it! I have nothing personal
against David
Begelman
. In fact, I like him. But I've had a dirty job to do, which someone had to do, and
I
will not have my motives or my abilities as a lawyer impugned!"
Hirschfield interrupted: "Look, one of the claims that has been made on David's behalf is that his behavior is aberrational, that these
are
things he has never done before and will never do again. If there is evidence to suggest that he did something in the fifties that is even remotely similar to what he's been doing over the last few years, it may indicate that this is not aberrational behavior. We may be looking at a life pattern."
Todd Lang came to Gruenbe
rger's defense. "Peter has done a meticulous and outstanding job of carrying out a very unpleasant and sensitive assignment. He has done it efficiently and without interfering with the operations of this company. He has been on the coast for several weeks away from his home and family. It has been an exhausting and an exhaustive effort. His report is as detailed as it is because the chairman of the audit committee gave specific instructions that nothing be left out. So nobody on this board has any right to accuse Peter of doing a hatchet job."
"Let him continue," Irwin Kramer said.
Gruenbergcr went on: "All we really have heard is that when
Begelman
was at this insurance concern, there were some questions raised about premiums and questions raised about loans. He was given the option of resigning or being dismissed. He resigned. When we questioned him about it. he flatly denied any wrongdoing and said the whole thing had been a misunderstanding."
After several more questions, David
Begelman
was invited into the meeting. He had flown in from Los Angeles early Tuesday evening and had passed the hours alone in Columbia's suite at the Drake, as the world premiere of the biggest picture of his career was unfolding just three blocks away. On Wednesday morning he had walked to Columbia and waited in Leo Jaffe's office for the board to receive him. Dressed in a conservative dark suit and carrying a large manila folder, he shook hands around the table und was greeted like a returning hero by those favoring his restoration. He sat down and opened the folder, his voice quavering slightly as he began to speak.
"When I came to this company, it was a shambles. You took a gamble that I could help rescue it. Along with others, I worked long and hard to make it work, and we succeeded. There were days when we didn't know whether we'd have enough money to make the next picture. But we found the money, we made the pictures, and we succeeded. I for one am very proud of these successes, especially of our crowning achievement—
Close Encounters.
But somehow, just when I was at my peak,
1
began somehow to self-destruct.
1
committed grievous transgressions, vile acts, against Columbia and against you, my friends.
1
must face the fact that I did these things, even though, emotionally, it is still impossible for me to believe that I did them. But over the past six weeks, with the help of one of the finest doctors in the country, and indeed the world, I have learned a great deal about the roots of my misdeeds. The roots go deep, all the way back to my childhood and my relationship with my parents and with my siblings. In sum, the problem amounts to an unnaturally low self-esteem, a feeling
of unworthine
ss, and an inability to accommodate success. Subconsciously I didn't like myself. I felt undeserving. I was not consciously aware of these forces at work within me. Bu
t the tangible results were a se
ries of highly neurotic acts by which I tried to punish and injure myself. There is no logical, rational excuse for what
I
did, no justification. But in the therapy which I sought immediately upon the revelation of these acts six weeks ago, it became quickly clear to me that there were valid—not justifiable, but understandable in retrospect—reasons for these highly neurotic acts, which were not directed against Columbia or against any individual, but against myself. I was trying to punish and injure myself. In the very truest sense I was trying to destroy myself, and
1
very nearly succeeded. Perhaps
1
did succeed.