Even before making a firm decision to fire Hirschfield, Herbert had pondered who might replace Alan. He thought of people in the industry. He explored the possibility of offering the job to Jack Valenti, the president of the Motion Picture Association of America, but Valenti was not available. Then Herbert settled on a different approach. He decided that he wanted someone brand new—brand new to the board and management of Columbia Pictures Industries, and brand new to Hollywood, someone without a past in show business, someone who would not come laden with alliances, with friends and enemies in the industry, or with preconceived notions of what had happened at Columbia. Experience in the entertainment business was not important and might even be a detriment, Herbert decided. The most important task of the new chief executive would not be making pictures. Others could handle that. The most important task would be cleansing the corporation of all the venom, ugliness, and tension that had accumulated over the nearly ten months since the discovery of David
Begelman
's forgeries. Everyone had lost perspective. Everyone was exhausted. They badly needed someone entirely fresh.
Herbert telephoned his lawyer, Robert Werbel. "What would you think of Fay Vincent as president of Columbia Pictures?" Herbert asked.
"I don't know." Werbel said. "I'd like to think about it. You know how highly I regard him."
Francis T. "Fay" Vincent, Jr., had been two years ahead of Herbert at Williams College. A serious student, Vincent was a devout Roman Catholic who as a young man considered taking Jesuit training. He played tackle and center in football at Williams before severely injuring his back and legs in a four-story fall from an icy ledge outside his dormitory window to the snow-covered ground below. (His roommates had locked him in his room as a prank.) The accident left Vincent with a severe limp and. among other things, disqualified him for the rigors of Jesuit training. He did well at the Yale Law School, however, and practiced law in New York for a few years before settling at the well-regarded Washington firm of Caplin & Drysdale, whose senior partner, Mortimer Caplin, was the Commissioner of Internal Revenue in the Kennedy Administration. In March 1978. Vincent had left Caplin & Drysdale to become Associate Director of the Division of Corporate Finance of the Securities and Exchange Commission, a typical mid-career step for a securities lawyer. A bland, quiet man, Vincent planned to return to private law practice after a period at the SEC.
Although never intimate friends. Fay Vincent and Herbert Allen had stayed in touch over the years, and Vincent also knew Werbel, who pointed out to Herbert in the office that Friday, June 30, that "Fay obviously doesn't know anything about the movie business."
"That's his great strength," Allen said. "Nobody knows him. Nobody can lay a glove on him. We need a healer in this situation. We need a Judge Landis. We can put people around him who can help him learn the business."
Having determined that Vincent was not involved in the SEC's ongoing investigation of Columbia Pictures—he was in a different division from that conducting the investigation—Allen arranged to meet Vincent early Friday afternoon in the coffee shop of the Hyatt Regency Hotel on Capitol Hill near the SEC. They stated the obvious to each other. "I don't know anything about the film business," Vincent said. "That's okay—none of us did either until we got into it," Allen said. Then Herbert sketched Columbia's need, and Vincent said he might be interested but wanted to talk first to his wife and a few friends, including Bob Werbel.
Thus began an intense sequence of secret weekend deliberations, mostly by telephone, that produced a tentative plan of quick action. A special meeting of the Columbia board of directors would be called for the following Wednesday, July 5, the first full business day after the four-day holiday period. Alan Hirschfield would be fired at the board meeting, and Fay Vincent probably would be installed as president and chief executive officer. Bob Werbel would draft a "script" for the meeting, consisting of the resolutions that the board would have to pass in order formally to execute the Firing. Fay Vincent would fly to New York sometime during the weekend to meet and presumably gain the approval of Matty Rosenhaus. Hirschfield would be given only short notice of the board meeting, and would be told only that it was being called to discuss his letter to the board, which most of the directors had received on Friday. Unless
Hirschfield
were prescient, he would not know that he was to be fired until it happened.
FIFTY-NINE
Saturday and Sunday were spectacular in the Hamptons—sunny, warm, dry days and crisp, cool nights. The
Hirschfield
s' hosts, Mark and Marion Maged, had a house on Cross ways, a narrow lane between Georgica Road and Ocean Avenue in East Hampton. Far from the cheap summer rentals, it was a neighborhood of great lawns, stately homes, and huge maple, poplar, and cedar trees. The Mageds' house was one of the least formal in the area—a two-story con
verted barn with a gambrel-style
roof, surrounded by acres of grass, trees, and shrubbery, a quarter of a mile from the beach. The Clive Davises occupied a large, three-story home nearby on Georgica. Allen Adler and his girl friend, actress Donna Mills, were a mile away.
Surrounded by friends and family, with tennis, jogging, bicycling, and ocean swimming to amuse him, Alan
Hirschfield
felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. Although he expected a strong response from the board of directors to the letter he had sent, the act of sending it was a modest catharsis, and he felt there was a chance, however slight, that the board might come to its senses and give in.
Both the mood and the weather changed almost simultaneously Monday morning when the humidity returned to Eastern Long Island, rain began to fall, and Leo Jaffe telephoned Alan Hirschfield.
"They're calling a special board meeting for Wednesday," Jaffe said. "Matty is crazed about your letter. Herbert says, 'This is it.' That's a direct quote. They say the purpose of the meeting is to discuss your letter, but I think it's all over. I think they're going to get rid of you."
Hirschfield hung up the phone rather nonchalantly and gave the news to
Berte
and Mark Mage
d. Maged was familiar only with the broad outlines of the Columbia Pictures drama. Although he knew several people at Allen & Company, having once represented the firm as a lawyer, and also had been a law-school classmate of Clive Davis's, he did not have a sense of the depth and immediacy of the crisis until the July Fourth weekend. Maged was shocked by the prospect of Hirschfield's being fired, and he and
Berte
both were upset by Alan's attitude.
"What are you going to do?" Maged asked. "You've got to do something."
"What can I do?"
Hirschfield
said. "I've been yelling and screaming for months and it does no good. They've got me outvoted."
"You can't just let this happen,"
Berte
said. "You've got to respond with strength. What about Clive's idea of having the executives come in and confront the board?"
"That's futile," Alan contended. "This board is beyond any rational appeal by anybody."
"Who's talking about rational appeals?"
Berte
said. "The only thing these people understand is power. You've got to show them some. You can't back down."
Berte
explained to Mark Maged the plan espoused by Clive Davis a few weeks earlier to assemble the top two executives of each of Columbia's divisions for a confrontation on Hirschfield's behalf with the board of directors. Maged endorsed the idea.
"It's too late to get everybody together." Alan said. "The meeting's day after tomorrow and this is the Fourth of July weekend. Everybody's out of touch. Danny's on his way to Europe."
Maged said, "Alan, you must do this. You can't just let these people walk over you."
"I don't want to ask people to interrupt their weekends and come to New York on a wild-goose chase."
Berte
said, "Alan, for God's sake, this is more important than the July Fourth weekend! This is your job, your career, your company! You've got to fight! If you don't do it, nobody else will!"
Mark agreed, and he and
Berte
finally persuaded Alan to call Clive Davis, who insisted that they try to reach as many of the executives as possible and have them fly to New York the next day. Adler was summoned. Hirschfield was finally persuaded to go along with the plan, and the telephone calls began to go out from the Mageds' bedroom, from Adler's house, and from a small alcove off Clive Davis's kitchen.
It was mid-aftern
oon of the third day of the four-day weekend. The rain appeared to have settled in for the evening.
Dan Melnick had missed the Chicago conference the previous week because of a kidney infection. He felt better toward the weekend, however, and tentatively decided to proceed with plans to spend a few days in St. Tropez with a woman friend who lived in Paris. Though Melnick did not know of Hirschfield's letter to the board of directors, he did know that the crisis had grown so intense that a provocative action was inevitable—probably a move by the board to fire Hirschfield.
Melnick
had phoned Hirschfield late in the week.
"Are you sure the shit isn't going to hit the fan while I'm away?" he asked.
"No, no, it's a holiday weekend and a three-day week next week," Alan said, urging Melnick to go ahead with his trip. Melnick also checked with Joe Fischer (who also was ignorant of
Hirschfield's letter to the board). "What can they do?" Fischer said. "It's a holiday weekend."
Melnick left Los Angeles on Sunday afternoon. He stopped in London, flew on to Paris, met his friend, Marie-France, and together they flew to Nice. After renting a Mercedes, they drove to the villa of some friends near St. Tropez, arriving late Monday evening.
Melnick
was exhausted by both his illness and the long trip. He and Marie-France had a cold snack from some food their friends had left in the refrigerator and then went to bed. only to be tormented by mosquitoes. After an hour of switching the light on and off and swatting at mosquitoes, they finally fell asleep.
The phone rang at midnight. It was Melnick's secretary, Elizabeth Nathan, calling from Los Angeles and apologizing profusely. Within the last forty-five minutes she had had calls from Alan Hirschfield, Clive Davis, and Allen Adler. She had made polite excuses—Melnick had instructed her to give his number to no one—but she thought he should know that his colleagues were trying anxiously to reach him.
"I can't deal with this,"
Melnick
told her. "Call them back and tell them the phones
are
out all over St. Trope
z and you can't get through."
Back in bed, Melnick was nagged by doubts and curiosity. Something serious must have happened. He got up again, called his secretary back, and told her to give his numbe
r to Hirschfield, Davis, or Adle
r, whomever she could reach first. A few minutes later Allen Adler called.
"They've scheduled a board meeting for Wednesday morning. It looks like they're going to fire Alan. There's a movement afoot to have the division heads come in and confront the board."
"Should I come
in?"
"Alan says we shouldn't impose on you. It's your vacation.'
1
"What do you think?"
"I think you should, come. Your voice would carry weight with the board." Melnick sighed. "Okay, I'll be there."
While Hirschfield, Adler, and Davis were calling Los
Angeles, Chicago, and St. Trope
z, as well as several homes
in the New York area, Mark Mage
d was telephoning his old friend and former law partner, Howard Holtzmann, the senior partner of the firm of Holtzmann, Wise & Shepard, wh
ich for decades had represented
Allen & Company. Herbert Allen's lawyer, Robert Werbel, was a partner in the firm, and Mark Maged had practiced there until he left to go into banking.
Mage
d expressed surprise to Holtzmann that the Columbia Pictures situation had deteriorated so much. They discussed various ideas for getting the combatants to call a truce. In the course of the conversation, Maged told Holtzmann that the Columbia executive team was flying to New York the next day to try to confront the board before it had a chance to fire
Hirschfield
.
Later in the evening, Howard Holtzmann relayed this information to Herbert Allen and Robert Werbel.
The Mageds had planned a large party at their house in East Hampton for Monday evening, and even with the increasing rain, a lot of people showed up. Very few, however, knew that the constantly ringing telephone in the bedroom signaled preparations for the latest battle in a war for control of one of the nation's leading motion-picture companies. Like commanders alerting military units for airlift, Hirschfield, Davis, and Adler continued to make calls, as well as taking calls from people they had tried to reach earlier.