Virtually every captain of industry is a stickler for detail. That
should have been the first clue that the late Robert "Cap'n Bob"
Maxwell wasn't qualified for the title, even though he thought he was.
An innocuous incident occurred in the mid-80s that underscored this
point, and in the process, symbolized why the demise of his fraudulent
publishing empire was inevitable.
Whether Robert Maxwell committed suicide or was murdered may never be known to the public ...
Suffice it to say the disgraced publishing magnate cheated so many
people and financial institutions to such an extent that there wouldn't
be a paucity of suspects if it was the latter. Born in Slatinske Dòly
to poor parents as Jan Ludvick Hoch and Anglicizing his name when he
migrated to Great Britain during World War II, Maxwell used the fog of
combat to his advantage, picking off a scientific journal
distributorship at a bargain rate. He soon parlayed that into more
literary acquisitions and doing so with such aplomb, he even gained
election to Parliament.
However, a trail of deceit began soon thereafter, which led to a High
Court censorship, then to possible war crime allegations and,
ultimately, to an amazing web of falsified balance sheets and deceptive
bank loan collateral which masked Maxwell's mass looting of his own
publishing empire's coffers. When all was about to come crashing down
upon him, Maxwell was reported to have fallen overboard while yachting
along the Canary Islands. His extensive double-dealing earned him the
posthumous title of The Bouncing Czech.
Maxwell's bombastic ego, though, was authentic. He ached to be larger
than life and to outdo any perceived rival, such as Australian
billionaire Rupert Murdoch, whose own publishing empire spans the
globe. Ironically, Maxwell tried to seize any opportunity to portray
Murdoch as a low-life, casting himself as a higher-minded alternative
to the conscientious consumer. Thus, to counter Murdoch's
titillation-themed, Tory-leaning tabloid, the Sun, Maxwell ran his
Daily Mirror as a seemingly kinder, gentler, Labour-oriented purveyor
of similar stories.
Maxwell always ran a distant second in the United Kingdom's tabloid
wars, so he was constantly looking for an edge with which to tweak
Murdoch's operations and further convey the image --- however cynical
--- of his holding the higher social and ethical ground. I can attest
that, at least once, a blend of this obsession and his blowhard
personality got the better of him.
It was a summer day in the mid-80s, and the prospects of secondary
smoke being a health issue in the workplace were beginning to be
accepted as fact. It was surely noble for Cap'n Bob --- as Maxwell was
derisively known --- to be among the first to attempt an office-wide
smoking ban. The Mirror's headquarters was no doubt better served, but
it was clear his motives were for self-promotion rather than a genuine
concern for his employees' welfare.
The first clue that this was the case was the boisterous manner by
which Maxwell arbitrarily enforced the policy. Specifically, he loved
to make a scene if it showed him in an authoritarian and positive
light. Thus, when Cap'n Bob proclaimed a ban, he did it for maximum
effect. In this instance, he decreed that anyone caught smoking in his
building would be fired on the spot.
On this day, Maxwell was holding court for visitors of some dignified
nature. He was guiding them through the Mirror facilities when a man
hunched over a nearby photocopy machine caught his attention. The man
had a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Cap'n Bob summoned his guests to follow him over there. Puffing his
chest as he approached the man puffing away, Maxwell began his diatribe
within steps of his quarry and gained decibels with each successive
step.
"Sir!" he exclaimed, "How much do you make a month?"
The target of his wrath was caught off-guard. It took him a moment to
confirm that Maxwell was speaking to him; actually, 'at him' would be
more accurate.
"I asked you a question," Maxwell pressed, making sure that his guests
totally understood who was in charge of the moment, "And I expect a
prompt answer. How much do you make a month!"
"2000 quid," was the nervous response. "Why do you ask?"
"You're smoking!" was the roared retort. Cap'n Bob then reached into
his pocket in preparation for the coup de grace. He pulled out a wad of
bills, quickly sifted through £2000 and jammed it into the surprised
man's shirt pocket.
"There's a month's wage! You're fired! Now, get out!"
Maxwell then stormed away, his cotillion of impressed guests following
dutifully behind. A strong boss had surely made a firm point.
Left in the wake, the stunned man retrieved the stash of cash from his
pocket, looked at it and then shook his head in amazement.
"I was just called here to repair the copier," he shrugged. He put the
money in his pants pocket, flicked a few ashes to the ground, headed
toward the front door and proceeded to his van. Perhaps he had more
calls to make that day, but he probably opted to cancel them and make
his way to a pub, instead.
The incident capsulized Cap'n Bob's act in a nutshell. He was all show,
with little attention to detail. It was a harbinger that whenever
someone paid close heed to his affairs, he'd be sunk.
I just didn't think it would happen so literally.
