Going to Windward: A Mosbacher Family Memoir

15: Do You Suppose They’ll Believe I Stayed?

Chapter 15 Do You Suppose They’ll Believe I Stayed? While Pop was alive, he never carried a wallet, and he never carried $20 or $50 bills. Rather, in different pockets he kept $1, $5, $10, and $100 bills—all arranged so he knew where the different bills were without having to look. He did this because my streetwise father understood that flashing cash in New York City back then was likely to get you mugged, but there was more to it. “I never want to embarrass anyone by pulling out bills,” he once explained to his assistant Liz Carbone. One time he saw me keeping different bills in the same pocket and mildly chided me. “Well that’s dumb,” he would say. “You might as well pull out a $100 every time in front of everybody. Why the heck would you do that?” In a word, Pop could be eccentric. My daughter Dee recalls how during the summer his attire, while in his apartment, always consisted of white silk boxers , a couple of layers of silk undershirts, and often an old-fashioned golf cap. During the winter, meanwhile, he wore gray down-feather booties with long silk underwear covered by gray sweat pants, a gray cashmere sweater, and the same wool cap. When he did venture out, Pop always walked briskly—and always near the curb, so nobody could mug him. As he churned along, he would shout instructions over his shoulder as he walked: “Keep your hands out of your pockets. I know somebody who had his hands in his pants, and he was hit by a cab and dragged down the street because he couldn’t defend himself. And don’t walk over grills because I know somebody who fell in a grill. Everyone knows the manholes in Manhattan are totally unsafe.” During the 1960s, Rob frequently visited Pop at his Park Avenue apartment during a break in his studies at Choate, usually bringing a friend. New York City back then was not the relatively safe and tourist-friendly city it is today, and while giving Rob some spending money Pop would routinely implore Rob and his buddy to take every precaution while moving around Manhattan. “Now, Robbie, there are more drug addicts, dope fiends, and street muggers within a Do You Suppose They’ll Believe I Stayed? 夝 175 square mile of here than you’ll find probably anywhere else in the world,” he said, adding, “They don’t fight fair, so don’t mess with them.” Upon hearing this warning, Rob’s smart-alecky friend piped up, “Don’t worry, Pop, we’ll choke ’em with our heel dust.” In other words, if attacked the boys would run away—very fast. “Goddammit,” Pop would sharply reply, not understanding Rob’s friend. “I told you not to fight them.” In addition to his extreme impatience and constant advice, my kids also vividly recall Pop’s extraordinary generosity. He loved shopping at Bloomingdale’s on Lexington Avenue, for example, and if you expressed an interest in a particular shirt he would insist you get a couple in the same color. “Don’t get one,” he’d say. “Get half a dozen.” If anyone could cut a deal with Father Time, it would have been Pop. He was such a forceful, dynamic presence in our lives for so long—who took his health and exercise seriously even into his eighties—I was convinced he would end up outlasting us all. If someone could find a way to crack the code on mortality, to pick the lock on longevity, it would have been Emil Mosbacher Sr. Try as Pop might, though, Father Time didn’t cut deals or play favorites. Right around the time we lost Mom, Pop started complaining about recurring migraine headaches and dizzy spells. Sadly, ironically, these same symptoms also plagued his good friend George Gershwin during the last weeks of his life in 1937, after he lapsed into a coma and was rushed to the hospital. Pop had suffered from dizzy spells as a younger man, but never with such intensity—or regular recurrence. It didn’t take long to discover my father had a brain tumor. Upon reporting their diagnosis, however, the doctors said they might be able to operate—though they also cautioned it would be a very difficult procedure and they were not overly optimistic as to Pop’s prognosis. Not surprisingly, Pop balked at that course of action. “They’re not going...