David Rockefeller - Memoirs

David Rockefeller

MEMOIRS

First Edition

Contents

INTRODUCTION

PRAISE FOR DAVID ROCKEFELLER’S MEMOIRS

Chapter 1 - Grandfather

Chapter 2 - Mother and Father

Chapter 3 - Childhood

Chapter 4 - Travels

Chapter 5 - Rockefeller Center

Chapter 6 - Harvard

Chapter 7 - Learning from The Great Economists

Chapter 8 - A Dissertation, A Wife, And A Job

Chapter 9 - The War

Chapter 10 - Embarking on a Career at Chase

Chapter 11 - Launching a Parallel Career

Chapter 12 - Building the Chase Manhattan Bank

Chapter 13 - Conflict

Chapter 14 - Difficult Transitions

Chapter 15 - Creating a Global Bank

Chapter 16 - Taking the Helm

Chapter 17 - Engaging the Soviets

Chapter 18 - Penetrating the Bamboo Curtain

Chapter 19 - Emissary for Balance in The Middle East

Chapter 20 - Surviving Opec

Chapter 21 - Business Turbulence

Chapter 22 - Family Turmoil

Chapter 23 - Brotherly Conflicts

Chapter 24 - The Shah

Chapter 25 - Redemption

Chapter 26 - New York, New York

Chapter 27 - Proud Internationalist

Chapter 28 - South of The Border

Chapter 29 - A Passion for Modern Art

Chapter 30 - Rockefeller Center Redux

Chapter 31 - Partnerships

INTRODUCTION

David Rockefeller

1915-2017

David Rockefeller was an American banker and philanthropist. He is the author of Memoirs, a book that provides a comprehensive account of his life and his significant influence on American finance and global affairs.

Rockefeller was born in New York City on June 12, 1915, into the prominent Rockefeller family, known for their immense wealth and contributions to various sectors. He received an elite education, attending the Lincoln School in Harlem and later graduating from Harvard University in 1936. He then went on to earn a Ph.D. in economics from the University of Chicago in 1940.

During World War II, Rockefeller served in the U.S. Army, working in North Africa and France. After the war, he joined Chase National Bank, which later became Chase Manhattan Bank. Rising through the ranks, he eventually became the chairman and chief executive officer, steering the bank to become one of the most influential financial institutions in the world.

David Rockefeller was deeply involved in various international economic and political organizations. He was a founder of the Trilateral Commission and an active member of the Council on Foreign Relations. His global influence extended through his philanthropic endeavors as well, particularly in the realms of education, arts, and environmental conservation.

In 2002, Rockefeller published Memoirs, where he chronicled his experiences, from his childhood in a wealthy, influential family to his extensive career in banking and philanthropy. The book offers insights into his personal and professional life, shedding light on his thoughts and motivations.

About the work

David Rockefeller's Memoirs is not just an autobiography but a detailed record of a man who played a pivotal role in shaping 20th-century finance and international relations. The book provides a rare glimpse into the life of a member of one of America's most famous families, detailing the intersection of personal and public life.

In Memoirs, Rockefeller discusses his upbringing in the Rockefeller family, his education, and his entry into the world of banking. He provides an insider's perspective on the evolution of Chase Manhattan Bank and its strategies for expansion during his tenure. Moreover, the book delves into his extensive travels and interactions with world leaders, highlighting his efforts to promote international economic cooperation.

One of the notable aspects of Memoirs is Rockefeller's reflection on his philanthropic activities. He emphasizes his commitment to supporting education, healthcare, and the arts, underscoring the importance of using wealth to contribute to the public good. His involvement in the founding of the Trilateral Commission and his leadership in various non-governmental organizations are also thoroughly explored, showcasing his dedication to fostering global dialogue and understanding.

Rockefeller's writing in Memoirs is characterized by its clarity and depth, offering readers a comprehensive understanding of his multifaceted life. The book is not only a personal narrative but also a historical document that provides valuable insights into the economic and political landscapes of the 20th century.

In summary, Memoirs by David Rockefeller stands as a testament to the life of a man who significantly impacted global finance and philanthropy. Through his detailed recounting of events and reflections, readers gain an appreciation for the complexities of managing both personal legacy and public influence.

PRAISE FOR DAVID ROCKEFELLER’S MEMOIRS

 Rockefeller’s 500-page autobiography ... gives us an inside look at the man and his complex career… This is a revealing, forthright account of how a young man bearing the Rockefeller mantle of power, privilege, and responsibility came of age as America itself was becoming a dominant world power.

 — BusinessWeek

Touching on his military service in World War II, his career in banking, and his encounters with foreign leaders, Rockefeller has reflected frankly and with feeling about his eventful life.

 — Booklist

It is a rare author who can write about himself with openness and candor, but David Rockefeller has succeeded brilliantly. His discussion of his upbringing and of the obligations imposed by great wealth is fascinating, as are his personal reflections on four generations of Rockefellers. What the book also reveals, unconsciously but with great clarity, is the decency, integrity, and humanity of David Rockefeller himself.

 — Dr. Henry Kissinger

Rockefeller’s well-organized remembrances present a deeply fascinating, thorough look into the life of a living legend.

 — Publishers Weekly

A memoir, rich as a Rockefeller, that should fire up historians, pundits, and commentators: every page raises unanswered questions about a remarkable life.

 — Kirkus Reviews

Long before globalization became a household word, David Rockefeller realized the importance of cultivating strong, trusting relationships with countries and their leaders around the world. We are privileged to be the beneficiaries of his lifelong commitment to world peace, and to have his reflections on these experiences in this superb memoir.

 — Nelson Mandela

"Honest and fascinating ... Memoirs is a gem worthy of your serious attention."

 — The Grand Rapids Press

In these memoirs, David Rockefeller provides an account of his life that is candid, incisive, and moving. Whether writing about his remarkable family, his distinguished career, or his important role in world affairs, he offers a unique and invaluable perspective on our times.

 — Kofi Annan, secretary general of the United Nations

One thing you won’t find here is much second-guessing or introspection... But that doesn’t detract significantly from the quality of this straightforward, honest and highly readable book.

 — The Washington Post Book World

"These are the memoirs of a man who clearly appreciates the opportunities and rich experiences he has been given and, at age 87, is able to look back over the years with a deep sense of satisfaction."

 — Houston Chronicle

This very readable and thought-provoking account of an influential financier, philanthropist, and art lover will hold readers’ interest.

 — Library Journal

David Rockefeller is one of the most diversely interesting men of our time. It has been my pleasure to know him and his work, and this book, the product of his unique life, is both attractive and thoroughly engaging. It will attract everyone for the knowledge and pleasure it accords.

 — Professor John Kenneth Galbraith

MEMOIRS

Chapter 1 - Grandfather

There is a picture of all the men in the family waiting at the Tarrytown station for the train carrying Grandfather’s casket from his winter home in Ormond Beach, Florida. He died quietly in his bed on May 23, 1937, at the age of ninety-seven. While the official cause of death was sclerotic myocarditis, it would be simpler to say he died of old age. I had known him as Grandfather, not the robber baron or great philanthropist of the history books. He had been a constant presence in my childhood: benign, indulgent, revered by my father, John D. Rockefeller, Jr., and by the family as a whole.

Looking at that picture today, I find it remarkable how well it captured our relationships with one another, where we were in life, and, perhaps, where we would all be going.

John, characteristically, stands on the periphery. Thirty-one years old, he is the oldest son, inheritor of the dynastic name. After he graduated from Princeton, Father put him on the boards of many family institutions, among them the Rockefeller Foundation, the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research, and Colonial Williamsburg, grooming him to be the family leader, but he is shy and uncertain of his abilities.

Nelson, also characteristically, has managed to situate himself at the exact center of the picture and stares authoritatively at the camera. At twenty-nine he will soon become president of Rockefeller Center.

Laurance, twenty-seven, the philosopher and businessman, gazes into the middle distance. He was emerging as a leading investor in the aviation industry and, with Eddie Rickenbacker, the World War I flying ace, would soon buy a large stake in Eastern Airlines.

Winthrop is the handsomest. Somehow Mother’s Aldrich features — which one might describe as having a lot of character — combined with the Rockefeller genes to produce almost movie-star good looks. Win is the most troubled of us and never quite fitted in. Now twenty-five, he is working as a roughneck in the Texas oil fields.

I am the youngest, twenty-one years old, and look very wet behind the ears. I have just completed my first year of graduate work in economics at Harvard and will leave that summer to continue my studies at the London School of Economics.

Father, beginning to show his sixty-three years, presides over us all, completely forthright, a friendly, kind face. Perhaps a little distant.

We brought Grandfather back to the mansion that he and Father had built twenty-five years earlier on the family estate at Pocantico Hills. Called Kykuit, the Dutch word for lookout, its hilltop site commands a magnificent view of the Hudson River. The next day, with only immediate family and a few close friends present, we held a service for him. I remember it was a beautiful spring day, the French doors open to the terrace, and the Hudson River a glistening blue below us. His favorite organist, Dr. Archer Gibson, played the large pipe organ in the main hall, on which we used to pretend to perform when we were children. Harry Emerson Fosdick, senior minister of Riverside Church, which was built by Father, gave the eulogy.

After the service, as everyone milled about, Mr. Yordi, Grandfather’s valet, gestured to me. Yordi, a dapper Swiss fellow, had been Grandfather’s valet and constant companion for thirty years. I knew him well, but he had always been reserved in my presence. I went over to him, and he pulled me aside, into a deserted hallway. You know, Mr. David, he began (from as early as I can remember, the staff always addressed us in that way, Mr. Rockefeller being too confusing with so many of us having that name, and first names would have been too familiar), of all you brothers, your grandfather always thought you were the most like him. I must have looked very surprised. It was the last thing I expected him to say. Yes, he said, you were very much his favorite. I thanked him somewhat awkwardly, but he just waved his hand and said, No, no, I just thought you should know. I didn’t really know what to make of it. I thought it would have been Nelson, but I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t pleased.

The Standard

Grandfather had started at $5 a week as a clerk in a dry goods store in Cleveland, Ohio, and went on to found and run the Standard Oil Company, which for all practical purposes was the oil industry in the United States until the Supreme Court ordered the trust dissolved in 1911 after a long period of acrimonious litigation. Many of the companies that emerged from the breakup still exist: ExxonMobil, Chevron, Amoco, and about thirty others as well.

Standard Oil made Grandfather rich, possibly the richest man in America. He was also, for much of his life, one of the most hated. The tabloid press attacked Standard’s business practices and accused it of crimes — including murder — in its relentless efforts to eliminate all competition and perfect its monopoly of the oil industry. Grandfather was the target of Progressives, Populists, Socialists, and others discontented with the new American capitalist order. Robert La Follette, the powerful governor of Wisconsin, called him the greatest criminal of his age. Teddy Roosevelt used him as a whipping boy in his effort to bring the industrial monopolies to heel. Ida Tarbell, who through her writings probably did more than anyone to establish the image of Grandfather as a greedy and rapacious robber baron, wrote: There is little doubt that Mr. Rockefeller’s chief reason for playing golf is that he may live longer to make more money.

Today most historians would agree that the picture painted of Standard in those contemporary accounts was highly partisan and often inaccurate. Grandfather and his partners were tough competitors, but they were guilty of no more than the common business practices of their day. It was a different world then. Few of the laws that regulate business competition today were in place. Standard was operating on the frontiers of the economy; it was new, unexplored territory, in some cases literally like the Wild West. Muckrakers idealized the first years of the petroleum industry as some kind of entrepreneurial Eden. It was, in fact, exceedingly cutthroat. Prices gyrated wildly, with huge swings in production and alternating gluts and droughts of oil. Refiners and producers were bankrupted and driven out of business overnight. Grandfather was no romantic; he thought the situation was speculative, shortsighted, and wasteful, and he set about to correct it in a tough-minded fashion.

The accusations that Standard cheated widows of their inheritance, bombed rival refineries, and drove competitors into ruin by any means available — all gleefully repeated by Tarbell and others — were absolute fiction. The real story is that Standard was considerably more honorable in its dealings than many of its competitors. During the process of consolidation, Standard offered not only an honest, but often a generous price for competing refineries — so generous, in fact, that competitors often reentered the business simply for the opportunity to be bought out again. Grandfather’s partners complained bitterly about this persistent pattern of blackmail, but he continued to buy in order to complete his plan.

Standard was a monopoly. At its height it controlled 90 percent of the domestic oil industry and was trying hard to buy up the last 10 percent. Grandfather, however, never saw anything wrong with dominating the market, not only for the owners and workers in the industry, but for consumers and the country as a whole. This runs so contrary to textbook assumptions that many people find it hard to credit his sincerity on the matter. But as Standard’s market share increased, the cost of petroleum products to the consumer — principally kerosene during Standard’s first decades — dropped dramatically. Kerosene became universally available, and Standard’s product was cheaper and better. The company invested in new technologies to improve the range and quality of its products and to develop new uses for by-products that earlier had simply been poured onto the ground or dumped into the nearest river. Gasoline is the most obvious example of a waste product that eventually found a prime use in the internal combustion engine and became the most valued petroleum product.

It was Grandfather’s policy to lower prices, believing that the less expensive the product, the more of it people would buy; and the larger the market, the more economies of scale Standard would be able to employ. Without having studied economics, he understood the meaning of elastic demand. He always believed that it was good practice to do a larger volume of business at a smaller profit per unit. Many economists talk of business as responding to market demand; but that isn’t how Grandfather operated. He also created demand by setting up new channels of distribution at home and abroad. For instance, as a marketing device, Standard often gave away lanterns to ensure that consumers would buy kerosene to burn — much as Gillette gives away razors so that the customer will continue to purchase razor blades. Grandfather drove his associates to buy refineries, to develop new oil fields, and to increase production long before demand existed. Standard acted most aggressively during economic downturns when others retreated, because Grandfather had a long-term vision of the industry and how it should be operated.

A number of factors distinguished Standard from its rivals: a willingness to invest in new technologies, a constant concern for the cost of production, and great attention to the marketing of its products. Grandfather successfully integrated within one cohesive organization the diverse elements of the industry from production at the wellhead to the final delivery to the customer. Standard was the first modern, fully integrated economic enterprise. That was Grandfather’s greatest achievement: building the petroleum industry and, in the process, creating the modern corporation. It was an organizational triumph that transformed the business world.

The American public welcomed the Supreme Court’s dissolution of the Standard Oil Trust in 1911 with great acclaim. However, it should be remembered that the ultimate result of Grandfather’s consolidation of the oil business was a cheaper, better, and more reliable supply of petroleum that helped the United States make the transition from a decentralized, agrarian nation to a highly centralized industrial democracy.

Equanimity in the face of the storm

My father, who later had his own troubles with the press, used to describe with a kind of envy Grandfather’s equanimity in the face of the storms raging against him. When Grandfather read the Tarbell book, he remarked to everyone’s consternation that he rather enjoyed it. In my view it was Grandfather’s deep religious faith that gave him his placid self-assurance in the face of personal attacks, and supreme confidence that enabled him to consolidate the American oil industry. He was a devout Christian who lived by the strict tenets of his Baptist faith. His faith explained the world around him, guided him on his way through it, and provided him with a liberating structure. The most important of these principles was that faith without good works was meaningless. That central belief led Grandfather to first accept the doctrine of stewardship for his great fortune and then to broaden it by creating the great philanthropies later in life.

Grandfather was raised in modest circumstances in central New York State. William Rockefeller, his father, was something of an absentee parent and had a shady past, but his mother, Eliza Davison Rockefeller, who actually raised Grandfather and his siblings, was an extraordinarily devout and principled woman.

In our secular age it is difficult for us to understand a life that was so governed by religious faith. For many, too, a life lived according to the strictures of the Baptist faith — no drinking, smoking, or dancing — seems a painfully dour existence. But Grandfather wore the commandments of his religion, all the things that would seem to us such burdens, with ease and even joy. He was the least dour man I have ever known; he was constantly smiling, joking, and telling shaggy dog stories. Often at dinner he would start to sing softly one of his favorite hymns. He wasn’t singing to anyone; it was as if a feeling of peace and contentment were welling out of him.

As a boy I would occasionally walk up the hill to Kykuit from my parents’ home, Abeyton Lodge, a distance of about a quarter mile, for breakfast or lunch with Grandfather. For breakfast Grandfather invariably ate oatmeal, but with butter and salt rather than cream and sugar. He ate very slowly, chewing every bite very thoroughly, because he thought this an important aid to digestion. He said one should even chew milk, which he did!

Grandfather rarely took his meals alone. Friends and associates, many from the old days in Cleveland, often stayed with him, frequently for extended periods. Meals were long and leisurely, and the conversation informal and congenial. Business was never discussed; instead, Grandfather would joke with his cousin and longtime housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, a rather stout and kindly woman who would return his good-natured jibes in kind. On a few occasions I dined with him at Kykuit as well. After the meal we all moved to a sitting room where, as his guests talked, Grandfather would doze quietly in his easy chair. He always retired for the night at a very early hour.

At other times Grandfather enjoyed playing a card game called Numerica. The cards were square with only one number on each, and the game was designed to test and improve mathematical reasoning. Grandfather always served as the dealer — and the winner of each round always received a dime and the losers a nickel.

On one occasion when I was a bit older and Grandfather was in his nineties, he accepted my invitation to a chicken dinner at the Playhouse, which I prepared. Both he and Mrs. Evans came and pronounced the meal quite delicious!

I also visited Grandfather at his homes in Florida and Lakewood, New Jersey. Grandfather loved golf and built private courses at Pocantico and Lakewood. When I was a teenager and just learning the game, we would play a few holes together. By then Grandfather played for the exercise and rarely completed a full round.

In June 1936, as Grandfather’s health began to fail, I paid him a short visit in Ormond Beach. He was pleased, as always, to see me, but he was noticeably feeble and tired. He spent most of his time sleeping or sitting quietly in his room. We spoke briefly about matters of little consequence, but he seemed content just to have me in the room with him. He allowed me to take several photographs of him sitting in his chair. It was the last time I saw him alive.

Grandfather was a deeply religious man, but he never judged or condemned others who did not share his beliefs. As a teetotaler his entire life, Grandfather was a rarity at Standard, where most of his closest associates were anything but pious men. John Archbold, a onetime rival who became a close friend, was a very heavy drinker, and Grandfather made it a lifetime project to reform him. Grandfather formed intense friendships with his business partners, including Archbold, Henry Flagler, and his brother, William, who were with him from the earliest days at Standard. On the rare occasions when I heard him mention his business career, he spoke of the fun they had, despite the hard work and long hours, as confederates in a grand new enterprise.

Grandfather was modest by nature, and while he lived a life possible only for those of great wealth, he was comparatively frugal. At a time when the Carnegies, Fricks, Harrimans, and Vanderbilts were building grand mansions along Fifth Avenue, Grandfather bought a home on a side street whose previous tenant, Arabella Worsham, was the mistress of Collis P. Huntington. It was a very large brownstone, and Grandfather bought several lots beside it into which the family would later expand, but it says something about him that he never bothered to redecorate it. Miss Worsham’s red plush wallpaper and heavy, ornate Victorian furniture remained there as long as Grandfather lived.

His one indulgence seems to have been trotting horses. He kept a number of matched pairs, and he enjoyed driving them at Pocantico and in Central Park, where he would occasionally become involved in races with his brother and close friends.

Grandfather was totally lacking in vanity. He gave little thought to surface appearances. As a young man he had been good-looking, but in the 1890s he contracted a painful viral infection, generalized alopecia, which affected his nervous system. As a result of the disease he lost all his hair. In one photograph from this time he is wearing a black skullcap, which made him look a bit like the Merchant of Venice. Later he wore wigs.

Some people, notably Ida Tarbell, thought his physical appearance repugnant; others disagreed. Initially, John Singer Sargent was reluctant to paint Grandfather’s portrait. However, after lengthy conversations during the sittings, they became friends. In the end, Sargent told Father he wanted to paint a second portrait because he had become intrigued with his subject and said that Grandfather reminded him of a medieval saint.

The art of giving

The truth is that Grandfather found managing his fortune, which had reached almost a billion dollars by 1910, to be a problem. His annual income from Standard Oil and other investments was enormous, and given Grandfather’s meticulous nature, it had to be spent or invested properly. Since he was uninterested in acquiring French chateaus or Scottish castles and was appalled at the idea of buying art, yachts, or suits of medieval armor — all activities engaged in by his more extravagant contemporaries — Grandfather worked out a characteristic solution: He invested a good portion of his income in coal mines, railroads, insurance companies, banks, and manufacturing enterprises of various kinds, most famously the iron ore business, and eventually controlled much of the rich Mesabi Range in Minnesota.

But increasingly, after Grandfather retired from Standard in 1897, he occupied himself with a different form of investing: philanthropy, which he referred to as the art of giving. In doing this he would have as profound an effect as he had with Standard Oil.

From the time he was a young man just starting in business, Grandfather recorded every item of income and expense, including charitable donations of as little as a penny, in a series of ledgers, beginning with the famous Ledger A, which are preserved in the Rockefeller Archive Center in Pocantico Hills. Keeping records became a family tradition. Father followed Grandfather’s example and tried to have my generation do the same with varying degrees of success. And I tried it with my own children with even less success than Father.

In doing this Grandfather was following the religious injunction to tithe, or give a tenth part of his income to the Church and other good causes. As his earnings grew, his charitable donations kept pace, usually reaching the tithe to which he had committed himself. By the mid-1880s, Grandfather found it difficult to handle charitable contributions by himself. It was, in fact, one of the chief causes of stress for him in those years. He felt obliged not only to give but to give wisely, which is a lot more difficult. It is easy to do harm in giving money, he wrote. By then his annual income exceeded a million dollars, and disposing of just 10 percent of it was a full-time occupation. His eventual solution was to employ the Reverend Frederick T. Gates, a Baptist minister, to develop a more thoughtful and systematic way to assess the individuals and organizations who requested funds. Fortunately, Gates was a man with a broad education and considerable wisdom. Over the next several decades they planned the distribution of more than half of the fortune; most of the rest ultimately went to Father, who dedicated his life to carrying on and expanding their work.

Some have said that Grandfather and Father, along with Andrew Carnegie, invented modern philanthropy. That may be true, but it may also claim too much. What the two of them did was emphasize the need to move charitable activities away from treating the symptoms of social problems toward understanding and then eliminating the underlying causes. This led them both to embrace a scientific approach and to support the work of experts in many fields.

Grandfather’s first major philanthropic project was the creation of the University of Chicago in the 1890s. It was only after the turn of the century, however, that Grandfather put his business cares behind him and devoted himself primarily to philanthropy. One of the first initiatives he undertook was the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research, founded in 1901.

Grandfather’s vision, developed in close collaboration with Gates, my father, and the first director of the institute, Dr. Simon Flexner, was to establish a research facility modeled on the Pasteur and Koch institutes in Europe. In creating the institute Grandfather followed the same principles he had first tested at Standard Oil: He hired good men and gave them scope. While he had been intimately involved in the inception and planning, once the institute was up and running, he made it a point not to interfere with its management. He felt it appropriate to hand over the reins to the educators and scientists who were specialists in their field. Father became president of the board of trustees to ensure that the policy of independent scientific research was strictly maintained.

The General Education Board, Grandfather’s next major initiative, grew out of his desire to create a public education system in the South that would benefit blacks as well as whites. Grandfather provided the GEB with almost $130 million in endowment and operating funds over its thirty-year existence. The GEB worked closely with local and state governments to achieve its goals. It is one of the first and most successful examples of public-private cooperation that our family has always promoted.

The Rockefeller Foundation, founded in 1913, was the first philanthropic organization with a specifically global vision and the culmination of Grandfather’s efforts to create a structure capable of wisely managing his assets for benevolent purposes. Grandfather provided more endowment for the foundation — approximately $182 million, more than $2 billion in present dollars, over a period of ten years — than for any other institution. The foundation fought against hookworm, yellow fever, malaria, tuberculosis, and other infectious diseases. In later years it became a leader in developing hybrid varieties of corn, wheat, and rice that served as the basis for the Green Revolution, which has done so much to transform societies around the world.

Public relations

The charge has often been made that Grandfather’s charitable giving was no more than a public relations ploy to burnish his image after a lifetime of rapacious profit-making. If that had really been his motivation, would he have needed to spend half a billion dollars to achieve that end?

Public relations pioneer Ivy Lee is often credited with developing the plan that included everything from the creation of the great foundations to having Grandfather give away shiny dimes, which would replace his image as a ruthless robber baron with that of a genial, kindly, and benevolent old man. Most of this is quite preposterous. Grandfather handed out dimes as a means of establishing an easy rapport with people whom he met casually on the golf course, at church, or walking down the street. It helped break the ice with them, and put them at ease, and it usually worked.

In fact, Grandfather had so little interest in the public relations benefits of his philanthropy that he wouldn’t allow his name to be used for the University of Chicago or the General Education Board, and it was only with great reluctance that he agreed to use his name for the Rockefeller Institute. It is hard to imagine that Grandfather, who refused to allow Standard Oil to refute the libels being spread by the muckrakers, would instead devote the larger part of his fortune to manipulating the public’s view of him. One would have to believe, which I do not, that he experienced a crisis of conscience that compelled him to throw off his ill-gotten gains.

Grandfather never breathed a sigh of remorse to my Father, his grandchildren, or anyone else about his business career. He believed Standard Oil benefited society, and he felt comfortable with his role in creating it.

What, then, explains Grandfather’s philanthropy? In my view it flowed from his religious training and the experiences of his own life. Ida Tarbell and her intellectual descendants have chosen to picture Grandfather as the essence of greed and the epitome of selfish individualism. Grandfather was a strong individualist, but he defined the term differently. He rejected the idea of individualism as selfishness and self-aggrandizement. Instead, he defined individualism as the freedom to achieve and the obligation to return something of value to the community that had nurtured and sustained him. I believe this was both the source and object of his philanthropy.

As for Father, far from being ashamed of Grandfather, he was immensely proud of him and his many achievements. If Father had conflicted feelings — and he did — they were that he didn’t measure up. For much of his life my father, one of the greatest philanthropists in history, thought of himself as simply following in the footsteps of a greater man.

Chapter 2 - Mother and Father

When my parents married on October 9, 1901, the press headlined it as the union of the two most powerful families in America: the son and heir of John D. Rockefeller and the daughter of Nelson Aldrich, Republican majority leader in the U.S. Senate and, according to some, the General Manager of the Nation.

Father had been taken with my mother from their first meeting, but he agonized over whether to propose to her for an almost fatal length of time. It is indicative of Father’s earnestness that when he finally asked the Senator for his daughter’s hand, he launched into a lengthy explanation of his financial prospects, apparently anxious to demonstrate that he was a sound match. The Senator, somewhat amused, stopped him in mid-sentence and said, Mr. Rockefeller, I am only interested in what will make my daughter happy.

That Father did make Mother happy, and she him, I have no doubt. They were exceedingly close — perhaps too close, as I will explain in a moment — and I believe they loved each other very much. Mother brought to Father and to the marriage a sense of joy and fun that he desperately needed.

Mother grew up in a large family of eight siblings, five boys and three girls, in Providence, Rhode Island. Mother was third in age, the second oldest daughter, and was particularly close to her father. Her father played a key role in setting high tariffs and creating a more flexible currency and a more stable banking system through the formation of the Federal Reserve System. Mother recalled him and his Senate colleagues debating legislation while playing poker and enjoying a few drinks at his Washington home. Grandmother Aldrich had been an invalid for many years, so for a decade or so prior to her marriage, Mother often served as hostess for her father. She was thrust into the center of the Washington scene and was not only comfortable but supremely adept at handling the demands of society.

Grandfather Aldrich loved travel and greatly appreciated art. Mother and her siblings often accompanied him to Paris, Rome, and London, where he attended official conferences. At an early age she came to know Paris and its art world, and became comfortable with the new forms and ideas emerging at that time.

Influential Standards, Emotional Fragility

The family Mother married into couldn’t have been more different from hers. Her siblings, especially her older sister, Lucy, kidded her about the straitlaced Rockefellers, and in the beginning worried if she would be able to adapt.

For most of Father’s childhood his mother, Laura Spelman Rockefeller, was the dominant figure in his life. She had the principal responsibility for his upbringing and education, and was a strict disciplinarian. Her parents were deeply religious and had been active in both the antislavery and temperance movements. Her portraits and photographs reveal a formidable individual not easily given to mirth.

Grandmother Rockefeller provided Father with most of his religious training, his strong sense of moral rectitude, and the first intimations that he would bear a heavy responsibility for the stewardship of the family’s immense fortune. Grandmother Rockefeller joined the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union soon after its founding, firmly convinced that demon rum lay at the heart of all the social problems of the time: poverty, vice, and crime. As a young boy Father attended temperance meetings regularly and, when he was ten, signed a pledge to abstain from tobacco, profanity, and the drinking of any intoxicating beverages. Until he entered college, Father’s life was centered on his family and the Baptist Church. Father’s college years at Brown University provided him with the first opportunity to break free from his mother’s influence, but it was a difficult task and he never quite succeeded. He did, however, explore new ideas that gradually broadened his understanding of the world around him and formed a number of friendships that lasted his entire life. Most important, at least from my perspective, he met my mother and began the courtship that would end in their marriage more than eight years later.

Even with the leavening of a college education, a secure family life, and a large circle of friends, Father approached life with a considerable amount of insecurity. His marriage, despite his initial doubts and hesitation, was a godsend. Mother’s high spirits, gregariousness, and sociability helped him deal with his shyness and introspection, and helped compensate for what he felt keenly were his deficiencies. In Mother he found someone who could understand, care for, and protect his emotional fragility. He wanted her to be with him always — if not immediately by his side, then immediately available. He wanted to retreat with her into their own private circle of two. From one point of view it was romantic, and I believe their relations with each other were extremely intense and loving. From another point of view, the bond they shared was exclusive of all else, including the children. And therein lay the source of much tension for Mother.

We grew up realizing that if we were to have any of Mother’s attention, we would have to compete with Father for it. We knew how much she cared for us and enjoyed spending time with us, and it was apparent to us that the conflict between his needs and ours caused her much anguish. It was a never-ending struggle for her and the cause of great stress; and it was something she was never able to resolve. Father expected Mother to be there for him when he needed her, and his needs in this regard were practically insatiable.

A Beautiful Woman

Despite that tension — which strongly underlies my memories of childhood — whenever I think of Mother even today, it is with a sense of great love and happiness. I suppose by contemporary standards she would not be considered a beautiful woman. Nelson and I inherited her Aldrich features, most prominently the Aldrich nose. However, I thought of my mother as beautiful, as did many of her friends and acquaintances, because those features were animated by such liveliness and infused with such warmth. It was a beauty that was hard to capture in a photograph or a painting, and, in fact, few visual images do her justice. Strangely, the best likeness of her is a drawing done after her death by Fred W. Wright, who took it from a very good photograph of her holding Nelson’s eldest son, Rodman, when he was a small boy. Somehow it captures her expression better than any formal portraits.

Along with the Aldrich physiognomy I inherited from Mother a good deal of the Aldrich temperament. Her calm disposition was in distinct contrast to the tenser, driven quality of Father and some of my siblings. I always felt a special rapport with her. Mother loved small children, and no doubt being the youngest gave me an advantage. My brothers often accused me of receiving special treatment, though both of our parents made a conscious effort never to show any favoritism. But Mother and I had an easy relationship. We enjoyed many of the same things. One of my strongest memories is her love of art and how she subtly and patiently conveyed it to me. Beautiful objects came alive in her hands, as if her appreciation provided them with a special aura of beauty. The longer she looked at a painting, the more she would find in it, as if by some magic she had opened new depths, new dimensions not accessible to ordinary people.

There was little of the collector in Mother; having a complete set of something was of much less interest to her than enjoying the quality of each object. By her side I absorbed some of her taste and intuition, which in her was unfailing. I learned more from her about art than from all the art historians and curators who have informed me about the technical aspects of art history and art appreciation over the years.

While officially Mother and Father agreed on all vital questions of our upbringing and spoke to the children with one voice, they were poles apart in temperament. It wasn’t lost on us children that Mother didn’t attend our morning prayer meetings, preferring to stay comfortably in bed, reading the paper or answering correspondence. Or, that she brought into the house daring new art forms — often along with the artists who produced them — that upset Father. Or, that her face lit up whenever she had a chance to be with us or play with us alone. She loved adventures and the unexpected. Being spontaneous came naturally to her, and she derived the greatest pleasure from doing things on the spur of the moment.

Father was the opposite. He wanted life to follow an orderly pattern.

He liked to know what he was going to do and in what order, with whom and how. Whether in the city or on vacation, the day would be planned out in advance, and deviations from the plan were not greeted with pleasure. I remember his saying, when someone proposed a new activity, But we planned something else. For him that was reason enough not to do it.

When we moved to Maine for the summer, Father’s trunks would be brought out three days before we left; some were the old-fashioned steamer trunks which had a lid that opened from the top. Others were known as innovation trunks; they opened out and had room on one side to hang suits, and drawers on the other for linen. He would fill half a dozen or more trunks and bags for the two or three months he would be away. To begin with, he and his valet, William Johnson, would start selecting and laying out what to take — overcoats, sweaters, suits, riding clothes, and so forth. Then William would do the actual packing.

Dress was decidedly more formal in those days; in the winter Father wore a black tie to dinner every night, and Mother a long dress, even when the family dined alone. Still, the quantity of clothes they carried everywhere was astounding. Father never ventured out even in the summer without a coat in case the weather turned cold, and he always wore a hat outdoors. A photograph of Father and me taken one summer during my college years on a motor trip through the Southwest shows us seated on a wool lap robe under a lone pine tree in the middle of the Arizona desert. Father is wearing a suit and tie, felt hat on his head, and the ever-present coat lying nearby.

I have no doubt Father loved his children, all of us, very much, but his own rigid upbringing undoubtedly contributed to his inflexibility as a parent. He was formal, not cold, but rarely demonstrably affectionate. Nevertheless, he was physically more present during my childhood than many fathers, and perhaps more than I was with my children. He worked hard, but mostly in his office at home where he did not wish to be disturbed. He was with us in Pocantico on weekends and spent summer vacations with us in Maine, but on the emotional level he was distant.

There were exceptions. When we took walks, rode horseback, or traveled together, he would sometimes talk candidly about his own boyhood and listen to my concerns with real interest and tenderness. Those were important moments in my life.

However, the procedure Father preferred whenever we had something important to deal with, especially an issue with significant emotional content, was an exchange of letters. This happened more frequently when we went off to college and when my parents were on extended trips, but it was the preferred mode of communication even when we were all living under the same roof. Father dictated his letters to his secretary, who typed and mailed them — with one copy for the files!

Although Father’s love for us was heartfelt and sincere, his sense of parental duty prodded him into frequent soliloquies on duty, morality, and proper behavior. My brother Laurance to this day remembers with some distress the letter he received from Father after he was voted most likely to succeed by his class at Princeton. Father reminded him that he would have to spend the rest of his life truly earning the good opinion his classmates had of him. Such a response was fairly typical of Father.

But underneath Father’s formal, correct exterior was a tender, warm side that came out if one of us was in trouble. This revealed an aspect of his personality that was very precious to me. It helps explain Mother and Father’s close relationship over nearly five decades. I knew I could count on his love and support when I really needed him even if he might disapprove of something I had done.

Father was a complicated person. Grandfather was a self-made man who created a great fortune starting with nothing, an accomplishment Father would have no opportunity to emulate. Even after he had built a solid record of achievement, he was plagued with feelings of inadequacy. He once described his brief involvement in the business world as one of many vice presidents at Standard Oil as a race with my own conscience, and in a sense Father was racing all his life to be worthy of his name and inheritance.

In his early thirties Father suffered a nervous collapse — we would now call it depression. It was then that he began to withdraw from active involvement with Standard Oil. In order to recover his health, Father took Mother and my sister, Abby, then only a year old, on a month’s vacation to the south of France. Their stay there lengthened into six months, and even when they came back, Father retreated to his home and rarely went out. It was almost a year before he felt able to return to the office, and then only part-time.

Perhaps it is understandable that he never told me directly of this episode, although once or twice he hinted that as a young man he had some emotional problems. The first time I became aware that he had gone through some difficult times was a few years after I graduated from college when a close friend of mine was experiencing a similar bout of depression. Father spent hours with him, and my friend said that when Father spoke about his own experience, tears rolled down his face. It was only then that I understood how serious his depression had been.

Once Father overcame his depression, he resigned from Standard and devoted himself exclusively to philanthropy and the management of Grandfather’s personal affairs. As a result, during the decade of the teens, Grandfather began to transfer some stocks and other properties to him, but it was still in relatively small quantities. In 1915, the year I was born, when Father was forty-one years old, he owned outright only about $250,000 of Standard Oil stock.

What was Grandfather waiting for? I am not sure he ever intended to leave a great fortune to his children. His original plans for Father’s inheritance were probably the same as for his daughters: He would leave Father enough to be comfortable, to be rich by most measures, but by several orders of magnitude less than it turned out to be. Grandfather truly believed it when he said, in the context of philanthropy, that there is no easier way to do harm than by giving money, and he felt it applied most particularly to his own children. Frederick Gates wrote Grandfather a memo about how Grandfather’s fortune was piling up into an avalanche that would bury him and his children. Grandfather was probably a bit stunned at the size of his fortune as it continued to appreciate long after he had retired from Standard Oil. He saw his son, who was struggling to deal with his own emotional problems and to find his place in the world, already weighed down with more responsibility than he could bear, and he probably concluded that dumping an immense fortune on him wasn’t going to help matters. Thus, until 1915, Grandfather probably planned to give the bulk of his fortune to philanthropy either before his death or through his will. What changed his mind was Ludlow.

Ludlow

The Ludlow Massacre, as it has come to be referred to in history books, was one of the most famous or infamous events in American labor history. It was also one of the seminal events in my family’s history as well.

Ludlow, a coal mining town in southern Colorado, was where Colorado Fuel & Iron (CF&I), a company in which Grandfather owned nearly 40 percent of the shares, operated a number of mines and other facilities. Grandfather, already well into retirement, still maintained large holdings in many companies, but he looked upon them as a passive investment in securities and did not pay close attention to their management on a daily basis. Father sat on the board of CF&I, but corporate meetings were held in New York, and he never visited the company’s operations in Colorado.

In September 1913 more than nine thousand miners represented by the United Mine Workers struck all the coal operators in the southern Colorado fields, including CF&I, over a number of grievances, including wages, hours, safety conditions, and, most important, union recognition. Months of sporadic violence between the strikers and guards employed by the companies forced the governor of Colorado to call out the National Guard. The situation worsened through the winter, and on April 20, 1914, open warfare erupted. During the course of a pitched battle between the strikers and the guardsmen, eleven women and children suffocated to death in a small crawl space under their burning tent; scores of others on both sides were killed and wounded in the days following this event, eventually forcing President Woodrow Wilson to dispatch federal troops to enforce an uneasy truce.

It was a terrible tragedy, and because the name Rockefeller evoked such powerful emotions, Grandfather and Father were dragged into the middle of the conflict. There were even demonstrations outside our West 54th Street home denouncing the Rockefellers for the crimes of Ludlow.

Father appeared before several congressional committees investigating conditions in Colorado, both before and after the Ludlow tragedy. At first he took a hardline position against the strikers, undoubtedly influenced by Gates, who considered the strikers little better than anarchists. After Ludlow, Father began to question the soundness of Gates’s position. He removed the despised head of CF&I and hired Ivy Lee, who suggested that Father retain a labor expert to help him resolve the issues. Lee was much more than an image maker. He convinced Father that he would have to address the underlying causes of the miners’ discontent.

Father then hired William Lyon Mackenzie King, who would later become prime minister of Canada. Mr. King became Father’s closest friend, and at his recommendation, Father implemented an industrial representation plan at CF&I that became a milestone in labor relations. Father traveled to Colorado with King and spent several days meeting with the miners and even dancing with their wives at a square dance.

Father’s objective was to improve labor relations in the United States by addressing the grievances of labor and persuading businessmen to recognize their broader responsibilities to their workers. For that reason, his involvement with labor issues did not end with Ludlow but remained a central interest for the rest of his life. In the early 1920s he established a company, Industrial Relations Counselors, to advise corporations on labor relations. It was well received, and a number of large American corporations, including several in the Standard Oil group, used its services.

Ludlow was a rite of passage for Father. Although not a businessman by talent or inclination, he had demonstrated his skill and courage. What must have impressed Grandfather most was Father’s determination and strength of character under very trying circumstances. Moreover, he had displayed these qualities during a time of intense personal tragedy; in March 1915 his beloved mother, Laura, died after a long illness, and his father-in-law, Senator Aldrich, died of a massive cerebral hemorrhage a month later. These events took place only a short time before my birth on June 12, 1915. It was a period of trauma for both my parents.

Ludlow and its aftermath seem to have convinced Grandfather that his son was fully qualified to bear the burden of managing his great fortune. Beginning in 1917, Grandfather began to transfer his remaining assets to Father — about one-half billion dollars at the time, which was equivalent to about $10 billion today. Father promptly set about restructuring his life to deal with the responsibilities that great wealth had brought him. Essentially, his goals would be the same as those expressed by the motto of the Rockefeller Foundation: improving the well-being of mankind throughout the world. This meant continuing his active involvement with the institutions started by Grandfather: the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research, the General Education Board, and the Rockefeller Foundation, where he already had significant leadership responsibilities. But it also gave him the opportunity to initiate projects of his own — projects that would range over practically every field of human activity from religion to science, the environment, politics, and culture.

Chapter 3 - Childhood

I was born in my parents’ home at 10 West 54th Street on June 12, 1915. Their home wasn’t a chateau with turrets, crenelated walls, and expansive ballrooms of the sort built by the Vanderbilts and others along Fifth Avenue, but it wasn’t exactly simple, either. At the time it was the largest private residence in New York City and had nine floors and an enclosed play area on the roof. Below it there was a squash court, a gymnasium, and a private infirmary, where I was born and where family members would go if sick with a contagious disease such as the measles or mumps. On the second floor was a music room with a pipe organ and a large piano; it was here that my parents hosted recitals by such noted artists as Ignacy Jan Paderewski and Lucretia Bori.

Surrounded by Art

The house was filled with art from many parts of the world, the style and period of which reflected my parents’ very different tastes and personalities. Mother’s taste was eclectic and ranged from the art of the ancient world to contemporary work from Europe and the United States. Her interest in contemporary American artists emerged during the 1920s. Under the guidance of Edith Halpert, owner of the Downtown Gallery, Mother acquired works by Sheeler, Hopper, Demuth, Burchfield, and Arthur Davies. It was during this time that Mother came to know Lillie Bliss and Mary Quinn Sullivan, who shared her excitement about modern art. The three of them were concerned that talented artists had little prospect of being shown by a museum until they were dead — if then. They decided to establish a museum of modern art where the works of contemporary artists would be shown. It was through their initiative that the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) came into being in late 1929.

Although Father provided Mother with ample funds for her personal needs, she did not have independent resources to buy expensive works of art; oil paintings by Monet, Manet, Degas, Matisse, and others were beyond her means. Instead, she acquired prints and drawings by several of these artists, eventually forming a remarkable collection, much of which she later donated to MoMA.

Father disliked modern art. He considered it unlifelike, ugly, and disturbing, and discouraged Mother from hanging contemporary art in those areas of the house that he frequented. Though respectful of his views, she remained undaunted in her growing interest. In 1930, Mother retained Donald Deskey, the designer who later supervised the decoration of Radio City Music Hall, to transform what had been the children’s playroom on the seventh floor of Number 10 into an art gallery.

Father’s more traditional tastes prevailed in other parts of the house, although Mother’s influence and good taste was very much in evidence there as well. Indeed, Mother fully shared Father’s appreciation of ancient and classical art, as well as the art of the Renaissance and post-Renaissance periods. Mother loved beauty wherever she found it, but Father’s taste was restricted to the more conventional and realistic art forms.

Shortly after building Number 10, my parents ran out of space for some of the large and important pieces they had acquired, so they bought the house next door. Connecting doors were cut through the walls from Number 10 on three floors. It was here that Father displayed some of his favorite works, including ten eighteenth-century Gobelin tapestries, The Months of Lucas, woven originally for Louis XIV, and the early-fifteenth-century set of French Gothic tapestries, the famous Hunt of the Unicorn.

I was fond of the Unicorn Tapestries and often took visitors through the room where they were hung, explaining to them, panel by panel, the story of the hunted unicorn. One of the visitors was Governor Al Smith of New York, who, as a guest at my sister’s wedding, listened patiently to my monologue and later sent me a photograph of himself signed To my pal, Dave, from Al Smith, as a thanks. In the late 1930s, Father gave both sets of tapestries to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Unicorn Tapestries continue to be the central feature in the Metropolitan’s Cloisters Museum in Fort Tryon Park near the northern tip of Manhattan Island.

Father’s pride and joy was his comprehensive collection of Chinese porcelains from the Ming and K’ang-hsi dynasties. He had acquired a significant portion of J. P. Morgan’s enormous collection in 1913 and maintained his intense interest in these beautiful objects for the rest of his life. Many of the K’ang-hsi pieces were huge beakers, taller than I was as a boy. They stood on specially made stands and were conspicuously displayed in several rooms on the second floor at Number 10. They looked very imposing — and overwhelming. He also bought many smaller pieces, including figures of mythical animals and human figures that were delicately painted and beautifully wrought. To this day I have a picture of him in my mind, examining the porcelains he was thinking of buying with a magnifying glass to ensure they had not been broken and restored.

Mother also loved Asian art, but she preferred the ceramics and sculpture of the earlier Chinese and Korean dynasties, as well as Buddhist art from other parts of Asia. She had what we called the Buddha room in Number 12, filled with many statues of the Buddha and the goddess Kuan-Yin, where the lights were kept dim and the air heavily scented with burning incense.