The last tycoons: the secret history of Lazard Frères & Co by William D. Cohan Page A
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Authors: William D. Cohan
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Jewish, either. I learned I was Jewish because of the war." (To this day, Michel provides financial support worldwide to both Catholic and Jewish charities.) Hubert Heilbronn, a Lazard partner who became acquainted with Michel during this time, believed that it was in hiding, during the war, that Michel developed his legendary "indifference" to other people. Michel's half brother Jean Gaillard--Berthe's son by a first marriage--was less fortunate. As a result of his membership in the France Libre resistance movement, Gaillard was captured by the Nazis and sent first to Dora and then to Ravensbruck, where he died. Berthe never recovered from the loss of her son.
WHILE ALTSCHUL WAS devoting himself to helping Pierre and his family, Andre was slowly but surely stirring up trouble for Altschul in Lazard's offices at 120 Broadway. At first, though, Andre and his family were struggling to adjust to the New World. Upon arriving in New York, the Meyers stayed at the Stanhope Hotel on Fifth Avenue. Then they moved on to the Delmonico on Park Avenue, and then on to a few others before settling, finally, at the ultraluxurious Carlyle Hotel on Madison Avenue, where they took up residence in a two-bedroom suite on the thirty-third floor. All this meandering around the Upper East Side was evidence of just how out of sorts Andre felt beyond the world he had created for himself in Paris. He had been misdiagnosed as having cancer. He had trouble speaking English. He had no clients. Worse, nobody knew who he was or what he had accomplished at Lazard in Paris. He was no longer important to anyone. "It was all a great shock for him--Nazism, the war, France's defeat," his son Philippe explained. "On the personal side, he had been a great, great success, and suddenly everything collapsed, and he had to start all over again. And he didn't know if he had the strength or courage to do it."
Finally, sometime around May 1, 1941, Andre recovered from this malaise and headed back into the fray. He hired a new assistant, Simone Rosen, a Belgian woman who had brought her mother to the interview with Andre at the Hampshire House hotel on Central Park South. Once hired, mother and daughter Rosen set up Andre's office at 120 Broadway--not in the Lazard offices on the second floor, but rather thirty floors above. Rosen would remain Andre's assistant for the rest of his life. Indeed the press of business surrounding Andre was such that over time he hired a second assistant, Annik Percival, the daughter of his Swiss accountant.
Typically, Andre--in his efforts to regain his previous form--set his sights on the grandest prize of all: wooing as a client the much-admired David Sarnoff, the chairman of RCA. For starters, Andre donated the unheard-of sum of $100,000 to the United Jewish Appeal, one of Sarnoff's favorite charities. Sarnoff, somewhat baffled by such largesse from a man he had neither heard of nor met, sought out Andre, as Andre hoped he would, much the same way that Felix Frankfurter had sought out Frank Altschul. The two hit it off famously; RCA remained a Lazard client for decades. "Getting the RCA account then was the equivalent of getting the Microsoft account today," explained Patrick Gerschel, Andre's grandson.
Finally, two days after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Andre began to stir up the New York partners on the second floor. Although he was not then one of the five partners of the New York firm, he still had the ability to get his way, thanks to his power under section 4.1 of the rewritten partnership agreement. He sent a most provocative memorandum, on his 120 Broadway letterhead, to the New York Lazard partners that could only be interpreted as a startling preview of an inevitable showdown. It was classic Andre: at once firm and authoritative but with a touch of deference and flattery.
"Dear Friends," he wrote, in surprisingly articulate English,
At the time when we are about to sign a new contract, I wish to state, as
WHILE ALTSCHUL WAS devoting himself to helping Pierre and his family, Andre was slowly but surely stirring up trouble for Altschul in Lazard's offices at 120 Broadway. At first, though, Andre and his family were struggling to adjust to the New World. Upon arriving in New York, the Meyers stayed at the Stanhope Hotel on Fifth Avenue. Then they moved on to the Delmonico on Park Avenue, and then on to a few others before settling, finally, at the ultraluxurious Carlyle Hotel on Madison Avenue, where they took up residence in a two-bedroom suite on the thirty-third floor. All this meandering around the Upper East Side was evidence of just how out of sorts Andre felt beyond the world he had created for himself in Paris. He had been misdiagnosed as having cancer. He had trouble speaking English. He had no clients. Worse, nobody knew who he was or what he had accomplished at Lazard in Paris. He was no longer important to anyone. "It was all a great shock for him--Nazism, the war, France's defeat," his son Philippe explained. "On the personal side, he had been a great, great success, and suddenly everything collapsed, and he had to start all over again. And he didn't know if he had the strength or courage to do it."
Finally, sometime around May 1, 1941, Andre recovered from this malaise and headed back into the fray. He hired a new assistant, Simone Rosen, a Belgian woman who had brought her mother to the interview with Andre at the Hampshire House hotel on Central Park South. Once hired, mother and daughter Rosen set up Andre's office at 120 Broadway--not in the Lazard offices on the second floor, but rather thirty floors above. Rosen would remain Andre's assistant for the rest of his life. Indeed the press of business surrounding Andre was such that over time he hired a second assistant, Annik Percival, the daughter of his Swiss accountant.
Typically, Andre--in his efforts to regain his previous form--set his sights on the grandest prize of all: wooing as a client the much-admired David Sarnoff, the chairman of RCA. For starters, Andre donated the unheard-of sum of $100,000 to the United Jewish Appeal, one of Sarnoff's favorite charities. Sarnoff, somewhat baffled by such largesse from a man he had neither heard of nor met, sought out Andre, as Andre hoped he would, much the same way that Felix Frankfurter had sought out Frank Altschul. The two hit it off famously; RCA remained a Lazard client for decades. "Getting the RCA account then was the equivalent of getting the Microsoft account today," explained Patrick Gerschel, Andre's grandson.
Finally, two days after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Andre began to stir up the New York partners on the second floor. Although he was not then one of the five partners of the New York firm, he still had the ability to get his way, thanks to his power under section 4.1 of the rewritten partnership agreement. He sent a most provocative memorandum, on his 120 Broadway letterhead, to the New York Lazard partners that could only be interpreted as a startling preview of an inevitable showdown. It was classic Andre: at once firm and authoritative but with a touch of deference and flattery.
"Dear Friends," he wrote, in surprisingly articulate English,
At the time when we are about to sign a new contract, I wish to state, as
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