Too Much and Never Enough, стр. 21
Linda was shocked. Her husband was under more stress than usual, but she thought it might be the result of his being responsible for the lives of more than two hundred people every time he flew.
“Freddy, what are you talking about?”
“It’s not working out, Linda. I don’t see how we can keep going.”
“You’re not even here half the time,” she said, mystified by his outburst. “We have a baby. How can you say that?”
Freddy stood up and poured himself a drink. “Forget it,” he said, and left the room.
They never renewed that conversation, and after a few days, they continued on as though nothing unusual had happened.
In June Donald, then eighteen and freshly graduated from the military academy, and Robert, sixteen, still a student at Freddy’s alma mater, St. Paul’s, drove up to Marblehead for a visit, arriving in Donald’s new sports car, a high school graduation present from his parents—a step up from the luggage Freddy had received when he had graduated from college.
Freddy was anxious about seeing them. None of his siblings had ever been up in a plane with him or expressed any interest in his new career. He hoped that maybe, if he could let his brothers into his world, he’d find an ally; having even one person in his family who believed in him might bolster his waning strength to withstand his father’s disapproval.
At the time of the visit, Donald was at a crossroads. When Freddy had announced he was stepping away from Trump Management in December 1963, Donald had been caught flat-footed. His brother’s decision had come at the end of the first semester of Donald’s senior year, and since his name wasn’t Fred, he had no idea what his future role in the company might be, although he did plan to work there in some capacity. Because of that uncertainty, he hadn’t adequately prepared for his future beyond high school. When he graduated from New York Military Academy that spring, he had not yet been accepted into college. He asked Maryanne to help him find a spot at a local school when he got back home.
Freddy and Linda had a barbecue for lunch, during which Donald told them he was going to Chicago with their dad to “help” him with a development he was considering. Freddy’s relief was palpable. Maybe Fred was beginning to accept the new reality and had decided to take Donald on as his heir apparent.
Later in the afternoon, Freddy took the boys out on his “yacht” to do some fishing.
Despite Freddy’s best attempts to teach his brother the basics of the sport, Donald had never gotten the hang of it. Donald had still been at NYMA the last time they’d been on a boat together, along with Billy and a couple of Freddy’s fraternity brothers. When one of them had tried to show Donald how to hold the pole properly, Donald had pulled away and said, “I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, buddy. And you’re doing it really badly.” The rest of the guys had laughed. Donald had thrown his pole onto the deck and stalked off toward the bow. He had been so angry, he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking, and Freddy had worried that he might walk right off the boat. Donald’s fishing skills hadn’t improved in the interim.
When the three brothers returned from the harbor, Linda was preparing dinner. As soon as they came into the house, she could sense the tension. Something had shifted. Freddy’s good mood had been replaced by a quiet, barely contained anger. Freddy didn’t often lose his temper, not then, and she took it as a bad sign. He poured himself a drink. Another bad sign.
Even before they sat down for dinner, Donald started in on his older brother. “You know, Dad’s really sick of you wasting your life,” he declared, as though he’d suddenly remembered why he was there.
“I don’t need you to tell me what Dad thinks,” said Freddy, who already knew his father’s opinions all too well.
“He says he’s embarrassed by you.”
“I don’t get why you care,” Freddy replied. “You want to work with Dad, go ahead. I’m not interested.”
“Freddy,” he said, “Dad’s right about you: you’re nothing but a glorified bus driver.” Donald may not have understood the origin of their father’s contempt for Freddy and his decision to become a professional pilot, but he had the bully’s unerring instinct for finding the most effective way to undermine an adversary.
Freddy understood that his brothers had been sent to deliver their father’s message in person—or at least Donald had. But hearing Fred’s belittling words come out of his little brother’s mouth broke his spirit.
Linda overheard the exchange and came into the living room from the kitchen in time to see Freddy’s face drained of all color. She slammed the plate she was holding onto the table and screamed at her brother-in-law, “You should just keep your mouth shut, Donald! Do you know how hard he’s had to work? You have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Freddy didn’t speak to either of his brothers for the remainder of that night, and they left for New York the next morning, a day earlier than planned.
Freddy’s drinking worsened.
In July, TWA offered him a promotion. The airline wanted to send him to their facility in Kansas City to train him on the new 727s it was introducing to the fleet. He declined, even though Linda reminded him that he never would have disregarded an order from one of his superiors in the National Guard. He told management that having signed a yearlong lease for a furnished house in Marblehead only two months earlier, he couldn’t justify uprooting his young family again. In truth, Freddy had begun to suspect that his dream was coming to an end. He was losing hope that his father would accept him as a professional pilot,