Cashing the Czech

Whether Robert Maxwell committed suicide or was murdered Might never be known to the public…

Suffice it to state 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 weak parents as Jan Ludvick Hoch and Anglicizing his name when he migrated to Great Britain through World War II, Maxwell used the fog of battle to his benefit, picking a scientific journal distributorship in a bargain rate. He soon parlayed that into more literary acquisitions and doing so with such aplomb, he even gained election to Parliament.

But a path of deceit started soon thereafter, which led to some High Court censorship, then to possible war crime allegations and, finally, to an amazing web of falsified balance sheets and deceptive bank loan collateral that masked Maxwell’s mass looting of his publishing empire’s coffers. When all was about to come crashing down upon himMaxwell was reported to have fallen back while yachting across the Canary Islands. His extensive double-dealing earned him the posthumous title of The Bouncing Czech.

Maxwell’s bombastic self, though, was authentic. He ached to be bigger than life and also to outdo any perceived rival, such as Australian billionaire Rupert Murdoch, whose very own publishing empire spans the globe. Paradoxically, Maxwell attempted to grab any chance to portray Murdoch as a low-life, projecting himself as a higher-minded alternate to the conscientious consumer. Thus, to cancel Murdoch’s titillation-themed, Tory-leaning tabloid, the Sun, Maxwell conducted his Daily Mirror as a seemingly kinder, gentler, Labour-oriented purveyor of similar tales.

Maxwell always ran a distant second in the United Kingdom’s tabloid wars, so he was always searching for an advantage with which to tweak Murdoch’s surgeries and further convey the picture — yet cynical — of his holding the higher social and moral ground. I can illustrate that, at the very least, a blend of this his blowhard character got the better of him.

It was a summer day from the mid-80s, and also the prospects of secondary smoke being a health issue at the workplace were starting to be accepted as fact. It was absolutely noble for Cap’n Bob — since Maxwell was derisively known — to be among the first to attempt an office-wide smoking ban. The Mirror’s headquarters was no doubt served, however, it was obvious his motives were for self-promotion as opposed to a real concern for his employees’ welfare.

The very first hint that this was the situation was the boisterous manner by which Maxwell arbitrarily enforced the policy. Especially, 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 to get maximum impact. In this example, he decreed that anyone caught smoking in his building would be fired immediately.

On this day, Maxwell was holding court for people of a dignified nature. He had been guiding them throughout the Mirror facilities when a guy hunched over a local photocopy machine captured his attention. The man had a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Cap’n Bob summoned his guests to accompany him . Puffing his chest as he approached the guy puffing away, Maxwell began his diatribe within measures of his quarry and obtained decibels with each successive step.

“Sir!” He exclaimed,”How much can you make a month?”

The goal of his wrath was caught off-guard. It took him a moment to confirm that Maxwell was speaking to him; actually,’at him’ are more precise.

“I asked you a question,” Maxwell pressed, making certain that his guests totally knew who was responsible for the instant,”And I hope a prompt answer. How much can you make a month!”

“2000 quid,” was the nervous reaction. “Why do you ask?”

“You are smoking!” was the roared retort. Cap’n Bob then reached into his pocket preparation for its 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 is a month’s commission! You’re fired! Now, get out!”

Maxwell then stormed away, his cotillion of amazed guests after dutifully behind. A strong boss had surely made a firm point.

Left in the aftermath, the stunned man recovered the stash of money from his pocket, looked at it and shook his head in amazement.

“I was just called here in order to repair the copier,” he shrugged. He put the cash in his pants pocket, flicked a couple of ashes to the ground, headed toward the front door and jumped 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, rather.

The incident capsulized Cap’n Bob’s behave in a nutshell. He was show, with very little focus on detail. It was a harbinger that if somebody paid close heed to his affairs, he would be sunk.

I just didn’t think it would happen so literally.