question of where we set up shop. I have some ideas on that, if you’d care to hear them.”
“I’m listening. Go ahead.”
I said that though our headquarters should be convenient to Washington, it needn’t actually be in the city. “I would think, by building a place out in the suburbs, say in Prince Georges County, we could save quite a lot of expenses—if the building were in the style of a colonial mansion, no more than three stories, we wouldn’t need elevators, for example, and at the same time we’d have ample space for books, records, offices, and so on. If we harmonized it with colonial architecture—”
“With a deer park, perhaps?”
“Why not? Those miniature Indian deer would cost very little and be quite a feature, especially for children.”
“Swan lake?”
“In Europe they have them.”
“Box hedges?”
“They give off a beautiful smell.”
“Well, you can take your deer park and swan lake and box hedges and do what you want with them. But don’t ask me to come in. I hate mansions and everything connected with them. Dr. Palmer, there’s more comfort, more safety, more health, in a modern apartment building than in all the mansions ever built. I hate swan lakes, especially. They’re nothing but frog ponds, reflecting the light of the moon. Poor old John Charles Thomas. I dropped in on him once before he died, in Apple Valley, California, where he lived the last years of his life. And he was telling me about the Hollywood Bowl and how some genius had the bright idea of putting a fish pond in, between the seats and the shell. ‘Maybe some fish were there,’ John Charles said, ‘but all you could hear was frogs. I’d hate to tell you what they did to me one night. That’s nice, isn’t it? You’re singing The Trumpeter, you hold the last verse, and then you start it. You breathe it at them, you’ve got them. You finish, and there comes that moment you pray for, of utter, reverent silence before the applause breaks out. Then a goddam frog goes glk.’”
“All right, the mansion is out.”
“Why not a couple of floors in the Garrett Building? The one I already have on Massachusetts Avenue—in Washington, I’m talking about.”
“A little slower please. You’re way ahead of me.”
“I have to have this Washington branch on account of the things I sell, or my companies sell. They all involve patents, and patents have to be defended at hearings of various kinds. They also involve legislation, tariffs, authorizations of one kind or another, appropriations, and so on. All that means lawyers, lobbyists, agents, gumshoes, goons, and God-knows-what. They have to have offices with phones, secretaries, and messengers. So I bought this building down there, reserved two floors for them, and rented out the other floors—ten, actually. So, O.K., why can’t you take two? Or three? Or however many you’ll need? I’ll make the building over to you. You’ll rent the other floors out, and the rent you get will be a nice lift for your budget. Is that an idea or not?”
“I’m sorry, but I have to say no.”
He looked very startled and stared at me for some time. After several moments, after he had said, “You quite surprise me” and in other ways betrayed that he had been set back on his heels, he finally asked: “Why do you say that?”
“It’s against the law, Mr. Garrett.”
“It’s what?”
“You can’t endow a foundation and then rent yourself office space. You could until recently, but they found it was being used as a loophole, some tricky angle on taxes. So Congress closed it.”
“Well! Thanks for warning me.” He leaned back, staring at his desk top. His chair squeaked. He pressed a button. When Miss Immelman came in, he said: “Get on this chair, will you? Have it greased or something.”
“Yes, Mr. Garrett, I will.”
Then to me: “What would be your idea?”
“Why—I have no idea yet. I may get one, though. Give me a little time.”
“Why
“I’m listening. Go ahead.”
I said that though our headquarters should be convenient to Washington, it needn’t actually be in the city. “I would think, by building a place out in the suburbs, say in Prince Georges County, we could save quite a lot of expenses—if the building were in the style of a colonial mansion, no more than three stories, we wouldn’t need elevators, for example, and at the same time we’d have ample space for books, records, offices, and so on. If we harmonized it with colonial architecture—”
“With a deer park, perhaps?”
“Why not? Those miniature Indian deer would cost very little and be quite a feature, especially for children.”
“Swan lake?”
“In Europe they have them.”
“Box hedges?”
“They give off a beautiful smell.”
“Well, you can take your deer park and swan lake and box hedges and do what you want with them. But don’t ask me to come in. I hate mansions and everything connected with them. Dr. Palmer, there’s more comfort, more safety, more health, in a modern apartment building than in all the mansions ever built. I hate swan lakes, especially. They’re nothing but frog ponds, reflecting the light of the moon. Poor old John Charles Thomas. I dropped in on him once before he died, in Apple Valley, California, where he lived the last years of his life. And he was telling me about the Hollywood Bowl and how some genius had the bright idea of putting a fish pond in, between the seats and the shell. ‘Maybe some fish were there,’ John Charles said, ‘but all you could hear was frogs. I’d hate to tell you what they did to me one night. That’s nice, isn’t it? You’re singing The Trumpeter, you hold the last verse, and then you start it. You breathe it at them, you’ve got them. You finish, and there comes that moment you pray for, of utter, reverent silence before the applause breaks out. Then a goddam frog goes glk.’”
“All right, the mansion is out.”
“Why not a couple of floors in the Garrett Building? The one I already have on Massachusetts Avenue—in Washington, I’m talking about.”
“A little slower please. You’re way ahead of me.”
“I have to have this Washington branch on account of the things I sell, or my companies sell. They all involve patents, and patents have to be defended at hearings of various kinds. They also involve legislation, tariffs, authorizations of one kind or another, appropriations, and so on. All that means lawyers, lobbyists, agents, gumshoes, goons, and God-knows-what. They have to have offices with phones, secretaries, and messengers. So I bought this building down there, reserved two floors for them, and rented out the other floors—ten, actually. So, O.K., why can’t you take two? Or three? Or however many you’ll need? I’ll make the building over to you. You’ll rent the other floors out, and the rent you get will be a nice lift for your budget. Is that an idea or not?”
“I’m sorry, but I have to say no.”
He looked very startled and stared at me for some time. After several moments, after he had said, “You quite surprise me” and in other ways betrayed that he had been set back on his heels, he finally asked: “Why do you say that?”
“It’s against the law, Mr. Garrett.”
“It’s what?”
“You can’t endow a foundation and then rent yourself office space. You could until recently, but they found it was being used as a loophole, some tricky angle on taxes. So Congress closed it.”
“Well! Thanks for warning me.” He leaned back, staring at his desk top. His chair squeaked. He pressed a button. When Miss Immelman came in, he said: “Get on this chair, will you? Have it greased or something.”
“Yes, Mr. Garrett, I will.”
Then to me: “What would be your idea?”
“Why—I have no idea yet. I may get one, though. Give me a little time.”
“Why
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