Conrad and Lady Black: Dancing on the Edge. Tom Bower
The doctor’s diagnosis was bleak. His father, Conrad was told, was unlikely to survive. Despite the prognosis, Conrad returned to his own home and watched a Charlie Chan film. His viewing was interrupted by a telephone call. George Black, the doctor announced, was dead. Many, occasionally including his son, believed that he had committed suicide. At thirty-two, Conrad Black was an orphan with a purpose.
Toronto’s financial leaders gathered for George Black’s funeral. The pall bearers, who included all Ravelston’s directors, were led by Bud McDougald and E.P. Taylor. Conrad watched McDougald with particular interest. While he admired ‘the ultimate Canadian tycoon’,4 he recognised that he represented Canada’s ‘corporate rot’, and that his fortune had been earned in a uniquely dishonest manner called ‘tollgating’.5 Conrad’s later pious denunciation of the legend’s ‘venality and self-delusion’ at his father’s graveside did not undermine his endorsement of McDougald’s crushing piety: ‘Some are chosen, some are not.’ In the jungle, Conrad Black was committed to stand among the chosen.
Bud McDougald, like Ravelston’s other major shareholders, Black noted, had no children. Their wives were uninterested in business. Those circumstances would be his opportunity. Ingratiating himself with the older directors was not a chore, but rather an investment. Among Conrad Black’s skills was flattering old, lonely, rich people.
After their father’s funeral, Conrad and Monte Black called on Bud McDougald, who controlled the fate of the two young men’s assets. To Conrad’s relief they were ‘welcomed most graciously’. Whereas Conrad had condemned McDougald as a ‘snob, bigot … and an unlearned reactionary’ who had succumbed to ‘jet-addicted decadence’, on that particular day he encountered ‘an elegant and considerable figure’.6 After a brief discussion the brothers emerged with a satisfactory deal. Conrad was given a directorship of Argus and Ravelston, while Monte was given directorships of other companies. As if to confirm his younger brother’s intellectual superiority, Monte agreed that Conrad should inherit their parents’ grand house amid seven acres in Bridle Path’s Park Lane Circle. The house matched Conrad’s ambitions. Unlike Monte, an unthreatening bon vivant with a fondness for big cigars, fast cars and good food, Conrad’s dream was to join the establishment and to control an empire matching those of Canada’s principal families, including the Eatons, the owners of the country’s dominant department store chain; the Westons, who owned a food and retail business; the Bronfmans, whose fortune was built on alcohol during the Prohibition; the Thomsons, the media family whose assets included the Times newspapers in Britain; and the investors Paul Desmarais of Power Corporation and Hal Jackman, the inheritor of a large investment fund.7 Stuck on the periphery, Conrad Black hoped to use his inheritance to become a power on Bay Street and a member of Toronto’s financial mafia. His life over the previous thirty-two years had been a preparation for that struggle.
Privilege and prejudice had been Conrad Black’s roots since his birth in Montreal on 25 August 1944. By the age of five, when the family moved to Toronto, he was cosseted by cooks, butlers, nannies and chauffeurs. In the winter holidays he escaped Toronto’s freeze in the Bahamas. At Nassau’s Porcupine Club he gazed with his father at the Mellons, du Ponts and other American magnates. Although George Black did not rank among the super-rich, he was a successful businessman with an astute intellect. Well-read, and always irritated by those who misused the English language, he noted his son’s exceptional gifts and became preoccupied with creating an extraordinary individual out of him.
Obsessively he ordered Conrad to recall facts, both relevant and irrelevant. After intensive games of chess, his son was encouraged to read encyclopaedias and, like himself, recall what he read. Conrad’s bedrooms were filled with books about the military, wars and politics. He learned not only the names of the world’s ships, both commercial and naval, but their weight, armour thickness and guns. In the midst of the Korean War Conrad Black sat transfixed listening to David Brinkley’s news broadcasts, and watched the television reports of the McCarthy hearings in Washington targeted at unearthing Communist sympathisers. Influenced by his father in favour of capitalism, he grew up with a hatred of those on the left, whom he later damned as ‘phoney, envious and mediocre bleeding hearts whining and snivelling about meritocratic Darwinism’. Nowhere in Black’s education or experience was there any sympathy for the anonymous, simple, honest masses born underprivileged and without special talents. On the contrary, there was boastfulness when in 1952 his father arranged his purchase of a single General Motors share costing $59. The eight-year-old Black had dollar bills spilling from his pockets. When one fell into the mud, he carefully washed it. His journey across the Atlantic on the Queen Elizabeth the following year to watch the coronation in London enhanced the image of a spoilt child taking luxury for granted.
From the age of eleven the unsporting, overweight Black was driven every day to Toronto’s Upper Canada College, one of the country’s elite private schools, in a chauffeur-driven Cadillac. Awkward and isolated, he was not a natural enthusiast for a society focused on conformity and obedience. During his school day he could be certain that his family’s servants were cleaning his room, washing his clothes and preparing his dinner. Occasionally the chauffeur returned to serve lunch in the limousine. Voices, books and images conjured up for the young Black a romantic fantasy of enjoying the same unlimited power as history’s titans, assured that whatever he willed would be carried out. Entitlement bred defiance and insolence, fashioning a personality which enjoyed a fight and savoured inflicting defeat. Black’s childhood, remarked John Fraser, a school friend, was like prison for a pre-teenager convinced that he was smarter than the system.8
The scoffs directed at the tubby outsider, Conrad believed, were driven by ‘spite and envy’, one of the oft-repeated phrases that encapsulated his life’s credo. His encyclopaedic knowledge, he assumed, was resented, reinforcing his sense of superiority and hatred of regimentation. He construed his teachers as remote from reality, and their authority as a misuse of power. History, he believed, showed how those exercising authority were flawed. Success was won by those who were unwilling to obey laws. Those who failed to admire him were dismissed as despicable. Teachers whom he judged to be inferior excited his contempt. Defiance, in Black’s interpretation, showed courage. His insolence did not pass unpunished. Regularly he received corporal punishment on his backside or hands with rulers, slippers and even a riding crop. The ‘official terror’, he later recalled, imposed by flagellators, homosexuals and failures transformed him from a ‘sceptic to a rebel, an insurrectionist and an anarchist’.9
There was equal hatred of his fellow pupils who succumbed to the teachers’ tyranny. Black promoted himself as the spokesman against the sadism of his inferiors. ‘This school is like a concentration camp,’ he told John Fraser in the midst of a typical fury. ‘E.P. Taylor could buy this silly place fifty times over. He’d subdivide and make some money off it.’ Fraser and others were baffled by Black’s anger. Life at Upper Canada was little different from that at other schools. The school’s summer camp motto: ‘In the boy is seen the man’ – would prove to be remarkably pertinent.
In May 1959 the school was being rebuilt, and the fourteen-year-old Black spotted lax security in the administrative offices. One night, with little consideration of the consequences, he returned to the building and picked the lock of a room containing the records of the cadet corps. In the hope of avoiding military duty and sport, he removed his own records. On a subsequent night he broke into the room of a teacher whom he particularly disliked and altered the records of some pupils, and in another break-in he copied out the academic records of many pupils. His success bred an outrageous plot to steal and sell the school’s final examination papers.
With two other pupils, he broke into the school’s main office, pocketed the examination papers and used his knowledge of other students’ weaknesses to offer them the relevant papers for an appropriate price. Those in greatest need paid the most. With an exaggerated sense of his own skills, the trademark of any buccaneer,