Most Eligible Bachelor of 1937. Another called him the closest America had come to producing a crown prince.
A prewar profile in
Another official corporate photo. Belding appeared frightened of the camera, standing, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, a large lug wrench in one hand, next to a gargantuan piece of cast-iron machinery. By age thirty he’d attained a monkish look- high forehead, sensitive mouth, thick eyeglasses that couldn’t hide the intensity of round, dark eyes. A modern-day Midas, according to the article, representing the best of American ingenuity combined with good old-fashioned hard work. Though born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Belding had never allowed it to tarnish; he’d favored twenty-hour days, and wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. He had a photographic memory, knew his hundreds of employees by name, but didn’t suffer fools gladly, had no patience for the frivolity of the “cocktail crowd.”
His idyllic life as an only son had been cut cruelly short when both his parents perished in a car crash- returning, after a party, to their rented villa on the Spanish island of Ibiza, just south of Majorca.
Another layer. I stopped reading, tried to make some sense of that. When I couldn’t, I resumed reading.
At the time of the accident, Belding had been nineteen, a senior at Stanford, majoring in physics and engineering. He dropped out of college, returned to Houston to run the family petroleum business, and expanded immediately into the manufacture of oil-drilling equipment, using designs that he’d developed as student projects. A year later he diversified into heavy farm machinery, took flying lessons, proved to be a natural, and qualified easily as a pilot. He began devoting himself to airplane construction. Within five years he dominated the aerospace industry, flooding the field with technical innovations.
In 1939 he consolidated his holdings as the Magna Corporation (corporate press release: “… had Mr. Belding graduated Stanford, he would have received his degree
Rumors of a public stock offering made bulls and bears take note. But the offering never materialized and Wall Street regretted that out loud, calling Lee Belding a cowboy who’d eventually bite off more than he could chew. Belding had no comment, continued branching out- to shipping, railroads, real estate, construction.
He obtained the contract for a Department of Labor annex in Washington, D.C., built low-cost housing in Kentucky, an army base in Nevada, then bucked the mob and the unions in order to create the Casbah- the largest, most ostentatious casino ever to blot out the Las Vegas sun.
By his thirtieth birthday he’d increased his inheritance thirty times over, was one of the five richest men in America, and definitely its most secretive, refusing interviews and shunning public events. The press forgave him; playing hard to get only made him better copy and gave them more latitude.
Privacy, the last luxury…
It wasn’t until after World War II that the honeymoon between America and Leland Belding began to sour. As the nation buried its dead, and working people faced an uncertain future, left-leaning journalists began to point out that Belding had used the war to become a billionaire while ensconced in his penthouse at Magna headquarters.
Subsequent snooping revealed that between ’42 and ’45, the assets of the Magna Corporation had quadrupled, due to successful bidding for thousands of government defense contracts: Magna had been the armed forces’ prime supplier of bombers, aircraft guidance systems, antiaircraft weapons, tanks and halftracks, even K-ration kits and servicemen’s uniforms.
Terms like
Rumors of corruption soon followed- intimations that all those contracts hadn’t been won by putting in the lowest bid. By early 1947 the intimations became accusations and took on enough substance for the U.S. Senate to pay heed. A subcommittee was created, charged with investigating the genesis of Leland Belding’s war profits and dissecting the inner workings of the Magna Corporation. Belding ignored the furor, turned his talents to movies, bought a studio, and invented a hand-held motion picture camera that promised to revolutionize the industry.
In November of ’47, the Senate subcommittee held public hearings.
I found a summary of the proceedings in a business magazine- conservative point of view, no pictures, all small print and dry prose.
But not dry enough to camouflage the racy nature of the main accusation against Belding:
That he was less captain of industry than high-class pimp.
Committee investigators claimed Belding had shifted the odds on contract bids by throwing “wild parties” for War Board officials, government purchasing agents, legislators. These bashes took place in several secluded Hollywood Hills houses purchased by the Magna Corporation expressly as “party pads,” and featured “stag movies,” flowing booze, indulgence in “marijuana reefers,” as well as nude dancing and swimming displays by legions of “young women of loose morals.”
These women, described as “professional party girls,” were aspiring actresses chosen by the man who ran Belding’s studio, a “former management consultant” named William Houck “Billy” Vidal.
The hearings went on for more than six months; then, gradually, what had promised to be a juicy story began to shrivel. The subcommittee proved unable to produce witnesses to the notorious parties, other than Belding’s business competitors, who testified from hearsay and crumpled in cross-examination. And the billionaire himself refused subpoenas to testify, on the grounds of endangering the national security, and was backed up by the Defense Department.
Billy Vidal did show up- in the company of high-priced legal talent. He denied his major role was to procure women for Leland Belding, described himself as a successful Beverly Hills-based management consultant to the film industry prior to meeting Belding, and produced documents to prove it. His friendship with the young tycoon had begun when the two of them were students at Stanford, and he admired Lee Belding. But he denied involvement in anything illegal or immoral. A legion of character witnesses backed him up. Vidal was dismissed.
When subpoenas for Magna’s accounting records were rejected by the company, once again on the basis of national security, and both Defense and State backed up Belding, the committee reached an impasse and died.
The senators saved face by delivering a mild reprimand to Leland Belding, noting his invaluable contributions to the national defense but suggesting he be more careful in the future with his record keeping. Then they assigned staffers to compile a report of their findings and voted the committee out of existence. Cynics suggested that in view of the charge that members of Congress had been on Belding’s party list, the entire process had been just another example of the foxes guarding the henhouse. But by this time no one really cared; now the country was ripe with optimism, intent on rebuilding, and determined to have a damned good decade. If a few hearty rascals had indulged in a little high living, so be it.
Party pads. A film connection. Stag films. I wanted to know more about Bashful Belding’s conduit to the fast life.
Before I could return to the index section to look for anything on William Houck Vidal, the announcement that the library was closing in fifteen minutes came blaring out of a ceiling speaker. I collected my two books and as many unread periodicals as I could carry, made a beeline for the photocopy machines, and spent the next ten minutes feeding dimes. Then I went downstairs and used my faculty card to check out the books. Armed with my treasures, I headed home.
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