Giovanni been able to give it proper attention. However, as a result of his
lengthy conferences with the architects and contractors, he discovered
another interest-land.
One evening while Elizabeth and Giovanni were having a late supper in their
suite, Giovanni suddenly said, “Write out a check for two hundred ten
thousand dollars. Put in the name East Island Real Estaters.”
“Realtors, you mean?”
‘Thars right. Let me have the crackers.”
Elizabeth passed the croutons. “That’s a lot of xnoney~w
“We got a lot of money?”
“Well, yes, we do, but two hundred and ten thousand dollars… is it a now
plant?”
“Just give me the check, Elizabeth. rve got a good surprise fnr you.”
She stared at him. “You know I don’t question your judgment but I must
insist. . . ”
“All right, an right.,, Giovanni smiled. “You don’t get a surprise. I tell
you. . rm going to -be like a barone.”
“A what?”
“A barone. A conte. You can be a contessa!”
“I simply don!t understand… :’
“In Italy, a man who has a couple of fields, maybe a few pigs, he’s
practically a barone. Lots of men want to be baroni. I was talking to the
East Island people. Theyre gonna sell me some meadows out on Long Island.”
-Giovanni, they’re worthlessl They’re simply the end of nowherel”
“Woman, use your headl Already there’s no place for the horses to stand.
Tomorrow you give me the check.
35
Don’t argue, please. Justa smile and be the wife of a
barone.”
Elizabeth Scarlatti smiled.
-AA
,=1d; W
dKed,41 IJ4,=
&,’eadaffi 0/ FerMAI
&rollbe el Fef nUX dr(p9talh? – (D9NIedM 6LOA We
4eimoxleo – dyew1val
Although Elizabeth did not take the cards seriouslythey became a private
joke between her and Giovannithey did serve a purpose when not elaborated
upon. They gave an identification befitting the Scarlatti wealth. Although
no one who knew them ever referred to either as conte or contessa, there
were many who weren’t sure.
It was just possible. . . .
And one specific result-although the title did not appear on the cards-was
that for the remainder of her long life Elizabeth was called madame.
Madame Elizabeth Scarlatti.
And Giovanni could no longer reach across the table and take his wife’s
bowl of soup.
Two years after the purchase of the land, on July 14, 1908, Giovanni
Merighi Scarlatti died. The man was burnt out. And for weeks Elizabeth
numbly tried to understand. There was no one to whom she could turn. She
and Giovanni had been lovers, friends, partners, and each other’s
conscience. The thought of living without one another had been the only
real fear in their lives.
But he was gone, and Elizabeth knew that they had not
36
built an empire for one to see it collapse with the other’s absence.
Her first order of business was to consolidate the management of the
widespread Scarlatti Industries into i iingle command post.
Top executives and their families were uprooted throughout the Midwest and
brought to New York. Charts. were prepared for Elizabeth’s approval clearly
defining all levels of decisions and areas of specific responsibility. A
private network of telegraphic communications was set up between the New
York offices and each plant, factory, yard, and subdivision office. Eliza-
beth was a good general and her arifty was a well-trained, headstrong
organization. The times were on her side, and her shrewd analysis of people
took care of the rest.
A magnificent town house was built, a country estate purchased in Newport,
another seaside retreat constructed in a development called Oyster Bay, and
every week she held a series of exhausting meetings with the executives of
her late husband’s companies.
Among her most important actions was her decision to help her children
become totally identified with Protestant democracy. Her reasoning was
simple. The name Scarlatti was out of place, even crude, in the circles her
sons had entered and in which they would continue to, live for the rest of
their lives. Their names were legally
altered to Scarlett.
Of course, for herself, in deep respect for Don Giovanni and in the
tradition of Ferrara, she remained:
1616014
C-0
C/ Fawn
37
No residence was listed for it was difficult to know at which home she
would be at a given time.
Elizabeth recognized the unpleasant fact that her two older sons had
neither Giovanni’s gift of imagination nor her own perception of their
fellow man. It was difficult to know with the youngest, Ulster Stewart, for
Ulster Stewart Scarlett was emerging as a problem.
In his early years it was merely the fact that be was a buIly-a trait
Elizabeth ascribed to his being the youngest, the most spoiled. But as he
grew into his teens, Ulster’s outlook changed subtly. He not only had to
have his own way, he now demanded it. He was the only one of the brothers
who used his wealth with cruelty. With brutality, perhaps, and that
concerned Elizabeth. She first encountered this attitude on his thirteenth
birthday. A few days before the event his teacher sent her a note.
Dear Madame Scarlatti:
Ulster’s birthday invitations seem to have become a minor problem. The
dear boy can’t make up his mind who are his best friends-he has so manyand
as a result he has given out a number of invitations and taken them back
in favor of other boys. Ilm sure the Parkleigh School would waive the
twenty-five limit in Ulster Stewart’s case.
That night Elizabeth asked Ulster about it.
“‘Yes. I took some of the invitations back. I changed mind.”
“Why? That’s very discourteous.”
“Why not? I didn’t want them to come.”
“Then why did you give them the invitations in the first place?”
“So they could all run home and tell their fathers and mothers they were
coming over.” The boy laughed. “Then they had to go back and say they
weren’t.”
“That’s terriblel”
“I don’t think so. They don’t want to come to my birthday party, they want
to come to your housel”
38
While a freshman at Princeton, Ulster Stewart Scarlett displayed marked
tendencies of hostility toward his brothers, his classmates, his teachers,
and for Elizabeth the most unattractive, her servants. He was tolerated be-
cause he was the son of Elizabeth Scarlatti and for no other reason. Ulster
was a monstrously spoiled young man, and Elizabeth knew she had to do
something about it. In June of 1916 she ordered him to come home for a
weekend, and told her son he had to take a job.
“I will not!”
“You will! You will not disobey mel”
And he didn’t. Ulster spent the summer at the Hudson mill while his two
brothers in Oyster Bay enjoyed the pleasures of Long Island Sound.
At the end of the surnmer, Elizabeth asked how he had done.
“You want the truth, Madame Scarlatti?” asked the youngish plant manager in
Elizabeth’s study one Saturday morning.
“Of course I do.”
“It’ll probably cost me my job.”
“I doubt that.”
“Very well, ma’am. Your son started out in raw baling as you ordered. It’s
a tough job but he’s strong. . . . I yanked him out of there after he beat
up a couple of men.”
“Good Lordl Wby wasn’t I told?”
“I didWt know the circumstances. I thought that maybe the men had pushed
him around. I didn’t know.”
“What did you find out?”
“The pushing was at the other end. . . . I put him in the upstairs presses
and that was worse. He threatened the others, said he’d get them fired,
made them do his work. He never let anyone forget who he was.”
“You should have told me.”
“I didn’t know myself until the other week. Three men quit. We had to pay
a dentist bill for one of them. Your son hit him with a lead strip.”
“These are terrible things to hear. . . . Would you care to offer an
opinion? Please, be frank. It will be to your advantage.”
39
“Your son is big. He’s a tough young fella…. But I’m not sure what else
he is. I just have an idea he wants to start at the top and maybe that’s
what he should do. He’s your son. His father built the mill.”
“ThatAftes him no such right. His father didn!t start at the topl”
“Then maybe you should explain that to him. He doesn’t seem to have much
use for any of us.”
“What you’re saying is that my son has a birthright, a temper, certain
animal strength and no apparent talents. Am I correct?”
“If that costs me my job, I’ll find another. Yes. I don’t like your son. I
don’t like him at all.”
Elizabeth studied the man carefully. “I’m not sure I do, either. Yo&U
receive a raise starting next week.”
Elizabeth sent Ulster Stewart back to Princeton that fall, and the day of
his departure she confronted him with the summer’s report.
“That dirty little Irish son of a bitch was out to get mel I knew thatt”