Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:15):
Pushkin. In nineteen seventy one, the prestigious New York publishers
McGraw hill made a sensational announcement Howard Hughes had written
his autobiography. The announcement was sensational because Howard Hughes had
(00:38):
lived one of the most extraordinary lives of the twentieth century.
Born in Texas in nineteen oh five, he became a
movie mogul in the Golden Age of Hollywood and a handsome,
dashing lover of movie stars. From Betty Davis, I just
washed my hair to Katherine Hepburn fath Here to Ginter Rogers.
No one could teach you to dance in a million year.
(01:00):
Take my advice and save your money. Hughes was an
aviator back in the days when planes were novel and dangerous.
He set air speed record in nineteen thirty eight. He
flew around the world in half the time anyone had
managed before New York City through him a ticker tape parade.
Hughes designed new and audacious aircraft and insisted on test
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piloting them himself. Twice. He was nearly killed in spectacular crashes.
Between the movies and the planes. Investments in real estate
and the oil drill company he'd inherited from his father.
Howard Hughes became one of America's richest and most famous men,
but his fortune couldn't buy him mental health. Hughes suffered
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from obsessive compulsive disorder. At first, the symptoms were manageable.
He insisted on the same dinner every night, medium rare
steak with salad and peas. He'd eat only the small peas.
He was a germophobe, picking things up in a tissue.
As he got older, his behavior became stranger. In nineteen
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fifty eight, Hughes went into a studio's darkened screening room
to watch a movie and didn't come out for four months.
He sat there, often naked, watching movie after movie. He
didn't shower. He had his assistants bringing chicken, glasses of
milk and chocolate bars. He wrote the memos reminding them
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not to look at him. When he eventually left the studio,
he took to living in the penthouse suites of luxury hotels.
He'd traveled between them, from Las Vegas to Beverly Hills
to the Bahamas. He disappeared completely from public view. Years
went by the longer Hughes spent as a recluse, the
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more the rumors swirled. Was he mad? Was he dead?
Then in nineteen seventy one, that press release by McGraw
hill Howard Hughes had written a rollicking thousand page account
of his incredible life story. The media went wild. It
was going to be the publishing event of the decade.
(03:15):
There was only one problem. Howard Hughes didn't know a
thing about it. I'm Tim Harford and you're listening to
cautionary tales. In December nineteen seventy, Clifford Irving was leafing
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through a copy of Newsweek on an overnight ferry from
Barcelona to the Ballyarics, a small chain of islands off
the coast of Spain. Six ft two, suave and smooth talking,
Irving had grown up in New York, but he made
his home on the Baliaric island of Ibitha, where he
shared a fifteen room house with his fourth wife, a
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Swiss German artist called Edith. Their two small children, local servants,
and a pet monkey. Irving had just turned forty. His father,
a famous cartoonist, had just died. Irving himself was an author,
though not a famous one. He'd written a few novels,
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and most recently a biography of a fellow ibitha resident,
a master art forger, published by McGraw hill. As the
sun rose over the Mediterranean, the Faery stopped first at
neighboring ma Yorker. That gave Irving a few hours to kill,
so he called up his friend, Dick Suskind, another American
writer who'd relocated to a sunny island. Suskind met Irving
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off the ferry and they drove back to his house. Listen,
said Irving, I've got a wild idea. He pulled out
copy of Newsweek and showed Suskined an article about Howard Hughes.
It was titled the Case of the Invisible Billionaire. I
read this on the boat last night. Irving explained his idea.
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Imagine if they wrote a biography of Hughes but published
it as an autobiography, pretending that it was actually in
Hughes's own words, as told to Clifford Irving, an autobiography
would be a much bigger deal than a biography. It
would sell better and bring in lots more money. They
could make millions. The idea was wild because Hughes might
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deny it, but Irving was willing to bet that he wouldn't.
As the newsweek piece made clear, Hughes hadn't spoken to
the media for well over a decade. Even more promising,
he seemed phobic about appearing in court. There's a story
about a lawsuit involving Hughes's airline. His lawyer him to
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do one simple thing in person. Go to a courthouse,
let a judge watch him sign a certain document, and
leave again. Hughes winced. Supposing he didn't do it, He
asked how much might it cost him? Maybe a hundred
million dollars, said the lawyer. Okay, said Hughes. I won't bother.
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So if McGraw hill published an autobiography of Hughes, would
he really take them to court? Surely the chances were
that he wouldn't contest its authenticity. You've flipped your lid.
McGraw hill's the most conservative publisher in New York. Let
never go for an idea like that. You're probably right,
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said Irving. They drank coffee at breakfast and talked about
other things. Then it was time to drive back for
Irving's ferry. What if they didn't know it was a hoax.
Suppose I told McGraw hill I was in touch with Hughes.
Assume I could work out a phony private contract between
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me and Hughes forbidding communication between him and the publishers
Jesus Christ. That could work, replied Suskind, What a fantastic idea.
You know it could work. We could do it. They
have to learn everything they could about Hughes's life. Suskind
was good at research. Then that have to make it
sound like Hughes had told the story. Irving had the
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literary flair for that. They went back and forth planning
out the details. First, Irving would write to Beverly Loo,
his editor at McGraw hill. He could say that Howard
Hughes had known his father, and that had sent Hughes
a copy of his latest book, The Biography of the
Art Forger, along with a note about his father's recent passing.
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He'd say that Hughes had written back to express his
condolences and also to say that he had enjoyed the
biography had started to correspond, Hughes had expressed an interest
in meeting with Irving so he could write Hughes's life
story too, McGraw hill would want evidence. Of course, Irving
would have to try his own hand at forgery. The
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Newsweek article contained a photo of a note in Hughes's handwriting,
including his signature. It also mentioned that Hughes always wrote
on yellow lined notepads of the kind used by lawyers.
Suskind had just such a notepad at home. What about money.
McGraw hill would pay Irving for his part in the book,
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but they'd have to pay more to Howard Hughes. After all,
it was his autobiography that presented a problem. If McGraw
hill wrote checks to Howard Hughes that didn't clear, they'd
get suspicious. Irving and Suskin would need some way to
pay those checks into a bank account. Irving had an idea.
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His wife, he told Suskind, just happened to have a
spare Swiss passport. The last one she had applied for
had seemed lost in the post. She got a replacement,
then the first passport belatedly turned up. What if he
could doctor that passport to change the name, say to
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Helga Hughes. Edith could open an account with a Swiss bank.
They were famous for protecting their client's privacy. He'd just
have to make sure that McGraw hill made the checks
out to H. R. Hughes rather than Howard. But would
Edith be up for the subterfuge? How would you like
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to change your name to Helga Ranata Hughes, said Irving,
expatriate Swiss businesswoman who conducts her financial affairs only with
her initial A. Well wig sure and dark glasses and lipstick.
Maybe maybe not. I think about that. I thought you
might not do it. I wasn't sure it was fair
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to ask. I help you. I don't let you down.
They seem to have covered every angle except one. It
seemed unlikely. But what if Hughes did appear in public
to deny he'd been involved in the book. What then
you say, but you're not Howard? Use said, suskind, help,
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I've been duped. The plan seems full proof. Irving has
a go at mimicking Hughes's handwriting. He drafts a series
of letters on the yellow legal pad. They look convincing enough. Next,
he tackles Edith's spare passport. Passports in those days were
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less sophisticated than they are today. No microchips or holograms
or biometrics. Irving explores the art supplies he's inherited from
his cartoonist father and gets to work. He uses inca
radic cater to raise Edith's name, takes a black felt
tip and carefully writes in helga ranata hughes. He changes
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the number on the passport, turning threes into eights. He
takes a photo of Edith in a wig and lipstick
and replaces the existing passport photo. Now he tries to
raise Edith's signature, but the ink eradicator starts to bleach
the watermarked paper. He's getting tired and frustrated. He signs
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Helga nata hughes over the top and hopes it'll be
good enough. Suskind isn't impressed. You must be kidding Christ.
It looks like it was made by a six year
old kid with a felt tip laundry marker. You're out
of your mind. Look here at the helga. You can
see Edith coming through like a palincest. It doesn't matter,
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Irving replied, I've talked to a few people who have
bank accounts in Switzerland. They don't give a damn about
those id papers. If the money's real, that's all I'll
care about. I sure hope you know what you're doing,
said suskind. So do, I replied Irving. Cautionary tales will
be back after the break. On the twentieth floor of
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the offices of McGraw hill and New York, Clifford Irving
and his editor, Beverly loo A meeting Beverly's boss. What
I don't understand is why a man like Howard Hughes,
who's avoided publicity all his life, should suddenly want to
have his biography written, and, with all due respect to
you as a writer, why he should choose you to
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work with him. He had to choose somebody, replied Irving.
He wouldn't pick someone very well now on someone like
Norman Mailer, would he? Then the book would be Mailer,
not Hughes. Beverly Lou has been completely taken in. Cliff's
a perfect choice. He's a professional, he delivers. She's not
just Clifford Irving's editor. She's his friend, or so she thinks.
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They've known each other for years. She's vacationed at his house.
It would hardly cross her mind that Irving was flat
out lying about his access to Hughes. Well let's see
these famous letters. Irving takes out the correspondence he's forged
from Howard Hughes. One of the letters contains an answer
to the boss's first question, why Hughes was suddenly embracing publicity.
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It would not suit me to die without having certain
misconceptions cleared up, and without having stated the truth about
my life. That sounds plausible. Beverly lou seems less skeptical
than perhaps she should be. This match is certain. These
are from Hughes, he always writes on that yellow legal paper.
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It's a pattern we've seen time and again in cautionary tales.
If you want to believe, you'll find reasons to believe.
Irving draws Beverly Loo further into his world of make believe.
He tells her that Hughes told him to stay at
a particular hotel in New York and await instructions. Those
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instructions have now come through. Irving must go to a
certain American Express office, where he'll find that Howard Hughes
has bought him a plane ticket to their first rendezvous.
Would Beverly like to come along and see where he'll
be going? She certainly would They go to the American
Express Office. Do they happen to have a ticket for
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mister Clifford Irving. Yes, it's to Wahaka in southern Mexico.
Irving pretends to share Beverly's surprise. Of course, he bought
that ticket himself, and not just one ticket. He's going
to Wahaka with his long time mistress. Of course, Irving
has a mistress. She's a Danish aristocrat and folk singer,
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once famous as part of her husband and wife duo,
now struggling to make a new solo career. The Baroness
Nina von Palant. Irving has solemnly promised his wife Edith
that he will never see his Danish lover again. Irving
and Nina check into their Mexican hotel and go straight
to bed. Listen, Nina, I want to tell you something.
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I need your word that this stays with you, that
your lips are sealed. You have it. I'm not meeting
Howard Hughes. It's all a lie, a hoax. The letters
are forged, and I never spoke to the man in
my life. What's so funny? I think that you're quite
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quite mad, but the word is mad. So what's the
bloody difference. When Irving gets back to New York from
his Mexican vacation, he tells Beverly Loo all about his
meeting with Howard Hughes. The more details he gives, he decides,
the more believable his tale will be. He was woken
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at five am in his hotel by a phone call
from a man called Pedro, who picks him up in
a Volkswagen, then flies him in Assessna to a town
called to a Hantapeck. Howard is waiting for him in
a little hotel and they drink orange juice together. The
publishers are completely duped. They agree to Howard's fee five
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hundred thousand dollars and to his demands for secrecy. He
wants to deal only with Irving McGraw hill draw up
a contract and give it to Irving for him to
get Hughes to sign. This time, he flies to Puerto
Rico and comes back with a story about driving with
Hughes into the tropical rainforest, where the billionaire instructs him
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to buy a bunch of bananas, very fat, short, sweet bananas.
Irving explained, I said, I thought that Puerto Rican bananas
were the best art ever eaten, and then he got
very friendly. He likes a man who appreciates a good banana.
Irving presents them with the signed contract and leaves with
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a check made out to H. R. Hughes. The eccentric
old man insists on using his initials. Irving says. He
takes the check home to a Beitha and gives it
to Edith. She packs her bag for Zurich with her helga,
hues wig and lipstick. She's nervous. She picks a bank
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at random and gives them the passport that Irving doctored.
She steeled herself for awkward questions. They barely even look.
The money is deposited without a problem. Relieved and triumphant,
Edith heads home to a Betha, where Irving has been
with Nina von Palant, His mistress believes the island just
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in time. By summer, Irving and Suskind realize they have
a problem. They've read every public document about Howard Hughes
that they can lay their hands on. They have a
lot of detail about some parts of his life, but
none at all about others. It's going to be difficult
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to keep up the pretense that Irving has interviewed Hughes.
If they're gaping omissions from his life story, they start
to think that they might have to pull the plug
on the project. Hughes is known for his eccentricity. Irving
can simply tell McGraw hill that Hughes has changed his
mind and returned the money he's received so far. They
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needn't know it was all a hoax in anyway, What
if they did find out we haven't stolen anything, reasoned Irving,
I've lied, that's all. What can they do to me?
As long as they get their money back? The worst
thing they can do is yell, and I have a
feeling they won't yell too loud because they might look
pretty foolish. Before they give up, Irving and Suskin decide
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to make one last trip to the States to see
what other information they can on earth. Driving past Palm Springs,
Irving decides to call in on his aunt, and there
they have a stroke of luck so ludicrous that you're
going to believe Irving must have made it up, But
he didn't. With the aunt, they see an old friend,
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a television producer who'd once encouraged the young Irving's ambitions
as a writer. I might have a project for you,
says the friend. Have you heard of someone called Noah Ditrick?
Irving certainly has. Noah Ditrick was Howard Hughes's right hand
man for thirty two years. Well, he's written and tell
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all memoir that he's trying to get published. But he's
not any luck. The writer he employed did a lousy job.
He's asked for my advice. Maybe you could take a
look at the manuscript and see how to improve it.
I'll lend it to you, but keep it confidential, won't
you sure? Says Irving. Somehow, keeping a straight face, he
and Suskin take the manuscript straight to the nearest Zerox shop.
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Jesus marveled Suskin. Could you imagine using a coincidence like
this in a novel? The editor would laugh you out
of his office. The manuscript has everything they needed, not
just for the anecdotes, but for the insight into Howard
Hughes's voice, the rhythms of his speech, his favorite expletives.
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Irving types up a list of recurring phrases and exclamations.
He and Suskin learn it by heart. Then they write
the book by interviewing each other taking turns to play
the role of Hughes. Where they don't know a detail,
they simply make it up. Their fictional hues. For example,
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traces his germophobia to a time his mother told him
he could catch leprosy from cornbread. What about his first
sexual experience, They make that up too, at the age
of fifteen with his father's mistress, not knowing that his
father drunk was watching. You know, said Irving, I have
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the feeling I know more about this man than anyone
else in the world. Don't get carried away by all this,
Launce Suskind. It's fiction. He made it up. Don't forget that.
In December, a year after his wild idea, Irving is
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putting the finishing touches to his manuscript. He's on yet
another Caribbean island with yet another woman, not his wife,
supposedly conducting his final meeting with Howard Hughes. Back in
New York. Meanwhile, McGraw hill make the official announcement they
will be publishing the autobiography of Howard Hughes. This is
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the story of my life in my own words, says
the press release, quoting someone claiming to be Hughes. This
Hughes then pays fulsome tribute to his co author, Clifford
Irving for his discernment, discretion, and integrity as a human being.
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It doesn't take long for Irving to get a nasty shock.
Howard Hughes. His company puts out a statement there is
no such book, and Hughes himself will speak to the
press to confirm that cautionary tales will return soon. In
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her book The Confidence Game, the psychologist Maria Konokova analyzes
what's happening at each stage of a contrick. It's a
step by step process. The con artist must carefully choose
their victim, sucker them in, make them believe, and keep
ratcheting up their commitment. Up to now, Irving has done
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a textbook job. The final stage of the con she
calls the blowoff. That's when the victim realizes they've been
had and the con artist needs to avoid any unpleasant consequences.
In this way, cons are no different to many other
risky ventures starting a business, say, or a war. They
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make sense to think about an exit strategy. If this
doesn't go to plan, how do I get out with
minimal damage? The blowoff is often easier than we might think,
says Connakova, Many victims of cons don't make a fuss
because they don't want a reputation as a schmuck. If
everyone knows you were taken in by a con artist,
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you'll be seen as an easy touch. Other people will
try to fool you. You might decide it's better to
keep silent, swallow your loss, and preserve your reputation. As
Connakova puts it, we ourselves are the grifter's best chance
of a successful blowoff. We don't want anyone to know
we've been duped. Like all good con artists, Clifford Irving
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instinctively understood the importance of reputation to his victim. Remember
what it'd said to Dick Suskind when they'd fretted that
McGraw hill might find out about the hoax. The worst
thing they can do is yell, and I have a
feeling they won't yell too loud because they might look
pretty foolish. That might have been true if they'd discovered
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Irving's con before the book was public knowledge, But once
mc graw hill had made their announcement, keeping quiet was
no longer an option. That left the other exit route
Irving could say help, I've been hoaxed by someone pretending
to be Howard Hughes. In other words, he could get
off the hook by sacrificing his own reputation. But whenever
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you start a risky venture with an exit strategy in mind,
there's a danger you can get so caught up in
chasing success that you forget what your plan to do
in case of failure. With every detail he'd improvised to
make his meetings with Hughes seem more believable to mc
graw hill, Irving had closed off his escape route. The
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impostor Hughes would have needed an accomplice called Pedro who
could fly, assessner, that's a lot of trouble to go to.
Irving had even that in one clandestine meeting, Hughes had
introduced him to the Vice President of the United States,
Spiro Agnew, another impostor. Just how stupid would Irving have
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to say he'd been. It would never work. Clifford Irving
had blown his blowoff. His only hope now was that
Howard Hughes wouldn't go public after all. On the seventh
of January nineteen seventy two, seven journalists sat around a
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semicircular table in a conference room in a Los Angeles hotel,
surrounded by cameras and facing a telephone on loudspeaker. They
had been carefully selected by Howard Hughes's representatives. Most had
known Hughes back in the day. If anyone could vouch
for the voice that was about to come through the
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phone line, they could. I only wish I was still
in the movie business, because I don't remember any as
wild or as stretching the imagination as this yarn has
turned out to be. I take it, sir, you do
not know a man named Clifford Irving, then I don't
know him. I never saw him. I've never heard of
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him until a matter of days ago when this thing
first came to my attention. The air conditioning in the
room was too loud, so the hotel had turned it off.
The television lights were sweltering. The journalists began to wilt,
but on the other end of the line, Hughes seemed
to be having fun. He reminisced about the technical details
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of aircraft he had designed for two and a half hours.
Har'd be happy to talk to you all just as
long as you want, Irving and Suskind watched the press
conference on TV, and hearing the voice of Howard Hughes
was a shock. It wasn't just that they'd bet on
him staying silent. They were shocked to remember he actually existed.
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They've got so used to thinking of Howard Hughes as
their own fictional creation. But with no way out of
the hoax, Irving had to double down. If he couldn't
claim that his Howard Hughes had been an impostor, he'd
have to insist that this one was instead. That's not him,
said Irving. It's a damn good imitation of what he
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might have sounded like a few years ago when he
was healthy. But it's not him. A disembodied voice on
a speaker phone is one thing, Irving reasoned, A flesh
and blood Howard Hughes in a courtroom was another thing altogether.
If only he could keep some doubt alive, he might
force Hughes to sue him, and maybe Hughes wouldn't go
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through with that. It was a desperate throw of the dice,
and it convinced hardly anyone. Most people thought it really
had been Howard Hughes on the phone, but they also
doubted what Howard Hughes had said. One journalist summed up
the consensus view, it's entirely consistent with the personality of
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Howard Hughes to dictate his autobiography and then deny it.
McGraw hill continued to insist that their book was genuine
and they'd publish it as planned. The boss held a
press conference despite his denial. Today McGraw hill has in
its possession a tremendous amount of documentation which, in our
(29:35):
opinion indicates beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this
is the authentic autobiography and that we have the authorization
to publish it. They weren't just taking Clifford Irving's word
for it. They'd sent the letters from Howard Hughes to
a firm of handwriting analysts. Irving surprise, the well respected
firm confidently declared the odds of a forgery to be
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a million to one. At his press conference, the boss
of McGraw hill brandished some of that tremendous amount of documentation,
including fact similars of checks that h. R. Hughes had countersigned.
The checks revealed at which bank they had been paid in.
That was a crucial piece of information. Hughes on the
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phone had zeroed in on the key question, this money
didn't enter any of my bank accounts. Where is it again?
Irving hadn't thought things through the Howard Hughes he imagined
so vividly. The fictional Howard Hughes might ponder legal action,
but would then shy away, made helpless by his fear
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of appearing in public. But the actual, real life Howard Hughes,
the billionaire Howard Hughes, had plenty of other options. For example,
he could instruct a private detective to assemble evidence for
the police, and he did. Thanks to those images of checks,
the private detective had a lead. The detective did some
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digging at the Swiss bank and soon discovered that the
Hr Hughes who paid in the checks was a woman
in her mid thirties, five ft three and German that
sounded remarkably like Clifford Irving's wife. The detective sourced some
photos of Edith and showed them to the cashier who
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dealt with Helga Hughes. She looked at them. The hair
wasn't right, but yes, the face looked very close to
what she remembered when the law got involved. The end
came quickly. Irving's trial was a media circus, and there
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was no doubt about its star performer, The Baroness Nina
von paaland the beautiful charismatic mistress captivated the public. She
was on magazine front pages and TV chat shows. Edith
meanwhile got two years in prison in Switzerland forgery and fraud.
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Later she got a divorce. Clifford Irving was given a
similar sentence in New York. He promptly wrote a memoir
about the hoax, in which he seems to struggle with
the thought that he really did anything wrong. He talks
about his magnificent shape and how it had a certain grandeur,
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a reckless and artistic splendor in the oppressed, middle class
world of America, where so few men try to do
anything other than cut along the dotted line. Could the
failure itself of a bold and lunatic scheme be the
image of ultimate success. It's one way of looking at it.
Although perhaps the person who got most success from this
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bold and lunatic scheme was a once famous Danish folk
singer with a career to rebuild bookings flooded in and
parts in Hollywood movies. The publicity said Nina's manager was
earth as much as an Academy award. The story of
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the fake autobiography has a coda. In two thousand and six,
thirty five years after The Hoax, Clifford Irving's memoir was
turned into a film. It was called The Hoax. Clifford
Irving was played by Richard gear. Irving hated the film.
(33:36):
He complained that it portrayed him as a sleazy, money
grubbing low life. That wasn't true at all. He said
his motives weren't base, they were noble. Having thought of
the hoax, he simply had to do it like a
mountaineer has to climb a mountain because it's there. Irving
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made clear that the film was nothing to do with him.
He didn't want people to think that this fictional version
of himself was who he really was. Perhaps at last
he'd come to understand how Howard Hughes must have felt.
(34:24):
For a full list of our sources, please see the
show notes at Tim Harford dot com. Portionary Tales is
written by me Tim Harford with Andrew Wright. It's produced
by Ryan Dilley with support from Courtney Guarino and Emily Vaughan.
(34:48):
The sound design and original music is the work of
Pascal Wise. It features the voice talents of Ben Crow,
Melanie Gutridge, Stella Harford, and rufus Wright. The show also
wouldn't have been possible without the work of Mia La Belle,
Jacob Weisberg, Heather Fane, John Schnas, Julia Barton, Karlie mcgliori,
(35:08):
Eric's Royston, Basserve, Maggie Taylor, Nicole Mrano, Danielle Lakhan, and
Maya Kanig. Cautionary Tales is a production of Pushkin Industries.
If you like the show, please remember to share, rate
and review, tell a friend, tell two friends, and if
you want to hear the show, adds free and listen
to four exclusive Cautionary Tales shorts. Then sign up for
(35:32):
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