By the late sixties Gunther and my father, these two Masters of the Universe, had amassed quite an empire. They were partnered in fourteen fashion companies with Anne Klein (Donna Karan was Anne Klein's assistant) being by far the most profitable. Anne Klein had started the concept of sports wear, and they had just started to license products of these designers. This was a very new concept. One that was begun by Pierre Cardin, another designer who was part of the empire. Now they were taking his ideas to new heights. So this is where the story begins to get really interesting, where the rubber met the road, where one lays back one's ego, and insecurity and greed triumphs over benevolence and love. My father was twelve years younger than his partner Gunther and he must have felt and then decided that he would survive Gunther and wanted to make sure that he would be fine in case of Gunther's death. So as was my families fashion, (and this dear reader is the turning point of this game) my father initiated and Gunther agreed to have their lawyers draw up plans that proclaimed in clear and undeniable terms that all the assets of the companies at the time of death of either partner were to be passed on to the other partner, and that all the life insurance would go to the surviving partner to help offset any taxes that were due. The only asset that passed on to the family, was the amount of inventory (clothes) that were in the warehouse at the date of death. In this case it was about $200,000. My father was sure, and my mother was sure at a later date that they could win it all. But in fact, when it came to money, with all their acumen, forethought, talent, and cunning they lost it all. Here's how the final chapter played out. On that fitful day in the summer of 1972, as my father was approaching his 58th birthday, he collapsed and died in his favorite lunch restaurant, smack in the middle of the garment district, surrounded by many friends. The only executor of my father's estate was Gunther, who was so traumatized by the event, and probably of the thought of dealing with my mother after having heard the repercussions of the will, he declined his position, and my innocuous uncle, who was always jealous of my father, became the ineffectual executor. He was of no help to the family. As I was only twenty-three years old and still in Graduate school, my advice was not only not heeded, but roundly ignored. I was an academic and a day dreamer. What did I know of the realities of business? My mother would have nothing to do with me. Well let me tell you now, I knew a lot more than any of the lawyers and my uncle did at the time, and I was the only one who had any relationship…

Some months after Gunther's wedding to Christine, in the winter of 1971, I heard through my father that Jack, Gunther's son, had announced to his father in particular, and to the world at large, that he was gay. I remember shrugging and thinking to myself, “what's the big news?” All of us who knew and liked Jack always knew he was gay. He behaved like it and we simply all took this as fact. Obviously what was apparent to me was not so apparent to his father and this is where Gunther should have been handed a super-large volume of King Lear to read and re-read, because at this point in this story and in life Gunther, like Lear himself, was alone in his castle, blind yet with the ability to see. He had choices but he never chose wisely in the affairs of men. With money he was an A+ student but with love and relationship he failed miserably. Jack had lost his mother, whom he adored. Now not only was his family disintegrating, but his father married a woman less than half his age, who found Jack the competition. Jack must have felt completely alone, isolated and in a state of desperation finally told his father that he was gay with the hope of love and understanding. With Jack's announcement, I was told that Gunther went berserk. He told Jack that he never wanted to see him again and that he was disowned from his will. Gunther had banished his only child. With his father's banishment, Jack moved to Paris, and literally neither I nor anyone in my family has ever heard from or seen him again. I hope he has had a happy life. Well now, Gunther had really done it. He had killed or forsaken the two people who truly loved him, and he was left with a beauty that only went skin deep. But this is just the beginning, the prologue of my story. It now twists its way into the Smith family. What started with Gunther could not be contained and once this mighty caravan had started on its journey, it did not stop until all the wreckage was complete. Until next week...      

On a late spring evening in 1968, I can remember my Father telling me we were going to Gunther's apartment. I had been away at college (both physically and mentally) and was home for a holiday, and I was very unaware of all the intriguing machinations that were occurring in my absence. It was the first time I had been to Gunther's new, luxurious, modern apartment, but I remember the needlepoint rug that ran throughout the apartment. It was the only thing that seemed to provide warmth and comfort to an otherwise austere and cold environment. When we walked into the apartment, I immediately noticed Gunther in total despair. He had obviously been crying and I remember wondering where Jack his son was. Gunther was all alone, and had reached out to my Father as a source of comfort. Where were his personal friends and family? It was at this moment (without my realizing it) that the house of cards began to slowly unravel. These two Master's of the Universe, who had intermingled each other’s lives and needs, had taken a wrong turn, and no one at this time knew where it would come out. You see while I was away enjoying the pursuit of life and college, Gunther had decided to fall in love with a twenty-five year old Austrian beauty, who was a model, named Christine. Gunther's son Jack had dated Christine at one point, and had introduced his father to her. What could be better than a father stealing his own son's girlfriend? Now, as I understand it, through the years both of these paradigms of virtuosity had had numerous liaisons, affairs, trysts, etc., lasting no more than some weeks or months. These two could have kept up with any Frenchmen in the area. But for Gunther, in his late fifties (a man older and wiser than my father), late mid-age was a time for rebirth and renewal. It was a time for fast cars, new apartments and a new love. Why he had to fall in love, I never knew. Why couldn't he have just taken Christine out in his newest Ferrari and gotten a ticket going a hundred and fifty -four miles an hour. That surely would have proven his vigor and strength. Why couldn't he, like my father, simply buy her an apartment, keep her on a round the clock cycle for evening, midweek affairs, and have some nice dinners? No, Gunther this time decided he was in it for love, and he wanted the world to know it. Boy, it's amazing how much can happen when you are having fun away at college. On that fanciful night, Gunther had really done it. He had, the week before, announced to his wife of forty years that he was leaving her for Christine. She had, within a few days, sunken into a total despair and by the end of the week had killed herself. Her life was a social landscape filled with parties, philanthropy and…

It all begins with Gunther, the older, tall, Austrian, elegant, distinct, and distant partner of my father. My father and his business partner of over 25 years were polar opposites in temperament, looks, tastes, etc. They seemed to align themselves perfectly though, in one thing, the art of making money. They could have written a great treatise on their expertise on many matters including the art of infidelity and most importantly how, despite your many differences, you'll both end up with nothing. There must be a moral to this story. There has to be. Why else would the powers that be continually roll this story over and over like a huge boulder destroying everything in its path as it makes its way down the road of life. It must be so that, like the sins of Adam and Eve, this life's history lessons not fall on deaf ears, or go unseen to those left behind after the destruction. So here I am, the moral historian, trying to learn all I can from this story of the Smith clan. Although no one seemed too fond of Gunther, nor he too fond of our family, there were times when both families traveled together. One Christmas vacation, when I was thirteen, we all ended up in St. Moritz, Switzerland, and Gunther, my father and I, went on an afternoon walk through the town. My birthday falls on the eve of Christmas, and my father was considering getting me a new watch. We entered a beautiful, glistening watch store, with all the watches displayed like precious jewels, gleaming like evening candles. I remember Gunther telling me he was going to buy a watch for his son and asked which watch I liked best. He said his son and I had similar tastes, which of course was a great lie, which I did not pick up on. I remember picking out a beautiful gold, thin, classic timepiece. I don't remember much else, except that on my birthday a few days later, Gunther gave me that watch as a present. I always have remembered that moment. Through the years, Gunther and I would see each other on occasion. One summer's day when I was seventeen, my father and I drove out to the Hampton's to Gunther's summerhouse, for my father to show him his new Rolls Royce. Gunther greeted us in the driveway, and we walked slowly to his garage where he opened the door to show me his brand new Ferrari. He asked me if I would like a ride, what seventeen-year-old boy wouldn't? We took off down Dune Road, a road that was long and flat that paralleled the beach and started our slow ascent from zero to one hundred fifty-five in less than a minute. The engine was roaring loudly and we were whizzing past everything so fast that Gunther didn't see or hear the police cars way behind him trying desperately to catch him, but to no avail. Finally, Gunther turned around…