Prologue
I still remember the first time I met Luddie Gerber. It was a bitterly cold January day, and, as I recall, we—my mother, sister, and I—had been to visit my grandfather in the hospital before heading to Luddie’s New York City apartment for the first big family reunion/birthday party I could remember. My grandmother’s uncle was celebrating his 70th birthday.
Luddie Gerber at his 70th birthday celebration, January 1981
We were going to a building that overlooked Central Park; I clearly understood the connotation: money. After all, he was a Hollywood lawyer who lived in California and kept an apartment in the City. He had represented people like Peggy Lee, who, I was informed, was a famous singer. Starting with the long elevator ride up to the apartment and continuing through the afternoon and evening, I was dazzled by a world that seemed to have little to do with my own, other than some familiar faces.
More than 20 years later, this time at a family reunion/memorial for Luddie in Maryland, I first got to read the transcription of tapes that he intended to publish as his autobiography, neatly spiral bound, complete with front and back cover art. His autobiography, Happenstance: A Man of the Century Remembers, tells the story of a man who went from growing up without any money to being a Hollywood lawyer. It implies a story of self-making that fits within the context of the American dream.
The perception I had of Gerber from my early memories of him may have shaped my initial reading of his autobiography. At first I read the story of a man who had achieved much through his hard work and crossed paths with many important people. The more I delved into the analysis of his autobiography, the more questions I had about his self-making and how/if he fit into the definition of “one who has risen from obscurity or poverty by his own exertions” that I found in the Oxford English Dictionary. All was not as it first appeared: the impression Gerber created of a successful, self-made man seemed to be contradicted at times by a closer reading of the same words that he used to create that impression.
He became a riddle of contradiction: which was the accurate representation of Ludwig Gerber—successful, self-made man, or mediocre, self-aggrandizing man? Some of Gerber’s contradictions were inherent in the time and milieu in which he lived: for example, his simultaneous belief in socialism and desire for success was not unique, but rather an echo of his mentor, Morris Hillquit. His penchant for connecting himself to any important historical event or person contrasts starkly with his autobiography’s silence on the McCarthy proceedings, which, as a socialist and a Hollywood lawyer, undoubtedly touched his life in some manner. Equally puzzling, with all the famous names he dropped—from Eleanor Roosevelt and President Truman to Eric Clapton—he neglected to refer to his commanding general in Europe, Dwight Eisenhower, by name.
As I sought to apply the OED definition to come to some conclusion about Gerber, I asked, “What makes a self-made man?” Must the rise from poverty be absolute, or might it be relative? Must the improved position be entirely based on the individual’s exertions, or could family or other connections give assistance? Must the individual become a household name, or might the knowing of famous people suffice? Finally, must it be real, or can the impression of self-making substitute for actual self-making? We are left to decide whether process or outcome is more important in determining if a person is self-made.
In my opinion, there is not one answer that we can apply to all individuals; generally it is the process that matters more than the scale of the outcome, but in some instances the outcome is so remarkable that the process is no longer relevant. We must examine Gerber’s perceptions and his impressions to make a judgment whether he was a self-made success or not.