Astor training proved to be very educational and the excitement of living in New York City gave me a feeling for the world of business.
Even though I enjoyed and benefited from the experience, I was ready to get into uniform and do my part in the war effort. But even in my impatience, I never lost sight of my ultimate goal of a successful career in business and seized the opportunity to gain experience and start to build another layer of its foundation.
The Navy—like life—constantly tested how much physical and mental stress we could take and how we would respond to discipline and the taking of orders.
Our company was made up of two platoons and I was made one of the platoon leaders. As platoon leader, I had to see that orders, rules, and procedures were carried out. There were three tough kids from Brooklyn in the platoon who decided to test me. Coming from similar backgrounds and neighborhoods back home, they had become friends. All three of them were a year or two older than I was, and as the days went by they became more disruptive in challenging my authority. A confrontation was inevitable, and when it came I had to act or risk losing control.
The Navy’s procedure for resolving disputes was to meet in the drill hall and settle the matter in any way we saw fit. The common presumption was that if it got down to that it would involve a good fistfight. I told the trio’s leader to meet me after “mess” and bring his two buddies along. I’d bring Callahan, the big Irishman who was the other platoon leader, but I’d settle the matter myself. The three boys from Brooklyn never showed, and they never gave me any problems after that. In fact, they became very cordial and pleasant from that point forward. The experience reinforced my opinion of the value of standing up for principle. I had to let people know that, as a leader, I was prepared to enforce discipline. I was never challenged after that incident.
Within a few months, I received orders to report to the Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps (NROTC) at Cornell University in June of 1945. This was a wonderful bit of luck. The training at the university required me to take a number of courses in Naval tactics, Naval science, and navigation, but I was permitted to take additional courses of my choosing, so I elected to take most of them in the School of Hotel Administration. This was a real break for me because the Navy was paying for part of my continuing education.
When I arrived back at Cornell, I was assigned to a six-man dormitory room in a fraternity house, which the Navy had taken over after the war began. A Navy veteran named Francis Xavier Fleming had already staked out the lower bunk from Pittsburgh. F.X. played football for Cornell during the previous fall months and was one of the better players on the team. I decided to try out for the team with my new friend and see if I could make the squad myself.
I tried out for the quarterback position and didn’t do particularly well, mostly because the first-string quarterback was an all-American candidate named Al Dekdebrun. I made the team, and played in a few games, but never amounted to much. It was fun and worth a try, but I began to learn that just having a natural athletic ability isn’t all that it takes to become a standout performer. It takes passion and intensity to be the best you can be. I didn’t have that passion and I didn’t have that commitment for athletics.
There was a simple lesson to be learned, and I took it into the world of business a few years later: Don’t take on an assignment where success is the major objective unless you are passionate about succeeding. Passion is a key ingredient in building a successful pattern in life. It is the source of inspiration and creativity. It builds a person’s inner determination, hopes, and aspirations. Without passion it is difficult to establish realistic goals and develop plans to achieve them. I got the first inkling of that on the gridiron at Cornell.
I view myself as a passionate, even intense, individual, simply because I know that is part of what it takes, not only to be a leader, but also to succeed. I’ve known a lot of people who lacked this kind of focus. Most of them never achieved the level of success which could have come their way. I didn’t have the passion to elevate myself above that in athletics, but I vowed right there that I wouldn’t let that happen again.
The fall-winter trimester started in November, and this brought back many returning civilians and a number of recently discharged servicemen and women. After arriving at the Cornell campus during the early part of the summer, I joined a student government organization known as the Spirit and Traditions Committee. A number of committee members returned that fall, including a very attractive girl from Miami named Nancy Nichol.
I didn’t know then, but this unusually upbeat and friendly, very blond and pretty woman would one day become my wife. She was easy to be with and talk to. In the weeks that followed, we went out on a number of dates and had wonderful times together. Both of us were nineteen years old at the time, but I was already developing some serious thoughts about the future.
As the Christmas season approached, Nancy asked what I planned to do during the holidays. I told her that I really didn’t know. Nancy suggested that I spend the holidays with her and her family in Miami. The invitation took me by surprise, and I recall asking her what her mother would think about having a complete stranger coming to her home for the holidays. Her response was, “I don’t know, but let’s call her,” and with that she went to a telephone and called her home. Nancy’s mother, Mrs. Nichol, said that the family would be delighted to have me come and spend a few days with them.
The problem was how to get to Miami. Transportation was still difficult and hard to obtain even though the war was over. It was almost impossible to get a train ticket, but that didn’t really concern me because I couldn’t afford one in the first place. My only option was to hitchhike.
On the way south during a cold and snowy day in December, I was dropped off late one night in Petersburg, Virginia. It was snowing hard, so I decided to stand under a streetlight where I could be seen. There were only a few cars on the road at that time of night, and the snow was building up on the road and covering a few tire tracks when a car marked “taxi” came up and a cheerful voice inside said, “Hop in, sailor.” I said, “Sir, I think I am going a lot farther than you might be in your taxi, and I think I had best stay under this streetlight so I can be seen.” He replied, “Well, son, if Charleston, South Carolina, would help, that’s my next stop and I’d be pleased to take you there.” I hopped right in.
Another ride dropped me off in St. Augustine, where the weather was sunny, warm, and beautiful. The driver was hauling a boat, and at one point in our conversation I asked the driver if I could hop up in the boat and take a sunbath on the way south. He was happy to do that and pulled his rig over to the side of the road so that I could climb up into the boat. I lay back in the open cockpit imagining that I was a man of considerable leisure enjoying the warm Florida weather, the blue water, and the marvelous Florida scenery. I felt like a king. This was a slice of life I wanted to have more of, and I determined right there to get it.
I was thrilled to see Nancy again, and her mother and father welcomed me warmly into their home. Nancy took charge and got both of us involved with a whirlwind of activity. We attended parties, went to dances, went sailing, met Nancy’s friends, and drove all over the city. It didn’t take me long to convince myself that Miami was the place I wanted to live after finishing my education. My immediate impression was that South Florida was an absolute dream world. I thought about it in terms of warm days, balmy breezes, clean white buildings, palm trees, glistening water, and opportunity. No place in the world could compare to my newly discovered tropical paradise.
I had reached another important conclusion, which was simply that Nancy was the girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I finished the semester at Cornell in May of 1946, when I received orders to report to the US Navy Separation Center at Lido Beach, Long Island. I couldn’t return to Cornell right away. Before doing that, I needed to get a job that would satisfy the Hotel School’s requirements for earning more “practice credits,” which was just another name for practical working experiences.
