Transcript
Shane Parrish (0:00)
Catherine Graham was hosting a farewell party in her Georgetown home when she got a phone call that would change history. While the Capitol's elite filled her living room, her editors waited on the line with an impossible question. Should they publish the Pentagon Papers and risk destroying the company? Frightened and tense, she took a big gulp and said, go ahead, let's publish. And she hung up the phone. In that moment, the self described doormat wife became one of the most powerful women in American media and one of the most powerful woman ever. Welcome to the Knowledge Project. I'm your host, Shane Parish. In a world where knowledge is power, this podcast is your toolkit for mastering the best of what other people have already figured out. Kathryn Graham documented her remarkable life and journey in a Pulitzer Prize winning memoir called Personal History, which is the main source of the material today. She wrote it with an unflinching honesty because she wanted everyone to understand that courage isn't the absence of fear, it's doing what's right despite being terrified.
Catherine Graham (1:06)
The image of me is this, this tough sort of decisive, combative person who's taken on all these fights. And I just like to say that I hate fights and I am very courageous only when forced into a corner. And all the battles we got in were ones in which you had very little choice or no choice.
Shane Parrish (1:36)
There's no corporate spin. It's just a raw blueprint for turning self doubt into unshakable resolve. Catherine Graham, or K as her friends called her, is one of the most powerful women in history. She published the Pentagon Papers, exposed the Watergate scandal, faced the full force force of the US Government coming after her, brought down a president, and weathered a strike that would have crippled any other company. Oh, and if that wasn't enough, thanks to an unlikely friendship with Warren Buffett, she ended up with one of the best track records by shareholder return in business history. It's time to listen and learn. Imagine a little girl so isolated by wealth that she doesn't know clothes need to be washed until she goes away to college. At home, servants take them away dirty and return them clean. She grows up thinking this is how the world works. This is Catherine Mayer in 1921 at the age of four, the daughter of one of America's most powerful financiers, she was known to her friends as Kay. Her father, Eugene Mayer, had already conquered Wall Street. JP Morgan himself warned to colleagues, watch out for this fellow mayor, because if you don't, he'll end up having all the money on Wall Street. By the time Catherine was born in 1917, Eugene was already making millions and thriving in a career that would later earn him the top job at the Federal Reserve. But here's a side of privilege most people don't see. It can create the exact opposite of confidence. The Mayor household operated like an institution, not A family. A 40 room mansion in Washington, a sprawling estate in Mount Kisco. The children followed rigid schedules. French lessons, music, writing, dancing. But emotional connection that was too expensive. Catherine's mother, Agnes, was brilliant and overwhelming. A pioneering journalist who collected friendships with Einstein and Thomas Mann. Like others collected stamps. Yet she viewed her children, in Catherine's brutal assessment, as burdens. Her father remained very shy and remote, capable of wit but not intimacy. The result? Catherine felt like the peasant walking around the brilliant people. She had every material advantage but no confidence in her own voice. At least not yet. While there's a subset of people who have belief before ability, there's also a subset of people with no belief and a lot of ability. People who have never had to prove themselves or overcome obstacles, struggle with self doubt. When crisis comes, and it always does, the people who have learned to overcome obstacles often outperform those who never faced any. In 1933, an event occurred that would change everything. The Washington Post was dying. It was Washington's fifth best newspaper in a five newspaper town. Its owner had inherited it and ignored it for 15 years. By 1933, as Eugene Mayer put it, the Post was mentally, morally, physically and in every other way bankrupt. The circulation at the time was 50,000. It had mounting debt in the heart of the Great Depression. It went to auction. Eugene Mayor bought it anonymously for $825,000. Here's the beautiful part, though he didn't tell his daughter. Catherine was studying for college when she and a newspaper owning friend spent afternoons speculating about the mystery buyer. That summer, sitting on the porch, her mother casually mentioned, when you take over the Post, what are you talking about? Catherine asked. Oh darling, didn't anyone tell you? Dad bought the Post. Eugene's vision was grand. The first mission of a newspaper is to tell the truth as nearly as the truth may be ascertained. Beautiful words, profound even, but expensive ones. They would come to test everything. Two years in, the Post was still hemorrhaging money. It was still dead last in a five paper town. One successful publisher delivered the verdict. No morning paper, especially the Post, will ever amount to anything in Washington. Eugene's response. The capital of this great nation deserves a good paper. I believe in the American people. When an idea is right, nothing can stop it. The Post Became a family obsession. Eugene visited the newsroom nightly. Agnes sent weekly memos about delivery problems. Catherine Hunter, away at college, read every issue and mailed critiques home. When Eugene Mayer purchased a struggling newspaper during the great Depression, no one thought he had a chance. In fact, nearly everyone thought he was crazy. But if you believe something is important and you're prepared to lose everything, you can ignore the skeptics. After graduating from the University of Chicago in 1938, Katherine worked as a reporter for the San Francisco news, earning $21 a week. After one day on the job, Kay went to her father's hotel room in tears. I can't do this. I'm not worth the $21 a week. Eugene Mayer's response was perfect. Nobody is worth it at first, but you will be. She stayed. Within a month, she was having the time of her life, covering major labor disputes, learning to write fast under pressure, while constantly worried about being scooped. Two months in a strike forced papers to cut costs. Her father called her boss to make it easier for him to let her go. Instead, he wanted to keep her permanently. She's doing fine work, he said, and Eugene Mayer had a right to be proud. Most importantly, she discovered something that had been missing from her entire childhood. She could do the work, but her father needed her. Back at the post, her father said it directly, if it doesn't work, we'll get rid of her. So she went to work at the Washington Post, proofreading and assembling letters to the editor, making friends with all the junior employees. Most days weren't glamorous, though. On September 1, 1939, she found herself at FDR's press conference on the exact day that Germany invaded Poland. And in 1940, at a party, she met a brilliant Harvard lawyer named Philip Graham. That would change everything. Confidence isn't inherited. It's earned. Through doing the work, it's earned in the grind. It's earned in the dark hours that nobody sees. Katherine's father gave her something more valuable than money or connections. The permission to be terrible at first. While her father might have lacked the emotional connection. I love that, he told her. No one's worth it when they start, but you will be. Just keep putting your head down and grinding away and you will get there. He wasn't being kind. He was giving her room to grow. Philip Graham came from the opposite end of privilege. Born in 1915 in the dirt poor Florida Everglades, he arrived at Harvard law school in what a classmate described as a badly cut country suit, looking as though he had Straw hanging out of his rather large ears. But Phil had something money can't buy. He was magnetic, the kind of person who walked in a room and everyone turned to watch. Brilliant, witty, with what Catherine called that right mix of intellectual, physical and social charm. He was the president of the Harvard Law Review, clerk to a Supreme Court justice, Felix Frankfurter. People who met him came away thinking the exact same thing. This man would one day be President of the United States. Catherine was smitten. They fell in love fast. On their second date, he suggested marriage. I agreed that it sounded quite a good idea, but perhaps a bit rash, he recalled. On the inside, she was incredulous. This brilliant, golden boy wanted her. The tall, awkward girl who spent her childhood trying to please everyone. Her father approved. After one dinner, the engagement was on. But there was a moment that should have been a warning. They went dancing before the wedding, and Phil drank way too much. He wasn't just drunk. He became something darker, something unpredictable. The evening worried me a lot, Catherine later wrote. A friend asked her if she had seen him like that before. And Catherine responded, no. And he warned her in that moment, well, you better think about it right now. But when Phil sobered up, the charm returned, as if his switch had been flipped. That was that. For the time being. Catherine Mayer was about to become Catherine Graham. But the brilliant, charismatic man she was marrying carried demons she couldn't yet see, but could already feel in her bones. They married in June 1940. Catherine was 23, determined to be the perfect wife. The division of labor at the time was clear. Phil would lead, she would follow. That was the deal. That's who it was then. The first year was a shock. Phil insisted that they live on their combined salaries. His $3600 as a Supreme Court clerk and her $1500 at the post for someone raised with servants, walking blocks to save 10 cents on laundry felt like a form of poverty. And then Pearl harbor changed everything. Phil tried to enlist, but was rejected. Married men with poor eyesight weren't wanted yet. By July 1942, standards had loosened. He shipped out of the Pacific, leaving Catherine to follow him between training posts, living in boarding houses and cheap hotels. Two pregnancies ended in heartbreak. The third nearly did, too. When doctors said it looked hopeless, she ignored their orders to stay in bed. Somehow the pregnancy held. Their daughter, Lally, was born on July 3, 1943. Phil shipped out to work in intelligence in the Philippines. Catherine moved back to Washington. This is where something interesting happened, though she didn't see it that way. With Phil overseas She managed everything. The household, the baby, her job, the Post circulation department, where she learned how terrible, confused and poorly managed apartment is for those who work in it. Her son Donald was born in April 1945. She did it all essentially as a single parent, balancing work, life, running the Post and family obligations. But in the letters to Phil, she deprecated her ability. She worried constantly about competency. She saw herself as barely managing and barely getting by until he could return to take charge. When the war ended, Philip came home to Eugene Mayer's offer. Would he become the associate publisher of the Post? Would he learn the business and eventually take over? Catherine's response at the time revealed everything she wrote in her memoir. Far from troubling me personally that my father thought of my husband and not me, it pleased me. In fact, it never crossed my mind that he might have viewed me as someone to take on an important role with the paper. The woman who had just managed a household, a job and two children through a war couldn't imagine running a newspaper. She was still blind to her own competence. But that would change. The post war years created a dangerous pattern. Phil Graham was building one of America's great newspapers while slowly destroying himself. They settled into a grand house on R Street with four children and clear roles. Bill conquered the business world. Catherine managed everything else, including her job, the home, the children, the staff, the social calendar. I became, she wrote, the drudge and what's more, accepted my role as kind of a second class citizen. But Phil was electric at the post. At 30, he became the youngest publisher of a major American newspaper. He immersed himself in his work and he was very competent. Eugene Mayer had left to head the World bank and Phil attacked every aspect of the business. He recruited talent, negotiated with unions and personally supervised newsroom renovations. His memos were stunning in their detailed outline of problems, potential and objectives. He looked and analyzed at everything from the use of space to the tiniest expense. The paper began taking stands. A crusade against local crime led to a four year battle with the police chief. They championed the Marshall Plan with front page features. The Newspaper Guild praised them. In these days, when playing it safe and treading softly is so general, the record of the Washington Post in 1947 is truly extraordinary. In 1948, two things happened that changed their prospects. Phil acquired WTOP, a 50,000 watt radio station marking their entry into the broadcasting industry. And that same year, Eugene Meyer transferred ownership to Phil and Catherine. The arrangement was telling. Phil received 3,500 shares, while Catherine received 1,500 shares. Eugene's explanation typical of the times. No man should be in the position of working for his wife. Catherine's response? I not only concurred, but was in complete accord with this idea. But it went even deeper to help Phil pay for his shares. Because he didn't have the money, she volunteered to pay for all of their living expenses from her trust fund. The houses, the cars, the schools, the entertainment, everything except Phil's personal expenses was carried by her. No problem, she thought. This arrangement was never an issue. It didn't bother either one of us. I never thought about it and we never talked about it. Only 15 years later, when things were very bad, did I look at the situation ruefully. Meanwhile, the warning signs were starting to accumulate. Phil's drinking increased. Their no fighting rule meant problems festered. The more successful Phil became, the more he needed Catherine to hold everything together. Behind the scenes, Phil Graham was transforming the Post while his personal life deteriorated and everyone focused on the success story instead of the warning signs. From the outside, it seemed like the perfect relationship. From the inside, it was getting darker and darker. The 1950s brought Phil Graham's greatest triumphs and biggest warning signs. He was running the Post at full speed. Then came the deal that made everything possible. In 1954, a cryptic letter arrived about a business matter of importance. The Times Herald might finally be for sale. Phil wrote down the payment, $2 million on a crumpled personal check from his wallet, and then called the treasurer to cover it. Somehow he didn't have the money. Overnight, the Post Circulations doubled from 200,000 to 400,000. They jumped from third to first in the morning market in a single day. But success came with a price. The more Phil achieved at work, the more demanding he became at home. Catherine provided it completely deferring to his judgment on everything. When guests came for dinner, she'd stop talking if Phil gave her a certain look. And something else was happening. Phil's energy wasn't just intense, it was manic. 18 hour days, a dozen initiatives, heavy drinking and then crashes into what everyone called exhaustion. The first real Crisis came in October 1957. Phil broke down in the middle of the night, weeping uncontrollably, saying everything was black. The diagnosis, though nobody used the term for years, was manic depressive illness. For the next several years, Catherine's life became a careful dance between Phil's soaring highs and crushing lows. During depression, she couldn't leave him alone. I was on duty a great deal of time, and if I had any strength, much of it came from surviving these exhausting months. The outside world saw none of this. To Washington society, the Kennedy administration, Phil remained the brilliant publisher of the renowned Washington Post. When his mood was up, he was magnificent. But the cycles worsened. In 1962, Phil began an affair with Robin Webb, a young employee at Newsbeak. Catherine discovered the affair on Christmas Eve. Her world built entirely around Phil. Shattered, he left her for his mistress. But he kept control of the Post. After all, Eugene Mayer had given him the majority voting shares. Consider Catherine's position here. She's 45. She's devoted her full adult life to supporting Phil and raising their family with no career of her own. And now she faced losing not just her husband, but the newspaper that her father had saved. And then two friends changed everything. Justice Frankfurter pulled her aside and said, kay, you've got to fight for this paper. It does not belong to Phil Graham. Your father created this paper. There is not room in Washington for two Graham families. Then came the walk that changed her life. She told her friend Lovey about how she would try to hang on and fight for the paper until the kids were old enough to run it. And her friend's response? Don't be silly, dear. You can do it. Me? That's impossible. I couldn't possibly do it. You don't know how hard and complicated it is. Of course you can do it. And Lovey's voice grew firm. You've got all those genes. It's ridiculous to think you can't do it. You've just been pushed down so far, you don't recognize what you can do. Sometimes the best gift that you can give someone is believing in them, believing in someone else when they don't quite believe in themselves. In June 1963, Phil's latest manic episode crashed into depression. He broke with Robin, begged Catherine to take him home, and entered the Chestnut Lodge Psychiatric Hospital. For the first time in months, there was a glimmer of hope. On August 3rd, Phil convinced the doctors to let him spend the weekend at the Virginia farm. After lunch, he said he was going to lie down. Minutes later, Catherine heard a gunshot. Phil Graham was dead at 48. The funeral filled the National Cathedral. President Kennedy sat alone, sunlight from stained glass windows illuminating him as if he were the one being mourned. In fact, nearly three months later, Kennedy himself would be dead. The day before the funeral, Catherine did something that would have seemed impossible months earlier. She went to a board meeting. Her daughter Lally, still in her nightgown, jumped in the car, scribbling notes about what her mother should see. Say, standing before the all male board, Catherine delivered a simple message. The paper would not be sold. It would remain in the family. A new generation was coming along. What she didn't say was that she herself would lead the company for the next three decades. She didn't say that she would publish the Pentagon Papers and bring down a president. That she would become the first woman CEO of a Fortune 500 company. That the stock performance during her tenure would be one of the best in history. That she would become a force that would change the course of history. No. On that day In August of 1963, she was simply a widow trying to hold things together, moving forward as she would write blindly and mindlessly into a new and unknown life. The apprenticeship was over. Katherine Graham's real education was about to begin. Phil's suicide didn't just end his life, it began hers. The woman who thought she was holding the company together temporarily is about to transform it permanently. Do you ever struggle to stay focused? There's a reason I reach for my Remarkable Paper Pro when I need to think clearly. If you're looking for something that can help you really hone in on your work without all the distractions. Remarkable. The paper tablet might just be what you're looking for. 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