Return to the Waldorf

I spent 10 weeks in the summer before my junior year of college interning in the Silver Department of Christie's, the New York art auction house, and one of the first things I did that summer was go to an auction held at the famed Waldorf Astoria Hotel. A handful of us girls, in our nice college-y cocktail dresses, stood at evenly spaced intervals between the tables of New York high society. Our job was to get the attention of the auctioneer if he seemed to be overlooking someone raising a hand near us.

When I think about it now, I think of what a strange task it was, what a remarkably servient position to be in for me and my fellow college students. More than servient, it was silly. Why would the auctioneer be able to see me and the other interns better than someone raising their hand? Some of those interns were majoring in art history, were practicing scholarship in a nascent, youthful way, and had come to Christie's for the summer eager to learn more about art. And this is what they were being asked to do -- look pretty for the show. (Which has its purpose and reason, I will concede.)

However I feel about it now, at the time, being asked to go to the fabled and historic Waldorf Astoria, symbol of all that was rich and unreachable, was brilliantly exciting. I felt a part of that rich and unreachable world; its glamour and sophistication gilded me and gave the night a dizzying feeling of romance. I was dazzled.

Tonight I went back to the Waldorf Astoria for the first time since that night of standing awkwardly between tables of gentry in my ill-fitting black cocktail dress. This time I went as a representative from my firm, which had bought a multi-thousand dollar table at a charity event honoring one of its own -- a female litigation partner. I had a seat. True, I was filling in because someone had dropped out the day before, but -- I had a seat.

I happened to be seated between one of the managing partners of my firm and another litigation partner. The managing partner is shrewd in looks and in fact, quick and crisp in his thinking, courteous in demeanor, and skilled at debate. For some reason, I told him what the dean of the law school (he also went to Crimson, albeit 30 years ago) said in her welcome speech: "The competition is over. You've won."

He thought that over, and asked, "Do you agree with that?"

I thought it over too, and said, "Yes... I do."

"You hesitated," he observed. "Why?"

"I think," I began, trying to work out my thoughts into speech, "that in the socio-economic lottery, we did win. So in that sense the audience she was speaking to was all winners." I paused, and asked him, "Why? Do you agree?"

"Well, in one sense we are never winners, because there's always more to achieve." He explained that this kind of thinking might breed complacency.

"But shouldn't there be a point where you stop and say, 'I'm content here'?" I asked. "That's not necessarily stopping --"

"How can that not involve stopping?"

I considered that and agreed that it couldn't. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing."

"I didn't say it was."

"Yes, but the tone of your comments implied that it was."

He recapitulated. "Yes, that's true." But the point, he said, was that we'd lose out on a lot of achievement if people were complacent.

"Maybe your contentment is in the striving, then," I suggested. I further ruminated, "Maybe it's the motivation that counts. If you're going after excellence for the sake of excellence, maybe the striving can lead to personal happiness, whereas if you're doing something for the prestige, it's not so happy..."

"Why not?" he asked. "If prestige is what you want, why shouldn't that make you happy when you strive for it?"

I reconsidered again. "You're right," I said. I had been making a value judgment.

We chewed in silence for a moment, and then I said, "This reminds me of that line, 'Greed is good.'"

"Yes," the partner answered, "that's a very crude version of what I'm saying." He started sayinng that he had gone to law school at a time when going there was considered selling out, probably in an attempt to explain why he sounded so Gordon Gecko-ish, but the awards presentation began, and conversation stopped.

It was an interesting exchange, and one I wished we could have continued. I thought about it as people lauded each other, and I think now that there were several things we were glossing over that were quite important in understanding each other's view: What "achievements" were we talking about, and who did they benefit? As he put it, prestige and excellence often go together, but less so when the excellence is in the area of serving the public.

But say prestige and excellence are equally valid motivators. Then perhaps the biggest crime under his world view was not being committed enough to any motivating factor to strive. To fall into something and do it just because it's convenient, it's easy.

He essentially did say that, mentioning that he had fallen into law almost accidentally when he discovered that he disliked the meticulous lab work that would have been necessary to continue in his college specialty. Fortunately, he likes his job, but if there ever was a time when he woke up and dreaded going to work, he would stop.

Perhaps it was friendly advice, given that I had told him that I had fallen into law also. Or maybe he was just saying how he really felt. I couldn't help but think of the partner on my other side, who had three weeks ago told me at dinner that he thinks of an exit strategy every day, and that he was not sure if it was worth it.

The rest of the evening saw a lot of laudatory comments traded between people who have done well for themselves and for the community. There were a number of close relationships exposed in the awarding of the community service honors -- the mayor spoke, and his companion (because it's too gauche to say girlfriend?) got an award; a father gave an award to his daughter; and a husband-wife couple were individually honored for their work in legal services. I got a back ache from twisting in my seat to watch the awards presented between friends, lovers, family.

The moment the awards were done, two litigation partners sprinted out the door without even saying farewell, presumably to work. I exchanged a pleasantry with the managing partner. And then I myself walked out of the Waldorf Astoria with a fifth year associate in litigation, a pretty blonde woman who said she liked going to charity dinners because it was a good way to meet others in the firm and in the legal community.

"After a while, you get to know everyone there," she said. "And some day it's going to be us. Our law school classmates will be at those tables, and getting those awards."

"Yes," I said slowly. "I suppose it will be." After we parted ways, I walked the rest of the way back to my studio, wondering if I really am now part of that gilded crowd I stood so awkwardly amongst when I was 19, awed and ill at ease. Was my return to the Waldorf tonight truly a symbol of my entree into that world?

If so, I am -- for good or bad -- no longer so dazzled. But I am -- for good or bad -- still ill at ease.
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