Fantasy feeds the soul, supplying what reality cannot. Fantasy is also a way to see others differently and so make them more accessible and more real.
In the
1960s nearly every young man who was thinking about freedom and the
works of Ayn Rand was also fantasizing about either Dagny Taggart or
Ayn Rand herself. One fellow of our acquaintance sent Ayn his papers
of mathematical esoterica and introduced himself to her by sitting in
the lobby of her apartment building holding fresh orchids every
morning.
He had also
bought a new suit and had a manicure. He was serious about his
passion for the woman who wrote Atlas Shrugged.
It was a
little depressing that he received a notice from Ayn's attorney
telling him to stay away from her, but at least he had been noticed.
He cherished the memory and ever after did all in his power to get
close to her – even to the point of going into therapy with
Nathaniel Branden, her former lover.
And so it
was for many who called themselves Objectivists, wearing the icon of
their passion, the solid gold dollar-sign, under their impeccably
pressed shirts.
If you were
reading Rand you know. You experienced that far away, haunted look
in the eyes of men who were young enough to be Ayn's sons. No
matter, her flashing eyes and intellect caught them like the flame
which burned on the end of their cigarettes, lighing up the world
with what was possible but beyond their grasps.
The New
York Inner Circle generation included Charles and David Koch, whose
intensely private life styles might have made haunting Ayn Rand with
flowers and being there to light her cigarettes too daunting to be
attempted in the flesh. But that does not mean they did not
fantasize about crushing her in their arms, or that they did not wear
the symbol of their resonance with her ideas under their tailored
shirts.
Likely,
they did.
Let us, for
a few brief moments, enter into the fantasy life of the brothers,
Koch.
Is the
reason David did not settle down to marriage until so late in love
because he harbored fantasies of Ayn? Was his first glimpse of her
the photo on the back of Atlas Shrugged?
Is that why
he moved to New York? To walk the streets which she knew, gaze up at
the apartment where she lived, and, after her death, be close enough
to lay flowers on her grave, sighing for what could never be?
Does the
solid gold dollar sign he purchased, filled with passion for her,
still rest in a drawer, folded into the handkerchief she dropped
after one of the speaking engagements he covertly attended? It could
be. And did David ever voice his passion to brother Charles, who
also, likely harbored his own passions and fantasies.
The
brothers were unlikely to confide something so intimate to each
other. But you can imagine them sitting together, discussing one of
her books, each occasionally touching their shirt which laid over the
golden pledge to her. If they shared the feelings of their
generation the symbol would bring with the touch a sense of reverence
for the woman whose words moved them.
If so, it
is likely Charles had the larger dollar sign. He, is far more driven
than his younger brother. But would the richness of Charles'
fantasies have the depth and richness brother David could give?
We can
imagine David as he knelt to pick up the handkerchief which he so
lovingly wrapped around this dollar sign, looking up to see the woman
he adored walking out, looking in his eyes like a goddess of the
mind.
Like so
many, David likely rewrote the scene in the Statue of Liberty in his
mind. There, in his mind, he would have clasped Ayn in his arms and
told her she would be his, and only his.
The fellow
of our acquaintance, mentioned earlier, lived such a fantasy. In
his fantasy he paid off Frank and Nathan, buying out the interest
each had in Ayn. He could never understand, however, why Ayn reacted
with outrage when she showed her the quit-claim deeds. He reported
that, in his fantasy, she belting him in the chops. He tried, he
said, to make it come out differently, but always failed.
What
fantasy would David had created? He could have afforded to bury her
apartment building in orchids – or give you a car with a body made
of gold sheathing. His gift of love would have to be frivolous, but
meaningful.
What if he
had offered her youth? Even then there were murmurs of the extended
years of life which money could buy.
We can only
imagine.
And then,
we wonder if the brothers ever unbent enough to share their mutual
passion and found relief in discussing their feelings for Ayn.
Could it
be? Or, was Charles obsessed with a different fantasy, one which
made him dominant, demanding Ayn's love.
What kind
of a man would Charles have to have been to have Ayn for his own?
What if all of his efforts over the last years have their origin in a
blinding desire to be worthy of the only woman who ever truly moved
him? If, he thought, he was the richest man in the world, then, she
would yield to him. What if, to conquer her, Charles became
determined to conquer the world for her?
A dollar
sign over his heart and her picture looking at him every time he
touches his call phone. A sanctuary in a place private only to him,
where her face gazes down on him. The chaste decor would be filled
with books she touched, clothing she wore, and a faint scent of her
perfume, always hanging in the air. Charles hungered for the only
thing he could never have.
Charles
I, Emperor of the World
And of Ayn's Heart
