Читать книгу CHINA BOYS: How U.S. Relations With the PRC Began and Grew. A Personal Memoir - Nicholas MD Platt - Страница 9

Diplomacy was an unorthodox choice, particularly in a family whose professional traditions were architecture and law. My grandfather, Charles A. Platt, had been a leading architect. He designed the Freer Gallery, Deerfield Academy, and Phillips Andover as well as a host of grand residences for the tycoons of his time. My father, Geoffrey, had a distinguished career of his own, which culminated as New York City’s first Landmarks Commissioner. Happily, my father had no preconceived notions of what I should become. On the contrary, when I asked him early in my teens whether I should become an architect, he responded in the kindest manner, “If you have to ask, you should not be one.” He advised me to go with my own passion.

My mother had doubts about a son “in the Diplomatic,” but history helped her get used to the idea. Her grandfather ’s successful stint as U.S. ambassador to the Court of St. James’s from 1899 to1905 had provided rich nuggets of family lore. Joseph H. Choate’s skirmish with the Argentine foreign minister during a reception at Claridge’s Hotel is still famous. The minister, decked out like a Roxy Theater doorman in an elaborate court uniform with epaulets and frogs, mistook Choate for a waiter. This was a common occurrence in those days, as American diplomats, representing an egalitarian republic, wore only black tie or white tie and tails on formal occasions.

“My man, call me a cab,” the minister exclaimed. A crowd gathered, knowing Choate was fast on his feet.

“You are a cab, sir,” he replied.

In his early twenties, my mother ’s father, Joseph Jr., served two years as Ambassador Choate’s private secretary. He was the duty officer on August 14, 1900, the day the Boxer Rebellion ended and the Siege of Peking was lifted. The U.S. Embassy in London was the telecommunications center for information about the international expeditionary force sent to rescue the foreign legations. Official London and royal London were all at the annual garden party at Buckingham Palace. My grandfather put on his striped pants and frock coat, took a hansom cab to the palace with the fateful telegram, and found himself the instant man of the hour. A reticent and self-effacing person, Pa Choate told me later this was the highpoint of his life. His story also made it easier for my mother to accept the idea of a son in the Foreign Service.

My father-in-law, Walter Maynard, a leading Wall Street investment analyst and banker, had little time for government officials and told me so in the most genial way. Assistant secretaries were a dime a dozen, he said. Wall Street had a comfortably clear and quantitative way of measuring performance. The more money you made, the better you were. Even though I was only twenty-one and painfully green (he tactfully diverted me from asking for Sheila’s hand as we stood side by side in a downtown club men’s room), Walter respected my judgment in choosing his daughter. We liked each other from the beginning. He knew that my mind was made up and simply advised me to consider his profession as a fallback, should my plans fail to work out.