Clive Cussler Read online

  When Clive and Lampack arrived at The Four Seasons, the maître d’ escorted them to Korda’s back wall booth in the Grill Room. After ordering drinks, Clive handed Korda the manuscript. Without glancing at its contents, he deposited the envelope on an empty chair. Later, as they were getting ready to leave, Lampack could not resist asking Korda who had actually done the editing. Korda nonchalantly affirmed it was his work. “Peter and I looked at each other,” Clive says. “This guy is supposed to be one of the world’s sharpest editors, and he’s sitting there taking credit for the worst job of editing either of us had ever seen.”

  After arriving at Washington’s National Airport, a cab delivered Clive and Barbara to the Mayflower Hotel. Clive was paying the cab driver when the hotel manager stuck his head in the window. “If you’re Clive Cussler, there is an urgent call for you at the front desk.” Clive, concerned it could be a family emergency, was surprised to hear Korda’s voice.

  After leaving Clive and Lampack at the restaurant, Korda returning to his office. Flipping through the manuscript, he discovered the 600 pages marked “stet.” Korda wanted Clive to return to New York - ASAP! Clive explained he and Barbara were spending a few days in Washington with their son. “Michael wasn’t listening,” Clive says. “Our discussion was getting pretty hot, and Michael finally demanded to know why I wouldn’t jump on the next plane back to New York. After thinking for a moment, I replied, ‘Because it’s inconvenient.’ The phone went dead.”

  When the story about the confrontation got around Simon & Schuster, Clive was known as “the guy who didn’t give a damn.” “Michael and I,” Clive says, “enjoyed what could best be described as a ‘distant’ association.” Asked to comment on his relationship with Clive, Korda stated succinctly, “He was extremely professional.”

  “Ultimately,” Clive recalls, “Michael and I ended up compromising, and the final editing of Deep Six turned out to be no more problematic than my earlier books. We made very few changes, but I did take out one chapter he objected to.”

  Dirk Pitt’s seventh adventure kicks off with Pitt and his NUMA team dispatched to find the source of a deadly poison killing everything in the waters off the coast of Alaska. When one of his crew is killed, Pitt vows revenge and the trail leads to Mim Bougainville, an elderly Korean shipping magnate who plans to kidnap the president of the United States and implant a mind-control chip in his brain. After thwarting the villain’s plans with a rousing chase in a vintage paddle-wheel riverboat, Pitt dispatches the dragon-lady, sending her on a one-way ride down an elevator shaft.

  Released in hardcover on May 21, 1984, Deep Six appeared on The New York Times bestseller list two weeks later, where it remained for fifteen weeks.

  Deep Six not only marked Clive’s debut with Simon & Schuster, it was the first book in which he loaned his fictional hero a ride from his real-world car collection - a 1948 Talbot-Lego Coupe. On the back of the book’s jacket, Clive stands next to the slinky machine. Since Deep Six, every Dirk Pitt adventure has featured Clive (and beginning with Black Wind, Dirk Cussler) photographed with the automobile Pitt borrows from Clive’s world class collection.

  All collections - stamps, art, porcelain birds, robots, snuff boxes, whatever - begin with one specimen. In 1974, Clive and Barbara were enjoying a Sunday drive in rural Colorado. Passing a farm, Barbara spotted a 1946 Ford club coupe, identical to the car she drove while attending UCLA, parked in the front yard with a “for sale” sign taped to the windshield.

  After Clive had traded his Jaguar for a Nash Rambler, the obligations of a family and career limited his vehicles to utilitarian four-door sedans and station wagons, but the heart of a motor head still beat in Clive’s chest. Realizing Barbara’s interest in the Ford provided him with an unexpected opportunity to build another hot rod, Clive cranked a U-turn, offered the owner $400 and the club coupe was soon parked in front of 7731 West 72nd Place.

  Unless it was snowing or raining, Clive and Dirk spent the majority of their spare time working on the Ford. “It wasn’t a frame-off restoration,” Dirk recalls. “More like a body-on cosmetic job. I crawled under the car and cleaned the frame and suspension, and helped rebuild the engine. My Dad was great about letting me learn on the job. I rebuilt the carb, set the timing, adjusted the brakes and replaced the wheel bearings - things I had never done before.”

  The majority of the father and son team’s effort went into prepping the body for painting. “We primed the car with spray cans,” Dirk admits, “but the final paint job and upholstery were farmed out to professional shops. It took about a year to get it done, and my father and I are still proud of the finished product. I learned to drive three-on-the-tree in that car, and the dual exhausts really sound good.”

  In 1976, following the success of Raise the Titanic!, Clive bought what he considers his first “collector car,” a 1955 Rolls-Royce Silver Dawn. “The car was in excellent shape. I had never owned anything that classy, and it was a real experience to cruise around Colorado in the Rolls. Barbara always thought the car was special because 1955 was the year we got married.”

  A few months after he bought the Rolls, Clive and Barbara were in California visiting her parents in Huntington Beach. Reading the newspaper, Clive came across an ad for a collector automobile auction being held at Movie World in Buena Park. Andy Griffith and Susan St. James were listed as celebrity auctioneers. The museum (closed in the 1980s) featured an eclectic collection of movie memorabilia and “Cars of the Stars,” including the original Batmobile and Munster Koach designed by George Barris.

  Having never heard of a collector car auction, Clive was intrigued, and he and Barbara drove to Buena Park. Clive was content to watch the action until a bright red 1926 Hispano-Suiza rolled out on the stage. “That Hispano-Suiza took me back to when I was a kid,” Clive says. “We had just moved to Alhambra. I was sitting on the curb in front of our house when this immense automobile swept past. In my neighborhood, everybody drove Fords, Plymouths, or Chevys. Not only did that amazing car seem to go on forever, there was no top over the front and a guy wearing a uniform and a hat was driving out in the open. Years later, I found out it was a town car.”

  “At some point in their life,” Clive says, “just about everybody has been touched by a car. The town car I saw when I was a kid definitely touched me.” When the bidding for the Hispano-Suiza reached $35,000, Clive, his judgment emboldened by several martinis, raised his hand. Not only did he win the vehicle with a final bid of $55,000, Clive also snared a 1921 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost for $34,000.

  After the auction ended, people were congratulating Clive on his winning bids. Little did they know he was on the verge of coming unglued. “I’m saying to myself, what the hell were you thinking, Clive? You just stuck your hand up and bought two old cars for $89,000! I was born during the Depression, a guy who always had to count pennies and had never written a check for more than $500. Then, a thunderbolt hit me: ‘Clive, you can afford it!’ I’ve always regarded the Movie World auction to be one of the pivotal points in my career - it helped me to both accept and enjoy my success.”

  Clive, who had not even bothered to register as a bidder, sought out Leo Gephart, the Phoenix vintage car dealer who had organized the event.

  Recalling his first encounter with Clive in California, Gephart laughs. “He seemed like a nice guy, but it was obvious he was new to the car game. I had absolutely no idea who Clive Cussler was, so I sent my stepson to the bank to hammer his check. Once it cleared, I gave him the titles and he arranged to have the cars hauled back to Denver.”

  Clive’s Arvada neighbor, Judy Morris, remembers the day the vehicles were delivered. “We didn’t know what to think when those huge cars were rolled out of the truck. My husband and I always joked we wouldn’t have bought our house if we knew Clive was going to open a used car business. The red car was parked in the driveway and once in a while I would see Teri and Dayna playing in the back seat.”

  In 1977, Clive was high bidder on a 193
9 Rolls-Royce Wraith sedan at an auction in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The auction company made arrangements to ship the car to Denver, and a week later, Clive was surprised to hear Bob Esbenson’s voice on the phone. When Clive was working for Mefford, Wolff & Weir, Esbenson, who owned an automobile restoration shop, provided the vintage cars Clive often used as props in his ads. After Clive was fired, the men lost contact. Esbenson had closed his restoration shop and now owned a restaurant, located a few miles from Clive’s house. As a sideline, Esbenson was hauling collector cars for the auction houses and Clive’s Rolls-Royce was sitting in the restaurant’s parking lot, ready to be picked up.

  Clive’s collection was soon spilling out of his driveway. Anxious to maintain good relations with his neighbors and protect the cars from the weather, Clive rented a small warehouse and hired a young fellow to maintain the vehicles. “The kid was a genius,” Clive says. “He could do anything, even made his own suits, but he had a serious problem with alcohol. I had to eventually let him go and replace him with Bob Esbenson, one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

  Clive and Esbenson were soon familiar faces on the vintage car auction circuit. “Bob, his wife, Moyne, and Barbara and I had a ball at the auctions,” Clive says. “Bob worked as a pitman for Kruse and Barret-Jackson, which gave us a big advantage. He was wise to all the inside stuff - the real prices and reserves, the cars with mechanical problems or suspicious history and the owners with money problems or a messy divorce who had to sell their cars.”

  Clive laughs, “Don’t get me wrong. Bob would never screw anybody he knew out of ten cents, but when he was working a deal, it was every man for himself. We always talked about writing a book about what really goes on behind the scenes at the car auctions, but the timing was never right. It would have been a real eye-opener for people who think the auctions are a genteel gathering of wealthy gentlemen and expensive automobiles.”

  By the spring of 1981, Clive’s collection had outgrown his rented warehouse. When his search for a larger building came up empty, Clive purchased several lots in a small industrial park in Golden, Colorado and hired a contractor to build a 10,000 square-foot building. Two years later, a second 8,800 square-foot warehouse was erected next to the original structure.

  One afternoon in August 1984, a young fellow hesitantly stepped into Clive’s warehouse. Keith Lowden, a recent arrival from Ohio, was working as a fleet mechanic for a tree service company located in an industrial park adjacent to the warehouse. “These amazing cars were always coming in and out of that ordinary looking building,” Lowden says. “My curiosity finally got the best of me, and I had to see what was going on in there.”

  Clive’s collection had expanded to thirty-five vehicles and Lowden, who owned several collector cars of his own, was soon spending his lunch hours working with Esbenson in the warehouse. Two years later, Esbenson suggested Lowden quit his job and work full-time for him. “I had to think about it,” Lowden says. “But in the end, the beauty of the collection won out.”

  On the evening of July 8, 1987, Clive and Barbara were watching television when they received a phone call. “It was Moyne Esbenson,” Clive remembers. “All she said was, ‘Bob is dead.’” Clive found out later that Esbenson had complained earlier in the day of not feeling well and had suffered a heart attack. Esbenson’s death at fifty-four was a devastating blow for Clive. “Bob was special. We were extremely close, and I’ve never met anybody like him, before or since.” Clive delivered the eulogy at Esbenson’s memorial service, an obligation he describes as, “the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

  The day after Esbenson died, Lowden drove to the warehouse. “I sat down in a chair in the middle of the shop,” he says. “I was really torn up. Clive and Bob had a close relationship, but I didn’t know Clive that well. I was just the guy who worked on the cars and figured I’d be looking for a new job.”

  An hour later, Lowden was still sitting in the chair when the door opened. Clive walked in, grabbed a chair and sat down next to Lowden. “We talked for a while about Bob,” Lowden says. “The auctions, the jokes, the cars, everything. Then Clive told me I was the guy he wanted to oversee the collection. He knew I was scared to death, but Clive convinced me I could do it. The way I look at it, the day Bob died, one chapter ended, and another began. I truly believe discovering Clive was my destiny.”

  Now attending the auctions with Clive, Lowden would often take along his wife, Coleen. “I like cars,” Coleen says, “but nothing like Keith or Clive. They have always had their relationship, but Barbara was my special friend. Keith and I would stay in their home after they moved to Phoenix and she was so gracious - a great hostess and a fabulous cook. When we got bored at the auctions, the two of us would check out the vendor booths. Barbara would always offer to buy me things, but I always refused because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

  Dirk was at the Kruse auction when his father bought his first Duesenberg - a 1929 convertible sedan, with a winning bid of $472,000. Duesenberg Automobile & Motors Company’s sales had dried up during the Depression, and production had ceased in 1937. Ranking among the world’s most desired collectible cars, close to 600 of the approximately 1,200 Duesenbergs originally manufactured still exist. The phrase “It’s a duesy” is still used to describe something important.

  A master storyteller is naturally drawn to cars with a colorful history. “I don’t usually look for cars in the classifieds,” Clive says. “But one Sunday I came across an ad in the Denver Post for a 1948 Packard Custom convertible, a car I always liked. Although the guy on the phone said it hadn’t run for twelve years, I decided the car was worth looking at. It was snowing, but I convinced Keith and his brother, Ron, to pick me up. They brought along a gallon of gas, several cans of starting fluid and a big battery. We were surprised to find the Packard in such great shape after sitting for twelve years, managed to get the car started and took it for a test drive.”

  When Clive questioned the car’s owner how the vehicle ended up in his garage, he explained the Packard belonged to his deceased father who purchased the car in 1948, at a Denver dealership. He wanted a black car, but the dealership only had a yellow one in stock. As he was walking out the door, a salesman stopped him and led the way to the basement. There, covered by a large tarp, was a black 1948 Packard Custom convertible. When the salesman explained the car belonged to a notorious Denver prostitute who, unfortunately, was murdered in the car’s back seat, the customer said he didn’t care and drove the car home. “After hearing that story,” Clive recalls, “I almost pulled a muscle reaching for my check book.”

  During the four years Dirk attended Arizona State, Clive and Barbara would frequently fly to Phoenix and spend a week or two with their son. Captivated by the Valley of the Sun, they purchased a condominium in Scottsdale in 1984, the year after Dirk graduated. “It was originally intended as a retreat where we could occasionally escape from the Colorado winters,” Clive says. “At first, Barbara and I would come down every couple of months. Soon, it was once a month. When we found ourselves spending every other week in Scottsdale, we decided it was time to think about buying a house.”

  In 1991, the Lookout Mountain house was sold. Clive and Barbara moved into a rambling Spanish-style hacienda in Paradise Valley, Arizona. Located east of Phoenix, the affluent town is home to twelve resorts, making it one of Arizona’s most popular tourist destinations.

  During the next four years, Clive added an office, guest house, serpentine swimming pool, and extensive landscaping, decorating the home with an eclectic collection of southwestern furniture, accessories, and art purchased in Mexico and local specialty shops and galleries.

  Although they were delighted with Arizona, they missed the mountains and began a search for property on which they could build a second home. After looking at real estate in Wyoming and Montana, they checked out Telluride. Located in southwestern Colorado, the former silver mining camp is surrounded by the steep, forested peaks and cliffs of the Sa
n Juan Mountains. The combination of western history and rugged terrain have turned Telluride into an outdoor recreation mecca, attracting everybody from the rich and famous to vagabond ski bums.

  A realtor drove Clive and Barbara out to see a piece of property. “It was the middle of winter,” Clive says. “We had to trudge through three feet of snow, but it was worth it. The lot had a magnificent postcard view of the mountains, the perfect place to build a vacation home. We decided on the spot, this is it.”

  While Clive was creating his vision of southwest living in Paradise Valley, Barbara made it clear the Telluride house would be hers alone. Clive hired a local contractor to build the two-story log home. Clive laughs, “If Barbara saw me talking to the builder, she would want to know what we were talking about. I always told her we were discussing the plumbing, wiring or a structural problem.” Teri describes the house as, “Colorado rustic. My mother wanted the house to be cozy, a place where our family could gather together, enjoy ourselves, and relax.”

  In spite of Barbara’s vigilance, Clive managed to slip in one piece of Cussler creativity. After a visit to the studio of a local wood carver who fashions logs into bears, eagles, and other wildlife, Clive envisioned transforming a utilitarian support column in the living room into a totem pole. While Clive researched totem poles, the sculptor traveled to the Northwest, selected a suitable red spruce log, had it shipped to Colorado and set upon it with his chisels and rasps. Dayna remembers when the carving was installed. “It was 1993, the first Christmas our family spent at the house. Dad put out a bunch of cans filled with different color paints and an assortment of brushes. Everybody had the best time painting the totem pole.”

  Although he was producing a string of bestsellers - between 1984 and 1992, Simon & Schuster published five Dirk Pitt adventures: Deep Six, Cyclops, Treasure, Dragon, and Sahara - Clive was becoming disenchanted with his publisher. After turning in the manuscript for his next book, Inca Gold, Clive contacted Paul McCarthy, a senior editor at Pocket Books. McCarthy, whose responsibilities included publishing Clive’s paperbacks, remembers the call. “Clive told me, ‘Simon & Schuster is not publishing my books, they’re simply printing them. I need a real editor to work on Inca Gold. How about you?’”