In All His Glory: The Life of William S. Paley: The Legendary Tycoon and His Brilliant Circle.

In All His Glory: The Life of William S. Paley: The Legendary Tycoon and His Brilliant Circle

THE TITLE and, in particular, the double subtitle of Sally Bedell Smith's biography sound sarcastic, almost farcical. But they suggest what William S. Paley was all about: his image, his work--the running of CBS--and his desperate need to surround himself with a circle of rich, gentile socialites. To be a business legend in his time and to be one of the Beautiful People were his chief ambitions. As Smith's study shows, in both cases he achieved a flawed success.

This is a big book about a big man who was active almost to the day of his death, last October 26, at age 89. The author carefully examines his life and its mystery. The mystery is not what he did; that is detailed in 608 pages of text and 115 pages of bibliography and notes. It is how he made everything come together so well. Bill Paley was by turns staunchly determined and pathologically indecisive; he was given to selecting brilliant subordinates and then alienating or firing them; and he was as apt to tell a lie as the truth about his operations. How did such a faulty human being rise rather quickly to the top of the business and social worlds?

The answer to that question is the implicit theme of Smith's colorful and anecdotal book. She does not indulge in either flattery or malice, and evidently has no axe to grind. Nor does she indulge in trite pop psychology and philosophical musings about the odd combination of character traits apparently required for Success (with a capital S) in our culture. She simply lays out her closely researched history of Paley's words and actions--and their consequences. Wherever possible, she adds what he and his confidants believe motivated his moves.

The result is fascinating, occasionally strange, and often educational. Take the history of Paley's short-lived ban on "instant analysis"--the commentary by correspondents immediately following a Presidential address to the nation or televised news conferences. These reports are necessary when the President ends at a moment inconvenient for networks--that is, at any time other than on the hour or half-hour. Staff newsmen are brought in to fill the empty air space.

After complaints from the Nixon Administration, Paley (a strong supporter and financial contributor, who hoped in vain to be appointed ambassador to London) issued a decree: No more instant analysis of the President on CBS. In response, five of the network's Washington correspondents (Marvin Kalb, Roger Mudd, Dan Rather, Dan Schorr, and I) wrote a letter to Richard Salant, the head of CBS News, explaining the value of putting Presidential statements in context and correcting inadvertent ad-lib errors. Salant liked the letter and said he would pass it along to Paley when the occasion was right. There was some controversy concerning Rather, who was involved in the drafting, but failed to sign the letter before it went to Salant. Following the warm reception in New York, he wanted to add his name--too late, as it were. Chairman Paley soon rescinded his ban. Instant analysis returned and we five--or at least we four--felt like heroes.

Sally Bedell Smith sets the record straight. Nothing in the letter had made any impression on the Chairman. As in so many other incidents, change sprang from an offhand comment by a friend of the avid social climber. Averell Harriman mentioned to Paley that he no longer watched Nixon on CBS because no one analyzed the President's addresses. "That was it," Smith quotes a former network executive as saying, "Harriman did it for us."