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failed to receive an Oscar for her performance in “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, although before the scandal broke, she was considered a shoo-in for the honor.
Liz Taylor learned then, as Nelson Rockefeller was to discover later, the horrible damage to one’s reputation and future that one news story can cause.
The Rockefeller news story broke suddenly. John Wingate, the announcer, was just about to begin a story on the likelihood of Rockefeller’s being the Republicans’ next candidate for President when he was handed the “divorce” bulletin. Wingate informed his listeners that he was going to “throw out” the political story. He read the bulletin and added that the news “obviously throws a different light on the Republican ticket in 1964.”
Not many hours after the news of the break-up was flashed to the world, news of a vastly different sort, even more tragic, was disclosed to Mr. Rockefeller.
The message came from far away and took a long time to reach him
The news was brief, confusing and ominous. His youngest son, 23-year-old Michael, was missing in the treacherous seas off the New Guinea coast.
In a moment’s time Rockefeller changed from a complicated man wrestling with the problems of his political state to a simple man — a father about to go off in search of his lost son.
That very night Rockefeller and his daughter, Mrs. Mary Strawbridge ( Michael’s twin), boarded a commercial airliner and set off for Honolulu on the way to New Guinea. The Governor and his daughter were a pitiable sight as they sat side by side on the plane holding hands.
As the airliner droned through the night, the father’s thoughts were probably only of bis son. Michael . . . Michael, who could have sat back and done nothing for the rest of his life, but had chosen instead to join an anthropological expedition to study the primitive culture of a little-known New Guinea tribe . . . Michael who had studied hard at Phillips Exeter Academy, but whose “raucous laugh” bothered a prep school disciplinarian so much that he removed the door to young Rockefeller’s room in order to keep an eye on him . . . Michael, who graduated cum laude from Harvard, yet worked as a supermarket clerk in Puerto Rico one summer . . . Michael, who loved art. but also had a fondness for speed which got him into trouble with the law. once in a flashy sport scar, once in an ancient Studebaker . . . Michael, who served in the Army after graduation, without fuss or fanfare, even though the public relations officers wanted to make a “hero” of him . . . Michael, who was an excellent swimmer and had plunged into the water of the Arai ura Sea. near the mouth of the Eilander River, when the forty-foot proa — two dug out canoes lashed together and powered by an eighteen-horsepower outboard motor — capsized. He was last seen swimming towards the shore three miles away . . . Michael, who had written his father a letter in which he said. “I hope to be home for Christmas.”
Before he left New York, Rockefeller had said, “I’m going out there and I want to be there when they find him. I hope they find him before I get there — but I want to be there. ’ Now that they were
actually on the scene flying low over the huge search area, he and Mary could see for themselves the sea and shore beneath. Worry was etched into their pale faces.
Below them, “the land of lapping death,” as the natives called it, was a morass of rivers and jungles. The swamp was covered with green scum where giant crocodiles, poisonous snakes and centipedes lurked, and malarial mosquitos swarmed by the millions.
The expressions on the Rockefellers’ faces revealed what they were thinking: Even if Michael were able to swim through that horrible sea, even if Michael were able to wade across that treacherous strip of mile-wide coastline mud. even if Michael were able to reach shore, how would he ever make his way safely through that spongy mass of trackless vegetation to an outpost? It seemed hopeless.
But then, almost blessedly, the Rockefellers received encouraging news. Michael’s companion, thirty-four-year-old Doctor Rene Wassing, had been found clinging to the proa about twenty-two miles out at sea. They rushed off to hear Wassing's story from his own lips.
Wassing told them how their proa had been swamped by a huge wave. The two men had managed to crawl into the bottom of the hulls, and that’s where they spent the night. By morning they had drifted three or four miles out to sea.
Michael had suggested they dive in and swim for shore, but, Rene said, “I warned him about the crocodiles.” Nevertheless. Michael had stripped off his shoes and pants and plunged into the water. He took two gasoline cans along to help him float.
“His last words,” Wassing said, “were.
‘I think I can make it.’ I followed him with my eyes until I could see only three dots — his head and the two oil cans. Then he disappeared across my horizon. I didn’t want Mike to leave. I thought it was better to stay on the boat. But Mike had Iris own will and did what he wanted.”
A father hopes on. . . .
Rockefeller had new confidence. Wassing' had been found. There was a good chance that Michael would be rescued, too. Australian helicopters and Dutch naval vessels were searching the area along with thousands of natives.
Rockefeller was encouraged. “I have complete confidence in Michael’s stamina and resourcefulness,” he said. “I’m still optimistic. I’ve got to find Mike.”
The second day’s search brought no results, nor the third. The natives were spurred on in their efforts by the offer of 250 pieces of tobacco — highly prized in New Guinea — to anyone who would help find Michael, but they found no trace of the boy.
On the fourth day Rockefeller, who now left the actual searching to more experienced eyes, announced, “It's almost over. Things look bad.”
But then, on the seventh day came new hope. A six-gallon, red oil can had been picked up off the coast by a Dutch mapping vessel and was flown back for Wassing to identify. He said that he was “ninety percent sure it was one of the cans used by Mike” in his attempt to swim to shore.
The Governor called the finding of the j
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