She was more than Mayer’s conscience; she was his entree to Republican politics. Through Ida, he snuggled up close to Herbert Hoover, begged Hearst to jump on the Hoover bandwagon, got himself chosen as a delegate to the Republican National Convention in Kansas City that resulted in the Great Engineer succeeding silent Cal Coolidge in the White House.
Grateful for Mayer’s support, the new President invited Louis and his faithful wife Margaret to Washington as his first informal guests after the inaugural. Hearst, who saw a lot of Louis now that Cosmopolitan Pictures was under Metro’s wing, gave the visit the full treatment in his newspapers, which was oil to Louis’ ego.
He thought he was really going places then, with the President in his pocket. A place in the Cabinet? An ambassadorship? When years passed and none of his pipe dreams came true, he pinned the blame on Ida. Suddenly she could do nothing right for him.
He fumed because he had to pass her next-door office and see her whenever he went out his own door. She was running the show instead of him, he raged. She was usurping the power that was his. He turned on her like a tiger. That was Mayer’s way. But she had too many friends for him to reach her at that time.
Another woman and, indirectly, another President saved Ida from Mayer’s fury. The woman was Mabel Walker Willebrand, a brilliant attorney. The President was Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who was now in the White House with a Congress behind him that was out for Mayer’s hide. I met FDR only once, and that in his White House office. “You’d have been a great actor if you hadn’t been President,” I said, “but I’m never going to come and see you again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a Republican, and if I saw you again, you might turn me into a Democrat.” He laughed so hard and tipped back in his chair so far I was scared he’d topple clean out of it.
But the Democrats weren’t laughing at Louis. They were gunning for him with a reform bill that included a provision stating that breeders of race horses could claim no depreciation and write off no losses unless the stables were their stock in trade or principal business. That pinpointed Louis. His prodigal style of living demanded some income benefit from his stables. The staggering take he enjoyed from Metro put him up in solitary splendor in the ninety per cent tax bracket when a bite that size was virtually unheard of. If the bill were voted into law, he was going to bleed.
He had two key allies when he took on Congress: an accountant, Mr. Stern, who was paid the princely sum of $100 a week for taking care of Louis’ personal bookkeeping, and Mabel Willebrand, who earned as much as $75,000 a year as his attorney. Out of her Washington office she battled to stave off the new bill. In the middle of the fight she came to Culver City to confer with Louis. She found he wanted to devote the time to denouncing Ida Koverman, whose value to the studio was well known by Mabel.
He paced his thick white carpet, pausing only to stand in front of the mirror in the room to admire the effect he hoped he was making. “Kay Koverman talks too much,” he raved. “I’ve got to get rid of her. People don’t want me to, but I will.”