March/April 1997
By Si Wakesberg
Si Wakesberg is New York bureau chief for Scrap.
Some years ago, I was fortunate to meet a suave, polished Frenchman, whom I recall as one of the more interesting personalities of the metals industry.
Pierre Drogoul was then president of N.C. Trading Co., the U.S. affiliate of the old SLN-Le Nickel of Paris, which has since become Eramet-SLN, the third-largest nickel producer in the world. N.C. Trading had offices in New York—my home—so I got to know Pierre, who turned out to be not only a nickel spokesman but also an authority on wine and the best restaurants in the city. Occasionally, he would call and ask me to lunch.
Dining with Pierre was always a memorable event, for he was the only man I knew who could make the most arrogant maitre d’ cringe by unleashing a torrent of French. And his encyclopedic knowledge of wines would transfix any sommelier.
To set the stage, the summer of 1971 saw an economic recession both in the United States and abroad, accompanied by the twin malaises of inflation and unemployment. Business overseas was tenuous, and the European metal markets were flat.
Expanding nickel production at a time of dwindling demand was a matter of concern for nickel market observers, though some viewed higher output as an encouraging long-term industry sign. Still, a strike that summer at N.C. Trading in New Caledonia and the resulting loss of production were greeted with expressive shrugs of the shoulders by company executives, as if to say “thank heavens.”
Hearing that I was planning a trip to Paris, Pierre insisted on my visiting Le Nickel’s offices in the formidable Tour Maine Montparnasse, then the tallest building in Paris. There I met with company principals to discuss the world outlook for nickel.
It so happened that U.S. economic policy was uppermost in the minds of French metal executives that week. This meant that instead of discovering the nuances of the European metal markets, I found myself being interviewed about what was happening in the United States. They were right to be concerned. One week later, President Nixon dropped an economic bombshell—a 90-day freeze of wages and prices.
Our interviews took place in a large, airy office high above the city that had windows opening onto all of Paris. The atmosphere was pleasant, the officials genial and accommodating, and the conversation serious and challenging.
Later, we repaired to the 58th floor for a lunch that I could only call haute cuisine. I recall at least five or six wine glasses spread out before us. At the end of the meal, we were treated to Cuban cigars. I remember that afternoon fondly, including the pleasant haze brought on by white and red wine.
A year later—in 1972—I received an invitation to a cocktail party in New York sponsored by N.C. Trading to introduce Baron Guy de Rothschild. I reexamined the card. A Rothschild! I was unaware that the baron had any connection with the company, having never spotted any reference to him in SLN or N.C. Trading literature, but I knew his to be a famous French name.
I later learned there is only one “official” Baron Rothschild in France—the one who will pass the title to his son—and that is Baron Guy de Rothschild. (His brother was the Rothschild connected with the wine industry.) The baron was a banker associated with the mining and metal industries through Inmetal, a company that owned SLN-Le Nickel and also had holdings in zinc and lead.
Baron Rothschild was then in a commanding position as titular head of the firm, though it has since gone through several transformations and he apparently no longer has any official ties to Eramet-SLN.
The reception for the baron, held at the posh Four Seasons restaurant, was timed to coincide with Steel Week, the steel industry’s annual meeting at the Waldorf-Astoria. Consequently, there were many prominent metal executives present at the reception, including steel producers, alloy manufacturers, nickel officials, and a few lucky reporters, all eager to shake the baron’s hand.
The baron was a handsome, imposing figure, quite cheerful and friendly, who spoke fluent English with the guests. Baroness Marie-Hélène de Rothschild was at his side, attracting attention with her stately bearing, grace, and charm. It turned out that the baroness, once described as “one of Europe’s most imaginative hostesses,” was familiar with New York from her days at Marymount College.
There wasn’t much time to chat. A long line moved slowly toward the couple, where each guest received a handshake and a few murmured words before stepping away.
When Pierre introduced me, I hastily managed to say, “I had a wonderful visit to SLN in Paris last year.”
“Ah, you were at our office?” the baron replied.
“Yes, and I was taken to lunch upstairs in the dining room,” I said. “I had what was probably one of the greatest meals of all time, a world-class lunch.”
The baron looked at me, bemused. “Is that so?” he said. “I’ve never eaten there. I’ll have to make it a point to have lunch there one day. Thank you for telling me.”
I moved on.
But it was nice to have been able to shake the hand of a Rothschild—and tell him something he didn’t know. •
Some years ago, I was fortunate to meet a suave, polished Frenchman, whom I recall as one of the more interesting personalities of the metals industry.