Giant of the West

(See Cover)

Occasionally, like an aging but still truculent eagle, San Francisco's Banker Amadeo Peter Giannini feels an urge for solitude, flaps eastward to survey his Pacific Coast empire from a distance. In the past these vigils were often disturbed by the sight of an enemy and Giannini's instinct for plummeting into violent battle. But last week in Palm Beach the 75-year-old Giannini sunned his scars in peace, lazily observed the movements of lesser birds, and gazed west with a benevolent softening of his hooded eyes.

The big, white-haired, white-mustached founder of the world's richest branch banking system was spending the winter as befitted his station—amid the surf-edged, palm-shaded luxury of the Breakers Hotel. Certain necessary trappings of state were in evidence—telegrams were delivered, long distance calls put through, and a fitting number of moist, pink vice presidents arrived to intone, "Yes, A.P.," at proper intervals.

Giannini allowed none of this to interfere with his joy in the simple life. Mornings he lay all but naked atop a bathhouse, his sun-blackened, 6 ft. 1½in., 215-lb. bulk streaming inelegant rivulets of sweat. He swam, indulged himself in a rubdown, sat up with a towel around his ample middle to address those around him in .a hoarse, booming voice.

But he had nothing to do with Florida's night life, shunned cocktail parties and dinners ("If you go you have to return invitations") and, as a rule, refused to get into a boiled shirt. As always, he had no use for golf, gambling, the races, fishing, or "that damned gin rummy." Work was his play. He had never bothered to learn the small tricks by which lesser fry relax.

Triumph. For A. P. Giannini, who had once peddled vegetables, it was enough to meditate in fierce and profane triumph. He still had enemies, but he had smitten the big ones hip & thigh. Wall Street, and the "goddamned Eastern bankers" who had once tried to swallow him, could only watch him impotently now, with half-reluctant admiration. This week, after 42 years of struggle, his Bank of America National Trust & Savings Association, which covers California with 494 branches in over 300 cities, had become the biggest private bank in the world. Once before, Bank of America had passed Manhattan's Chase National Bank in total deposits, only to be overtaken again. But now it had a triumphant lead: $5,231,000,000 to $5,140,000,000.

The future of Giannini's empire—founded on the passionate belief that banking opportunity lies with the little fellow's money—seemed bright. From the Strait of Juan de Fuca to the Mexican line, the West Coast was booming, its fears of postwar slump almost forgotten.