The 50th Law (with 50 Cent)

Interpretation: The pattern of Howard Hughes’s life was set from
very early on. His mother had an anxious nature, and after learning
she could have no more children, she directed a great deal of her
anxiety toward her only son. She smothered him with constant
attention; she became his closest companion, almost never letting him
out of sight. The father placed tremendous expectations on his son to
carry on the family name. His parents determined everything he did—
what he wore, what he ate, and who his friends were (although they
were few). They shuttled him from school to school looking for the
perfect environment for their son, who had shown himself to be
hypersensitive and not easy to get along with. He was completely
dependent on them for everything, and out of a tremendous fear of
disappointing them, he became supremely polite and obedient.
The truth, however, was that he bitterly resented his total
dependence. Once his parents died, his true character could finally
emerge from beneath the smiles and obedience. He felt no love toward
his relatives. He would rather face the future alone than have the
slightest bit of authority above him. He had to have complete control,
even at the age of nineteen, over his fate; anything less would stir up
the old anxieties from childhood. And with the money he inherited, he
had the power to realize his dream of total independence. His love of
flying reflected this character trait. Only in the air, alone and at the
helm, could he really experience the exhilaration of control and release
from his anxieties. He could soar high above the masses, whom he
secretly despised. He could brave death, which he did many times,
because it would be a death under his own power.
His character came out even more clearly in the leadership style
that he evolved in Hollywood and his other business ventures. If
writers, directors, or executives came forward with their own ideas, he
could only see this as a personal challenge to his authority. This would
stir up his old anxieties about being helpless and dependent on others.

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To combat this anxiety he would have to keep control of all aspects of
the business, overseeing even the spelling and grammar of the smallest
publicity notice. He would have to create a very loose structure within
his companies, making all of the executives fight among themselves for
his attention. Better to have some internal chaos as long as everything
flowed through him.
The paradox of this was that by trying to gain such total control he
tended to lose it; one man could not possibly keep on top of everything,
and so all kinds of unforeseen problems would arise. And when
projects fell apart and the heat became intense, he would disappear
from the scene or conveniently fall ill. His need to control everything
around him even extended to the women he dated—he scrutinized
their every action, had them followed by private investigators.
The problem that Howard Hughes presented to all those who chose
to work with him in some capacity was that he carefully constructed a
public image that concealed the glaring weaknesses in his character.
Instead of the irrational micromanager, he could present himself as the
rugged individualist and the consummate American maverick. Most
damaging of all was his ability to portray himself as a successful
businessman leading a billion-dollar empire. In truth, he had inherited
a highly profitable tool business from his father. Over the years, the
only parts of his empire that ran substantial profits were the tool
company and an earlier version of Hughes Aircraft that he had spun
out of the tool company. For various reasons, both of these businesses
were run completely independently of Hughes; he had no input on
their operations. The many other businesses he personally ran—his
later aircraft division, his film ventures, his hotels and real estate in
Las Vegas—all lost substantial amounts that were fortunately covered
by the other two.
In fact, Hughes was a terrible businessman, and the pattern of
failures that revealed this was plain for everyone to see. But this is the
blind spot in human nature: we are poorly equipped to gauge the
character of the people we deal with. Their public image, the
reputation that precedes them, easily mesmerizes us. We are
captivated by appearances. If they surround themselves with some
alluring myth, as Hughes did, we want to believe in it. Instead of
determining people’s character—their ability to work with others, to
keep to their promises, to remain strong in adverse circumstances—we
choose to work with or hire people based on their glittering résumé,

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their intelligence, and their charm. But even a positive trait such as
intelligence is worthless if the person also happens to be of weak or
dubious character. And so, because of our blind spot, we suffer under
the irresolute leader, the micromanaging boss, the conniving partner.
This is the source of endless tragedies in history, our pattern as a
species.
At all costs, you must alter your perspective. Train yourself to
ignore the front that people display, the myth that surrounds them,
and instead plumb their depths for signs of their character. This can be
seen in the patterns they reveal from their past, the quality of their
decisions, how they have chosen to solve problems, how they delegate
authority and work with others, and countless other signs. A person of
strong character is like gold—rare but invaluable. They can adapt,
learn, and improve themselves. Since your success depends on the
people you work with and for, make their character the primary object
of your attention. You will spare yourself the misery of discovering
their character when it is too late.
Character is destiny.
—Heraclitus