High atop what used to be the Standard Oil Building, it was a time for the old lions to howl.
Up there, in the private Mid-America Club, it was an evening to remember the days of big local banks and a big local oil company. It was a moment to honor a man who, in his time, was at the center of the action–“outspoken, direct, dead honest, a fighter, a patriot and a great industry spokesman.”
Quietly, with his usual aplomb, the star of the event, John Swearingen, 86, went about the task at hand.
In a reception room filled with many of his former co-captains of commerce and industry, he sat at a table for two hours Wednesday, inscribing copies of “Think Ahead,” published by the University of South Carolina, his alma mater, with an introductory tribute.
After a startlingly successful career, Swearingen has entered yet another field of endeavor–autobiography.
“I’ve read it–and I think there’s a lot of wisdom in it,” reported A. Robert Abboud, now a member of a private investment firm, but once chairman of the long-gone First National Bank of Chicago. “Really, he’s one of the great contributors to Chicago,” added investment broker Philip W. Hummer.
“As his wife said, `He flunked retirement,'” joshed another guest, John H. Johnson, the patriarch of the publishing family.
“Brilliant! Decent! Courtly! And I adore him,” proclaimed Ruth Edelman, a longtime friend.
For some, it was the Night of the Lost Logos.
The great corporations that Swearingen served–Standard Oil (Indiana) and the Continental Illinois Bank–have been absorbed by out-of-towners. The Standard Oil Building, erected under Swearingen’s direction, is now the Aon Center, filled with insurance people.
On the other hand, it was Swearingen’s genius to shape “a rather disjointed regional oil company into one of the great industrial enterprises of all time,” noted the evening’s host, John H. Bryan, the retired head of Sara Lee Corp.
Nor, others added, would it be an exaggeration to say that Swearingen saved the nation’s banking system from collapse when, in 1984, he stepped in to stabilize the failing Continental, caught short by reverses in loans to oil operators.
But what caught the eye of many at the party were the 343-page book’s personal revelations.
“My father was an extraordinary man,” Swearingen wrote, describing his major life influence.
At 14, the elder Swearingen, hunting doves, snagged his gun on a bush. A barrel discharged. Shot ripped through his left hand into his eyes. He was totally blinded, though as he always maintained, “I am not afflicted. I just can’t see.” The message: be self-reliant, no matter what.
His father, Swearingen noted, had a highly developed sense of order. He also had a phenomenal memory.
That proved useful when he first ran for state superintendent of education in South Carolina, a post he held for many years. He noticed an opponent was making the same speech at each stop. Later, speaking first, he gave his opponent’s speech word for word, leaving the other man speechless.
“My husband is too modest. There are fabulous pictures–and stories–he could have included, but didn’t,” observed Bonnie Swearingen, speaking of her husband’s memoir. “Someday,” she added, “you can read my book. I’m writing one, and I won’t leave anything out.”
