The prince of Newtown Square

Originally published Feb. 4, 1996

Inquirer staff writers Jere Downs, Rich Heidorn Jr. and Rich Henson contributed to this article.

In 1963, an awkward young man with a preposterously patrician profile began training with members of the nation's premier competitive swim team, Santa Clara.

Beyond his shy demeanor and distinctive looks, John Eleuthere du Pont stood apart from his world-class poolmates in a particularly critical measure.

"It's not just that John couldn't keep up," said Donna de Varona, who would win a gold medal in the 1964 Olympics, "he was not even a good swimmer ... He wasn't fast enough to compete at any serious level. It was a joke.

"We all recognized the name `du Pont' of course. We understood he was there because somebody had written a big check. "

Unwelcome at first by team members who resented him, du Pont doggedly persevered.

Every morning and afternoon in the pool he battled unsuccessfully to keep pace with de Varona, Don Schollander, Lynn Burke and the other superb swimmers. But theirs was an inheritance du Pont's couldn't match; no amount of will can make a dolphin of a duck.

"It took a long time, but eventually we did include him," de Varona remembered. "He rode in our carpools and came to our parties. We bought him ice cream because he never seemed to have a penny in his pockets. We teased him about being so slow.

"I felt sorry for him. Because here was a man who could buy just about anything, and what he wanted was to be a great swimmer. He wanted what he could not have. "

Du Pont's early obsession with Olympic-level swimming is part of a pattern. Throughout his life, time and again, he sought some measure of achievement, often in arenas where he never quite belonged.

He presented himself as a modern renaissance man, an athlete, scientist, selfless philanthropist and cop. The classic dilettante, he moved from one obsession to the next, buying an aura of expertise he lacked and attaching his own name to it.

John du Pont's story is testament to America's endless capacity for humoring the rich. In du Pont's case, the well-meaning charade went on for far too long. The chemical company heir now sits alone in a jail cell, charged with the murder of Olympic wrestler Dave Schultz nine days ago.

This account of his life - pieced together from interviews with dozens of people who have known du Pont from prep school up to the startling events of last weekend - shows both how much, and how little, money can buy.

* John du Pont grew up on the vast estate in Newtown Square where years later he would hold police at bay for two days as they sought his arrest.

Those who knew him as a child, and later as a student at the Haverford School, recall that even then he seemed always struggling to belong to something.

"He wanted to be a part of the class and all the things that were going on, but for whatever reason he never could," said George Robertson, who with du Pont was a member of Haverford's Class of 1957. "He was always lonesome. He was hidden somewhere inside that big estate. "

Du Pont was born Nov. 22, 1938. His parents, William Jr. and Jean Liseter Austin du Pont, divorced when he was a small boy. His father, one heir to the vast du Pont chemical fortune, bred and trained horses, and was regarded as a loudly opinionated eccentric in the high social circle they inhabited.

"He was always called Dirty Willie, for the simple reason that he seemed never to wash," said Robert Montgomery Scott, who grew up on an estate near the du Ponts'. "He always wore the same clothes, never seemed to have them laundered, so they were rumpled and mildewy, and, to say the least, tended to announce his presence. "

The split with Jean was bitter, and when William remarried, his youngest child was left in the sole care of his mother. For most of his childhood, his older brother and two sisters were grown and living away from the estate.

Jean was, by all accounts, a formidable woman. She ran a farm so self-sufficient that it was regarded as feudal by Newtown Square neighbors. With a large staff to assist, Jean grew most of her own vegetables and bred most of the livestock that supplied their meat.

First thing each morning she would drive her Buick down to visit the pony barns near the front gate. Wearing a simple cotton housedress, she would walk from stall to stall, inquiring after each animal.

"It was like clockwork," said George Clardy, a longtime hand at the estate. "If she didn't come down, you knew something was wrong. "

Next, she would visit the greenhouses, where a full-time gardener tended to their orchid collection. A next stop might be at the two "hunter barns" behind the big house, where horses used in fox hunting were kept. The staff maintained a code of silence, speaking to Jean or to young John only when spoken to. In those days, an old du Pont stable manager recalled, "the place was like Falcon Crest, everybody was running around in britches and boots. Everyone took pride in their appearance. "

The 800-acre estate was unfenced in the 1940s and '50s, and was bordered by rambling stone walls and low-slung wood and concrete post fences. Before suburban development began to alter Delaware County, the estate was surrounded by miles and miles of open country. Nevertheless, Jean jealously guarded its perimeter.

Hikers or riders who strayed across its grounds were apt to be ordered off, sometimes by young John du Pont himself. Neighbors periodically received stern notes from Jean reminding them that the du Pont estate wasstrictly off-limits.

Jean was an accomplished horsewoman who bred Welsh ponies and champion beagles and got her hands dirty working on the estate. She rode after foxes until her age forced her to stop in the mid-1960s. One of John's classmates at the Haverford School remembers how hard it was to keep up with her on a walk - "and I was a soccer player!" he said.

Jean marked holidays and birthdays with grand meals and parties, and kept her youngest son active in the somewhat formal but extensive family circle of du Ponts and Austins.

"I remember visiting out there one year at Christmas," recalled Howard Butcher 4th, who was a few years ahead of du Pont at Haverford. "They had this huge, truly stunning Christmas tree, every square inch of which was beautifully decorated. Their whole Christmas was spent in delivering pres-ents to what were, in fact, hundreds of cousins. This was evidently the family tradition. They were very much a part of the extended family then, and many of those people were very nice and sort of normal."

"She was, simply, a marvelous woman," said John Girvin, who was also a member of the Haverford Class of 1957 and a longtime friend. "She managed that place with a strong hand. She managed John that way, too. "

As a youngster, du Pont set up a stand outside the property on Route 252 selling apple cider for 50 cents a gallon.

"It was quite a sight if you knew who he was," Robertson said. "There would be a station wagon parked alongside, and old Mr. Cherry would be in there keeping an eye on John. "

Robertson recalled that a family farmhand he knew only as Mr. Cherry was the closest thing to a father du Pont had. Cherry was frequently dispatched to watch over the boy. Cherry drove du Pont to and from school every day, and when he went over to the Butchers' house to play, it was Cherry who dropped him off.

"But Mr. Cherry had no power to sit on him, and John realized that early on," Robertson said.

Du Pont grew into a skinny teen with a slight stutter, a long thin neck, receding chin, and a nose, as a consequence, that simply took over his face. His hair was ginger and wavy, and it turned blond in the summer. He had a hereditary stiff upper lip that gave him a naturally stern expression. The combined effect, his classmates recall, was an aloof appearance that belied an eagerness to join in.

He was a poor student at Haverford. He joined the swim team and wrestled, but he wasn't particularly successful at either sport.

The one place he excelled was collecting. Du Pont was fascinated by birds, animals, fish and shells, and his mother indulged him extravagantly.

On the third floor of Liseter Hall, as the big house was known, du Pont kept his treasures. His mother had purchased for him extensive collections of eggs and stuffed birds, labeled and displayed on hundreds of shelves.

"But the big attraction was the dioramas," said Butcher. "They were magnificent, on a par with anything you'd see at the Academy of Natural Sciences. They depicted the four seasons in Delaware, and were filled with stuffed animals with elaborate painted backdrops and replicas of real foliage. " (These are now on display at the Delaware Museum of Natural History. )

All the men who remember paying visits to the du Pont estate when they were boys recall being awed by this mini-museum. Although the dioramas and collections were the work of artists and serious scientists and were purchased for the boy's pleasure, his friends left with the impression that du Pont was prodigiously learned for his age.

"He would go on and on talking about birds and animals," said Butcher. "He seemed to know everything. "

In school, however, he was struggling.

To many of his classmates, there was an impenetrable awkwardness about the boy. It was as if his real self was locked deep inside. Visits with John are remembered as set pieces, not the hurly-burly of boys at play.

"I remember this one Saturday, out of the blue, John tracked me down over at Sam Dixon's house, where I was going to spend the night, and invited both of us out to lunch," said Girvin. "Sam lived right across the road, so we walked over.

"We were greeted at the door and escorted into a big dining room. John's mother sat at one end of this enormous table and John sat at the other. Sam and I were placed at the middle across from each other. We had these big service plates in front of us and a whole table setting. Then a butler came out and took away the plate. I thought, `Oh, my God, they're not going to feed me! ' "

Instead, the servant brought back a new plate with a hamburger and roll on it. Potato chips came in silver bowls, as did the ketchup and mustard. Afterward John took them upstairs to show off his collections.

Du Pont began to drift after leaving Haverford, where his classmates, wise to the advantages of du Pont's fortune, had wryly voted him both "most lazy" and "most likely to succeed. " He had to attend summer school to collect enough credits to graduate.

According to Butcher, he first set his sights on Cornell University, but was rejected. Butcher was a junior at the University of Pennsylvania when du Pont started there the fall of 1957.

"He struck me as being pretty aimless then," he recalled.

Butcher got du Pont to pledge his fraternity, but du Pont decided to withdraw from Penn in 1958, before completing his freshman year.

"John was different," Butcher said. "We were just fraternity guys hanging out, dating girls, doing the things you do at that age. But John didn't seem interested in those things. I think he looked upon it as schoolboy stuff, and it was like he was more grown up than we were. He got it in his head that he wanted to be a swimmer, and then, boom! - he was gone.

"I admired him. I thought, here's a guy who is ambitious and wandering but has no focus, and then all of a sudden something clicked. "

Actually, it was several years before du Pont completely devoted himself to swimming. First he set to work expanding his collections. Soon after finishing at Haverford, du Pont had dreamed of founding a museum to house his birds, eggs and shells.

He incorporated the Delaware Museum of Natural History in 1957, although it would not be built until 15 years later. Du Pont spent much of the next few years on collecting expeditions to the Philippines, Samoa, the Fiji Islands, Australia's Great Barrier reef and other Pacific sites.

The specimens gathered on the trips became the foundation of the future museum. He would later claim credit for this scientific work, but the real force behind those expeditions was R. Tucker Abbott, now deceased. He was one of the foremost experts on mollusks in the world. Du Pont's father hired Abbott, who was employed by the Academy of Natural Sciences, and underwrote the cost of these exotic forays.

"His father wanted to get John a guide, and he wanted to get him the best, so he hired my husband," said Cecelia Abbott.

Du Pont finally settled in at the University of Miami, working toward a bachelor of science degree in marine biology, and swimming. He swam on the university's varsity team in '62 and '63, earning the affectionate nickname "Du Poo" from his teammates.

He is remembered as a "fair" swimmer by his coaches. The most lasting impression he made was by becoming the largest single contributor to the International Swimming Hall of Fame in Fort Lauderdale.

Rosemary Dawson, a former swimming coach in Fort Lauderdale, said she and her husband tried to befriend du Pont in those years. "People treated him differently because of the money. And from his side, I'm sure he worried of people trying to take advantage. But you also felt when you dealt with him that he was a man who didn't feel good about himself. "

Du Pont didn't get his degree from Miami until '65, after his stint in California with the Santa Clara swim club.

"I think those were the happiest years of his life," said Donna de Varona, now a commentator for ABC Sports. "After we accepted him, I think he really enjoyed himself. He was very fond of my mother. I met his mother and visited his estate. "

It was the swimmers at Santa Clara who launched du Pont's next personal improvement project. The club's coach, George Haines, and several of the swimmers set out to find some sport at which du Pont might be able to compete. They pulled out a book that listed Olympic events, de Varona recalls, and settled on the pentathlon, a five-sport event that included cross-country riding, swimming, running, fencing and shooting.

Du Pont had grown up shooting and riding, he had turned himself into an above-average swimmer - "Better than most pentathletes anyway," said de Varona. If he turned himself into a runner and learned how to fence, he might have a shot at winning something.

The sport had another advantage: There were very few people who could afford to train and compete in such a varied discipline. In this country there are about 25 people who seriously compete.

Du Pont seized upon the idea, and it became his obsession for the next five years. He built a swimming pool on the estate, hacked out running paths, and set himself a stern regimen of running, swimming, riding and shooting. He hired Lajos Csiszar, a fencing instructor at Penn.

The multimillionaire, would-be Olympian drew a lot of attention. There were write-ups in newspapers and Life magazine. Du Pont posed for pictures in training on his estate, and told reporters he was confident he would represent the United States in the 1968 Summer Games in Mexico. It was during this period that cartoonist Milt Caniff created a character named Jeff Newtown in his strip Steve Canyon who was patterned after du Pont.

In 1967, du Pont held the national pentathlon championships on his estate. Competing on a course he had designed and trained over for years, he finished 14th in a field of 29. The following year he went after his big ambition, the 1968 Olympic team. Twenty-two pentathletes competed for three positions on the team. Du Pont finished 21st.

"A talented dilettante would be as far as I'd go with it," said Yank Albers, spokesman for the Modern Pentathlon Association, when asked to assess du Pont's career. As for the heir's crowning achievement, winning the 1965 Australian pentathlon, Albers was not impressed, noting that the result said more about the state of the sport in Australia than du Pont's ability.

After failing to make the Olympic team, du Pont dropped his own rigorous training. He would continue to make much of his athletic achievements, however. In a slim book he authored called Off the Mat, he shows himself pictured with the 1976 Olympic pentathlon team. He was team manager.

* Some things had started to change about du Pont as he moved into his 30s.

"I went to see him on his estate and he had these two German shepherds that had been trained in Germany who followed him everywhere," said Butcher. "He told me they ran with him on his long runs every other day in case somebody tried to kidnap him. This was around the time of the Patty Hearst kidnapping, which evidently really scared him. "

Du Pont ordered a 12-foot steel fence topped with barbed wire erected around the estate, and an electronic card-access system put in at the main gate. All other entrances were chained off.

"We always thought someone must have threatened him or something," said farmhand George Clardy.

It was during these years that du Pont came into his inheritance. His father died in December 1965, which delivered the first big installment, estimated to be $80 million by Butcher, a stockbroker who handled some of du Pont's investments.

Estimates of the total fortune vary by hundreds of millions of dollars. Court documents from du Pont's divorce listed his worth as $46.2 million in 1983. Forbes magazine listed his net worth as $200 million in 1987, then dropped him from its list of the nation's 400 richest people in 1988.

With characteristic intensity, du Pont threw himself into the management of his money. He bought a French-made helicopter, earned a pilot's license, and began commuting to New York City (a 45-minute sprint) every day to meet with his investment advisers. His dogs flew with him.

Du Pont finally founded his Natural History museum in 1972. He had hired R. Tucker Abbott away from the Academy of Natural Sciences in 1969, doubling his salary, and set him to work designing the museum. When it was done, he installed himself as director, and named Abbott "director of shell collections."

"The museum is the result of John's money and interest and my husband's brains," said Cecelia Abbott. She said du Pont wanted to be seen as an expert in the field, but lacked the knowledge and credentials.

Over time, there was friction, and in 1977, du Pont fired Abbott. The eminent scientist was asked to turn in his keys and get out, and du Pont abruptly declared that the mollusk department of the museum was being "temporarily suspended" as part of an "energy conservation program. "

Abbott sued for breach of contract, backed by a legal defense fund created by fellow shell experts. The case was settled out of court.

Back in Newtown Square, du Pont isolated himself more and more. He declined most social invitations. In interviews he suggested some of his behavior was designed to avoid marriage-minded women.

"You'd be surprised," he told an interviewer, "how many pushy mothers there are who have a daughter they want me to meet. Even on the farm I run in the woods a lot or swim underwater. It's a great way to avoid people. "

While seeking to avoid some people, du Pont worked to develop ties to the Newtown Township police, to whom he offered his services and helicopter. A shooting range he installed on the estate was used to train officers, and du Pont's large donations of money and time bought him a special relationship with the force.

"John always wanted to be a policeman, sort of like a lot of boys want to grow up to be firemen," recalled Halbert Fillinger, the Montgomery County medical examiner and an acquaintance of du Pont's. "So they just sort of humored him, and he had a siren on his car and a radio, and I think he rode around with them a while. "

Du Pont took it more seriously than that. He posed in his full Newtown police uniform and flashed his Chester County police detective's badge whenever he got the chance. He told friends and interviewers that he was an active member of the force.

The legend of John E. du Pont was now full blown, and the man was starting to act as though he believed it. Olympic athlete, serious scientist, policeman ... there was just enough truth in each story to convince the gullible, or perhaps to convince himself.

Workers on the estate who admired Jean du Pont were wary of her son, especially as he began asserting himself more. "Word would spread," said Clardy, "things like, `He's pretty good today. ' You never knew, from one moment to the next, how he would react. "

When a group of Haverford School alumni approached du Pont seeking a donation for a new science building on campus, according to classmate John Girvin, he offered them a check for $1 million, but there were strings attached. Girvin said that du Pont's demands were that his name be featured prominently on the building so that it could be seen along Lancaster Avenue, that an English teacher who twice flunked him be fired, and that his favorite teacher be promoted to head of his department.

When the school declined, Girvin said, du Pont tore up the check. A spokesman for Haverford School said he did not know if the story was true, but many of du Pont's classmates were familiar with the story.

Du Pont had a tendency to lecture others. Acquaintances tell of sitting through windy du Pont orations on politics, wildlife, sports or simply the arcane details of managing his estate.

"I remember one time he talked to me about the habits of eagles for nearly 3 1/2 hours with great intensity and evident knowledge," said Robert Montgomery Scott. "It was boring as hell. I wasn't the least bit interested and he didn't seem to notice. I viewed him as someone of eccentric brilliance, but let's say I did not seek out John's company."

* A hand injury led to the next twist in du Pont's life. While getting therapy at Crozer-Chester Medical Center, du Pont met Gale Wenk, who headed the unit's occupational therapy department. The two were married in September 1983.

"She was as blue collar as can be," Clardy said. "Her people were from Kensington in Philadelphia. "

By all accounts, Jean du Pont was displeased. She needn't have been too concerned. The new Mrs. du Pont moved out after six months. She said that du Pont was frequently drunk and that he had abused her.

"Before the wedding I would periodically notice episodes where he would drink heavily," she said. "After the wedding, it went on daily, all day long. "

Gale Wenk du Pont said her husband once returned from an aunt's funeral so drunk that he demanded that she help him undress. When she did, she said, he pushed her, punched her and started to choke her, and threatened to kill her and dump her body in a swamp on the estate. He bragged that the police would never prosecute him because of his wealth and connections.

On another occasion, she said, a drunken du Pont held a gun to her head and told her, "You're a Russian spy. You know what they do to spies. They shoot them. I'm going to blow your brains out. "

They have since divorced.

Another who knew du Pont well during that period is Marii Mak. Mak, a close friend during the mid-1980s, met du Pont when he expressed an interest in funding a feature film based on his newest passion, wrestling.

Mak was working with a Los Angeles film production company at the time. When their business meeting was over, she promised to pitch du Pont's idea to the studios (none was interested), and du Pont asked her to come back and have dinner with him.

Du Pont sent her first-class plane tickets for the flight from Los Angeles, and, "he said he'd have me picked up at the airport," she recalled.

When she stepped off the flight at Philadelphia International, expecting to see either du Pont or a chauffeur, she was greeted instead by a man in leisure clothes.

Mak followed the man, a little put off by the informality of the reception. But instead of leading her to a car, the man led her to du Pont's helicopter, and flew her from the airport to the estate.

"When I landed there were two lines of servants stretched across the lawn waiting to greet us," she said. "My luggage was handed out and passed along from hand to hand. At the end of the line was Mrs. du Pont to greet me. I was thrilled. "

She said Jean du Pont showed her to a room, which was thereafter her room for frequent visits. Du Pont appeared at a formal dinner that night dressed in suit and tie.

There followed a strangely formal relationship. Mak lived in the main house with Jean du Pont on her visits, about once a month, and du Pont stayed in another house on the estate. She said he would stop by to pick her up at what he called, "your house," carrying flowers, and they would dine together, usually at the mansion or at the home of one of John's friends on the estate.

Mak said that du Pont could be charming but that he would frequently get so drunk he couldn't stand up. During one week-and-a-half stay, Mak said du Pont was "completely drunk" for a full week.

He became an enthusiastic supporter of Col. Oliver North when he was prosecuted for his role in the Iran-Contra scandal and began making plans to run for president. He commissioned the artist who painted President Reagan's official portrait to do one of him.

His concerns about personal safety had grown. Du Pont surrounded himself with bodyguards. His drunkenness and increasingly strange behavior alienated him from most of his police contacts. He had lost touch completely with his oldest friends. He rarely left the estate.

When he did, he drove an old weathered car, not to be unpretentious or frugal, but because he felt safer, Mak said. He believed few would suspect such a rich man in such an unimpressive car. He had apparently lost all interest in his museum. A spokesman there said last week that du Pont had set foot in the building only once or twice in the last decade.

Du Pont's one consuming interest, however, had become wrestling. He established the Foxcatcher wrestling club on his estate, which was already being used to train swimmers. He built an elaborate facility for wrestling, one of the best of its kind anywhere. After making a multimillion-dollar contribution to Villanova University for a John du Pont athletic center, the increasingly erratic heir, despite no serious background in the sport, was named head coach of the university's newly created wrestling program.

Du Pont was trying to re-create something akin to the Santa Clara Swim Club, only his club would be a collection of the finest wrestlers in the world. He was now too old to pretend he could seriously compete; he adopted the role of wrestling expert.

Du Pont recruited world class wrestler Andre Metzger in 1987, luring him from a college coaching position and a post at the New York Athletic Club with the promise of better pay and a house.

Shortly after coming to Villanova, returning from a late wrestling meet with du Pont, according to court papers filed by Metzger, the wrestler was forced by bad weather to spend the night at the mansion. According to court papers, du Pont requested that Metzger leave his wife and move in with him and told Metzger that he would give the as-yet-unpurchased house to Metzger's wife. "Du Pont physically grabbed Metzger and fell to his knees, clawing at Metzger's body. "

Metzger said he resisted and shut himself in his bedroom for the evening. About a week later, the wrestler said, du Pont grabbed Metzger's testicles in the Foxcatcher wrestling facilities.

"Andre, you do not get something for nothing; you have to please your highness first," Metzger, in court papers, quoted du Pont as saying.

Another wrestler supported Metzger's story.

In a deposition in the case, wrestler Glenn Goodman, who was hired to be Metzger's workout partner and an assistant coach at Villanova, testified that he once saw du Pont grab another wrestler's testicles.

Goodman said other wrestlers told him du Pont did this frequently. They called it a " Foxcatcher Five. " He said, "Du Pont would go around grabbing people in the privates ... He would actually do it when he wasn't wrestling," Goodman explained. "In the hallways or whatever. "

Metzger's suit was settled. Du Pont said he did not remember the incidents in Metzger's accusation.

Villanova president John M. Driscoll killed the wrestling program in the summer of 1988, when embarrassing problems began to outweigh its benefits.

Metzger's suit against du Pont was just one factor. Wrestlers and faculty members reported seeing du Pont drunk on campus, an allegation that he denied. Assistant coaches were bitterly fighting one another over how fast the program should progress. A coach was fired for taking underage wrestlers out for beer. And there were questions about whether du Pont's methods of paying coaches violated NCAA rules.

So du Pont's world was once again confined to the well-patrolled walls of his estate.

His mother was growing old and frail, spending her days sitting in a blue upholstered chair in her sunny trophy room just off the mansion's foyer. Surrounded by four walls filled with her championship plates and trophies, she was tended by a nurse full time. And as her life ebbed, her life's work of managing the estate unraveled.

Du Pont reduced the stable crew from eight to just three people, so 80 percent of his mother's prize-winning Liseter pony stock had to be put to pasture, where they endured the elements. Workers cared for them simply by dropping off hay bales in the fields. Otherwise, they went ungroomed and unattended, except in the worst of weather, when they would be rounded up and put in stables overnight.

Du Pont's own deterioration was well under way long before his mother died, but when Jean du Pont was buried in 1988, the last check on her son's excesses was gone.

"Up until Mrs. du Pont died, John would still pull himself together and keep up appearances," said Mak. "The holidays were celebrated and the house was managed in a normal way, but when she died, everything went."

* Since the shooting, the story of du Pont's further decline has been told in detail.

Du Pont's old friend Howard Butcher remembers seeing him one day at the new Villanova gymnasium about a year after Jean du Pont died. Butcher's son was wrestling in a meet, when the father caught sight of du Pont across the mat. He hadn't seen du Pont in years, so walked over and held out his hand.

"Hello, John. "

Du Pont turned and stared at him blankly.

"Do I know you?" he said.

"Yes," said Butcher, taken aback. "From school, and you were in my wedding. "

Butcher said du Pont seemed to remember him then, but wasn't sure.

"I tell you, there was a look in his eye that seemed to be an altered state of consciousness," the stockbroker said. "His eyes seemed odd to me. And when I came back after shaking his hand, I felt like I wanted to wash my hands."