(See Cover) Like much of East Texas. Henderson County is a rolling expanse of pastureland, woods and worked-out cotton fields. Its county seat and cultural capital is a sleepy town with the splendid name of Athens (pop. 5,300). Henderson County and Athens have a distinction that makes them notable even in Texas. They have spawned about 50 of Texas' millionaires and multimillionaires.The biggest of these big rich are a select few known throughout Texas as"the new Athenians."
Sid Richardson, the richest of the new Athenians because of his ocean of oil reserves, jokingly takes credit for starting the boys from Athens on their way years ago. After making his first killing in oil, Richardson drove into town in a block-long Cadillac. "When I left," he says, "all those guys sitting on those benches around the square jumped up and followed me right out of town." Leader of the new Athenians, by general agreement, is Richardson's old crony, Clinton Williams Murchison, 59, a financial genius who, according to affectionate legend, can add $1 and $1 and get $11 million. A solid little bundle of energy (5 ft. 6 in., 175 Ibs.) with horn-rimmed glasses, twinkling blue eyes and a putty blob of a nose, Murchison (pronounced Murkison) is the first of a brand-new breed of Texas oilmen. Having made his millions in oil, he is now using them to further the popular Texas ambition of buying up the rest of the U.S.
Pirate's Treasure. Murchison has built up an empire of 48 companies, with 50,000 employees and an estimated $350 million in assets—not to mention scores of lesser investments. The companies stretch from Canada to Mexico, from coast to coast, and are as varied as a pirate's treasure (see map). No sooner has he bought a ship line than he wants a railroad, no sooner a candy company than he gets a grocery. Murchison juggles multimillion-dollar deals with the unconcern of a racetrack teller counting $2 bills. In Texas, where such a man is admiringly known as a "wheeler-dealer," Clint Murchison is the biggest wheeler-dealer of them all. Says Sid Richardson: "Murchison is the kind of man that tells you, 'Here, hold this horse while I run and catch another one.' First thing you know, you've got your hands full of Murchison horses."
In the past few months Murchison and Richardson have hit the nation's front pages by trying to help their fellow Texan, Robert R. Young, catch an iron horse—the $2.7 billion New York Central Railroad. The Central deal started with a long-distance phone call last March. Young, an ambitious dreamer who has exchanged Texas roughness for Newport's semi-suavity, had run into trouble in his campaign to win the Central. From Palm Beach, he called Murchison and said, "I need some help." Murchison called Richardson in California and said, "I need some help." Richardson took the call just as he was starting out for a round of golf. In his haste, he agreed to go along on the deal without hearing the full details. Next day, when he spoke to Murchison again, Richardson was startled to find that it was not a $10 million deal as he had thought; but a $20 million one. Cried he: "What the hell did you say was the name of this railroad?"