Great art collectors are made, not born. Rather than the exception, the late Chester Dale (see color pages) was the rule. Even well into his 70s, he still seemed the wiry, colloquial kid who, in his early teens, was an accomplished trackside bettor and dropped out of Peekskill Military Academy to become a Wall Street runner. The way of Chesterdale (as his friends called him) was to make wise gambles, and by dealing shrewdly in public utilities, he parlayed his way into a fortune by age 35. "No dealer ever sold me a picture," he said.
"Talked me into buying one, that is."
This did not include his art-trained wife Maud. They began by collecting such U.S. artists as George Bellows, but Maud soon shifted her husband's interest to the French masters. As they strolled through the Louvre, Dale would ask, "What's that worth?" He meant dollars; she answered with in, sight. "She had the knowledge," said Dale. "I had the acquisitiveness."
Uncensored Queens. The exuberance of the Roaring Twenties inspired the Dales. Guy Péne du Bois painted them dining out, much as they saw them selves: she in a smart cloche hat, he in tuxedo. In Manhattan, their friend George Gershwin would stop by to use one of the Dales's Cézannes as inspiration for his piano improvisations. The collector spoke the jazz-era lingo, described pictures as "hot," "terrific" or,' "I feel that wham."
What Dale wanted, Dale usually got. And his collection — mainly acquired between 1926 and 1936— was as sound as a corporation's stock portfolio. Among the blue chips: eleven Picassos, nine each by Monet and Matisse, eight by Degas and Derain, five by Braque. Van Gogh and Vlaminck. It ranged from Tintoretto to Dali, including a Rubens because it presaged his nine Renoirs, and an El Greco because it helped explain his six Cézannes. There are some that have not paid off the historical dividends, but these were more than cancelled out by Dale's spectacular flyer: a dozen paintings by Modigliani, bought when his nudes were scorned by one art critic as "uncensored movie queens."
The Winning Suitor. In time the childless financier came to refer to his art works as "my children." He also hugely enjoyed making trial marriages, lending his treasures to such museums as the Chicago Art Institute and the Philadelphia Museum of Art, then yanking them all back again. But he kept hope alive in many a museum director hungry to inherit his collection by saying, "I've got news for you — a shroud has no pockets." When late in life he suddenly developed an enthusiasm for Salvador Dali, both the National Gallery and New York's Metropolitan vied in giving Dali a place of honor.