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Because Hughes' life was so shrouded by secrecy, it will be difficult, if not impossible, to assess his achievements. Beyond doubt, he possessed a visionary gift for applying the scientific breakthroughs of today to create the new products of tomorrow. With his encouragement, his companies developed the laser, communications satellites and a dizzying array of esoteric weaponry. As one senior Pentagon intelligence officer puts it, "He was something of a genius in understanding far-out concepts of electro-optical systems, infra-red sensors and other sophisticated gear from undersea to outer space."
Judged solely on the balance sheet, Hughes performed brilliantly. Starting with a company worth only $750,000 in 1924, he increased the assets astronomically. Yet many businessmen who have observed Hughes closely contend that his companies succeeded only when he left them alone. There is much to be said for that argument. Since he had little interest in drilling technology, he left Toolco alone; because it had an excellent product, it produced a gusher of profits. By contrast, Hughes meddled so much in RKO and TWA that he ultimately failed there.
In Las Vegas the Hughes casinos and hotels are poorly managed compared with other Strip establishments. Furthermore,
Hughes failed to build in Nevada the new light industrial plants that he had promised, or to develop the strategically located plots of land that he bought up in Las Vegas.
At precisely 4 p.m. last Wednesday, gamblers in the Hughes-owned casinos in Las Vegas were startled to hear over the P.A. system: "We ask that you pause for one minute of silence in reverence and remembrance of our good friend and a great American, Howard Robard Hughes."
For 60 seconds, pit bosses held the dice at the crap tables; dealers shoed the cards at the 21 games; croupiers stopped the roulette wheels; and the casinos fell silent as players restively eyed their watches and women stared vacantly into their paper cups full of quarters in front of the slots. Sentiment not being a major commodity in Vegas, one man in the Desert Inn muttered when it was over, "Okay, he had his minute. Let's deal 'em."
The lack of empathy was fairly widespread. In Hughes plants, the flag flew at half mast, but there were no sighs of mourning. In his latter years, Hughes had become the epitome of the 20th century tragedy, a man so preoccupied with gadgets and power that he severed the bond with his fellow men.