As I read this book, there were many Hughes habits that I found deeply endearing, even as the weird details mounted. How can you not like a guy who, in the pre-VCR era, decided to buy the local Nevada TV station, just so they'd play the movies he wanted? Who - upon installing his home entertainment system - had an obsessive-compulsive need to watch the epic 1968 thriller "Ice Station Zebra" over and over again? (It's a good movie, after all.) Who bought up half of the real estate of Nevada in a doomed expectation of a world gold shortage? Or who lent his name to the ocean-dredging vessel, Glomar Explorer, to aid the CIA's covert attempts to refloat a Soviet sub? And there was something genuinely visionary about the way he built his aircraft and electronics empires. Indeed, despite the piles of carefully-compiled evidence of financial disasters at TWA, RKO, Air West and Summa Corporation, somehow I want to believe that Hughes was not the bungling sicko that emerges from these pages, but so what if he was, the story remains magnificent.
As a postscript, every time you see a DirectTV advertisement, remember that it used to be a Hughes company.