Robert Moses’ arrogance was first of all intellectual; he had consciously compared his mental capacity with other men’s and had concluded that its superiority was so great that it was a waster of time for him to discuss, to try to understand or even listen to their opinions. But there was more to his arrogance than that. Had it been merely a product of a consciously reasoned comparison, it would have been governable by reason, reason that must have informed him that if he hoped to win the prize he so desperately wanted he must for a period of a few weeks conceal his contempt for the public. Had his arrogance been merely intellectual, he could have disciplined himself—this man with a will strong enough to discipline himself to a life of unending toil—for the few weeks necessary to give him a chance at the Governorship. But his arrogance was emotional, visceral, a driving force created by heredity and hardened by living, a force too strong to be tamed by intellect, a force that drove him to do things for which there is no wholly rational explanation. It was just that Robert Moses didn’t want to listen to the public. It was that he couldn’t listen, couldn’t—even for the sake of the power he coveted—try to make people feel that he understood and sympathized with him.
Robert A. Caro, <em>The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York</em> (New York: Vintage Books, 1974), 424-25.












