Falling Out of Favor

Adios to Russia’s sausage tycoon, among others.

The hotel from which Russian businessman Pavel Antov was last seen alive falling to the ground.

It’s my sad duty to report the passing of a great name in frankfurter history. After a brief illness, Oscar F. Mayer died in his sleep at his Chicago home at the age of 95. The famous sausage tycoon is no more. I offer this moment of tribute.

I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener. That is what I truly want to be. Cuz if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener, everyone would be in love with me!

Rest in peace, hot dog king.

Hold on, though. No need to send flowers. This happened 67 years ago. I only bring it up now to observe that 1955 was a different time, a time when gigantic-finned  automobiles roamed the young interstate highway system, when the baseball MVP’s first name was Yogi and the First Lady’s was Mamie, when, somewhere in Leningrad, 3-year-old Vladimir Putin boiled his first cat.

Hold that thought for a sec, just until I get to the key point: 1955 was a congenial moment in history when a sausage tycoon could die with dignity.

No such luck for Pavel Antov, owner of a Russian meat-processing empire that made him — according to Forbes — about $156 million a year. He took his last breath a week ago at the age of 65. Antov emphatically did not die in his sleep, unless he took a quick catnap between his third-floor hotel window and the pavement. His malady was not cancer, heart disease or Covid, but lately the leading cause of Russian Oligarch death:

Defenestration.

And though, unlike Oscar Mayer, Antov boasted no catchy jingle or a fleet of Kolbasimobiles, there is some irony in that his company name also describes his fatal plunge: Vladimir Standard.

Of the dozen-some oligarchs and high-ranking executives and public officials in Putin’s inner circle who have died suddenly since mobilization began for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, seven have perished similarly … not so much from falling as from landing.

Apart from Antov: In December, real estate tycoon Dmitry Zelenov, found dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs; Ravil Maganov, the chairman of oil company Lukoil, six stories below a hospital window; in September, Anatoly Gerashchenko of the Moscow Aviation Institute, according to official accounts, after plummeting "from a great height" somewhere within the Institute. In May, Sochi resort owner Andrei Krukovsky, found at the bottom of a cliff. He was also not alive. Earlier this month, Grigory Kochenov, director of the IT colossus Agima, opened his door for police wishing to search his apartment. He avoided arrest by going over the rail of his balcony. In August, the Latvia-born wheeler-dealer Dan Rapoport plunged from his window in that sinister capital of intrigue, Washington, D.C.

All those men had, before their misfortunes, in one way or another disappointed their President and benefactor. The sausage tycoon, for example. His last words went unrecorded, but some of his quite recent words called Russia’s Ukraine invasion an act of terror — like Sonny Corleone incautiously mouthing off in front of the 5 Families.

“Never tell anyone outside the family what you’re thinking again,” Don Corleone advised. Whether Putin bothers to issue such warnings is unclear. In any event, next thing you know for Antov: terminal velocity. In Putin’s inner circle, the term “fallen out of favor” has never been more literal. Surely you understand the gravity of the situation.

Mind you, if you are a Russian kingpin deemed disloyal by Putin, or otherwise troublesome, you won't necessarily go the way of Wile E. Coyote.

Just two days before Antov the sausage tycoon went through his hotel window, his colleague Vladimir Budanov succumbed to a reported heart attack in the same hotel. 

Former Putin deputy Viktor Cherkesov, fired for revealing Kremlin infighting, died two months ago of a sudden, undisclosed “illness.” Eleven months ago, Gazprom director Leonid Shulman reportedly died by his own hand. Only four weeks later, another Gazprom executive, Alexander Tyulakov, was found dead in the garage of his St. Petersburg home. Perhaps the contagious form of suicide.

Less than two weeks ago, Alexei Maslov, the Russian army commander in charge of tank manufacturing, died extremely suddenly after Putin blamed him for the slow pace of armor production. (Tanks but no tanks, Alexei.) The commander passed away after no illness. In a lovely reminder of The Great Gatsby and Sunset Boulevard, the energy executive Yuri Voronov was found floating in his suburban St. Petersburg swimming pool, shot through the head — poolside accidents being as common in Russia as they are here. Aleksandr Subbotin, a manager of a Russian gas company, succumbed in the home of a Moscow shaman, allegedly poisoned with toad venom.

Toad venom.

Now some would say these are just desserts for men who inked a deal with the devil. “Silver or lead,” and all that. Oligarchy has its privileges, and also its red lines. But you can’t help getting spilkes at the idea of Putin taking care of housekeeping before his ultimate revenge.

And since we’ve already invoked Mario Puzo, how not to remember Michael Corleone’s appeal to his brother-in-law, Carlo Rizzi, just before Carlo succumbed to a sudden-onset strangling:

Barzini is dead. So is Phillip Tattaglia. Moe Greene. Stracci. Cuneo. Today I settled all family business so don't tell me that you're innocent. Admit what you did.

Business settling is unsettling. It wouldn’t even have to be World War III to scare the bejesus out of me. Godfather Part III is terrifying enough.

This column is an adaptation of an essay I recorded for Wednesday’s episode of The Gist, where I substituted for host Mike Pesca.