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Snowball Warren The Buffett and the Business of Life Alice Schroeder BANTAM BOOKS To David It is the winter of Warrens ninth year. Outside in the yard, he and his little sister, Bertie, are playing in the snow. Warren is catching snowflakes. One at a time at first. Then he is scooping them up by handfuls. He starts to pack them into a ball. As the snowball grows bigger, he places it on the ground. Slowly it begins to roll. He gives it a push, and it picks up more snow. He pushes the snowball across the lawn, piling snow on snow. Soon he reaches the edge of the yard. After a moment of hesitation, he heads off, rolling the snowball through the neighborhood. And from there, Warren continues onward, casting his eye on a whole world full of snow. PART ONE The Bubble 1 The Less Flattering Version Omaha June 2003 Warren Buffett rocks back in his chair, long legs crossed at the knee behind his father Howards plain wooden desk. His expensive Zegna suit jacket bunches around his shoulders like an untailored version bought off the rack. The jacket stays on all day, every day, no matter how casually the other fifteen employees at Berkshire Hathaway headquarters are dressed. His predictable white shirt sits low on the neck, its undersize collar bulging away from his tie, looking left over from his days as a young businessman, as if he had forgotten to check his neck size for the last forty years. His hands lace behind his head through strands of whitening hair. One particularly large and messy fingercombed chunk takes off over his skull like a ski jump, lofting upward at the knoll of his right ear. His shaggy right eyebrow wanders toward it above the tortoiseshell glasses. At various times this eyebrow gives him a skeptical, knowing, or beguiling look. Right now he wears a subtle smile, which lends the wayward eyebrow a captivating air. Nonetheless, his pale-blue eyes are focused and intent. He sits surrounded by icons and mementos of fifty years. In the hallways outside his office, Nebraska Cornhuskers football photographs, his paycheck from an appearance on a soap opera, the offer letter (never accepted) to buy a hedge fund called Long-Term Capital Management, and Coca-Cola memorabilia everywhere. On the coffee table inside the office, a classic Coca-Cola bottle. A baseball glove encased in Lucite. Over the sofa, a certificate that he completed Dale Carnegies public-speaking course in January 1952. The Wells Fargo stagecoach, westbound atop a bookcase. A Pulitzer Prize, won in 1973 by the Sun Newspapers of Omaha, which his investment partnership owned. Scattered about the room are books and newspapers. Photographs of his family and friends cover the credenza and a side table, and sit under the hutch beside his desk in place of a computer. A large portrait of his father hangs above Buffetts head on the wall behind his desk. It faces every visitor who enters the room. Although a late-spring Omaha morning beckons outside the windows, the brown wooden shutters are closed to block the view. The television beaming toward his desk is tuned to CNBC. The sound is muted, but the crawl at the bottom of the screen feeds him news all day long. Over the years, to his pleasure, the news has often been about him. Only a few people, however, actually know him well. I have been acquainted with him for six years, originally as a financial analyst covering Berkshire Hathaway stock. Over time our relationship has turned friendly, and now I will get to know him better still. We are sitting in Warrens office because he is not going to write a book. The unruly eyebrows punctuate his words as he says repeatedly, Youll do a better job than I would, Alice. Im glad youre writing this book, not me. Why he would say that is something that will eventually become clear. In the meantime, we start with the matter closest to his heart. Where did it come from, Warren? Caring so much about making money? His eyes go distant for a few seconds, thoughts traveling inward: f lip flip flip through the mental files. Warren begins to tell his story: Balzac said that behind every great fortune lies a crime.1 Thats not true at Berkshire. He leaps out of his chair to bring home the thought, crossing the room in a couple of strides. Landing on a mustardy-gold brocade armchair, he leans forward, more like a teenager bragging about his first romance than a seventy-two-year-old financier. How to interpret the story, who else to interview, what to write: The book is up to me. He talks at length about human nature and memorys frailty, then says, Whenever my version is different from somebody elses, Alice, use the less flattering version. Among the many lessons, some of the best come simply from observing him. Here is the first: Humility disarms. In the end, there wont be too many reasons to choose the less flattering versionbut when I do, human nature, not memorys frailty, is usually why. One of those occasions happened at Sun Valley in 1999. 2 Sun Valley Idaho July 1999 Warren Buffett stepped out of his car and pulled his suitcase from the trunk. He walked through the chain-link gate onto the airports tarmac, where a gleaming white Gulfstream IV jetthe size of a regional commercial airliner and the largest private aircraft in the world in 1999waited for him and his family. One of the pilots grabbed the suitcase from him to stow in the cargo hold. Every new pilot who flew with Buffett was shocked to see him carrying his own luggage from a car he drove himself. Now, as he climbed the boarding stairs, he said hello to the flight attendantsomebody newand headed to a seat next to a window, which he would not glance out of at any time during the flight. His mood was buoyant; he had been anticipating this trip for weeks. His son Peter and daughter-in-law Jennifer, his daughter Susan and her boyfriend, and two of his grandchildren all settled into their own caf au lait leather club chairs set around the forty-five-foot-long cabin. They swiveled their seats away from the curved wall panels to give themselves more space as the flight attendant brought drinks from the galley, which was stocked with the familys favorite snacks and beverages. A pile of magazines lay nearby on the sofa: Vanity Fair, the New Yorker, Fortune, Yachting, the Robb Report, the Atlantic Monthly, the Economist, Vogue, Yoga Journal. She brought Buffett an armload of newspapers instead, along with a basket of potato chips and a Cherry Coke that matched his red Nebraska sweater. He complimented her, chatted for a few minutes to ease her nervousness at flying for the first time with her boss, and told her that she could let the copilot know that they were ready to take off. Then he buried his head in a newspaper as the plane rolled down the runway and ascended to forty thousand feet. For the next two hours, six people hummed around him, watching videos, talking, and making phone calls, while the flight attendant set out linens and bud vases filled with orchids on the birds-eye maple dining tables before returning to the galley to prepare lunch. Buffett never moved. He sat reading, hidden behind his newspapers, as if he were alone in his study at home. They were flying in a $30 million airborne palace called a fractional jet. As many as eight owners shared it, but it served as part of a fleet, so all the owners could fly at once if they wished. The pilots in the cockpit, the crew that maintained it, the schedulers who got it to the gate on six hours notice, and the flight attendant who served their lunch all worked for NetJets, which belonged to Warren Buffetts company, Berkshire Hathaway. Sometime later, the G-IV crossed the Snake River Plain and approached the Sawtooth Mountains, a vast Cretaceous upheaval of dark and ancient granite mounds baking in the summer sun. It sailed through the bright clear air into the Wood River Valley, descending to eight thousand feet, where it started to buck on the mountain wave of turbulence thrown into the sky by the brown foothills beneath. Buffett read on, unperturbed, as the plane rocked and his family jerked about in their seats. Brush dotted higher altitudes of a second ridge of hills and rows of pines began their march up the ridges between ravines on the leeward side. The family grinned with anticipation. As the aircraft descended through the narrowing slot between the rising mountain peaks ahead, the midday sun cast the planes lengthening shadow over the old mining town of Hailey, Idaho. A few seconds later, the wheels touched down on the Friedman Memorial Airport runway. By the time the Buffetts had bounded down the stairs onto the tarmac, squinting in the July sunshine, two SUVs had driven through the gate and pulled up alongside the jet, driven by men and women from Hertz. They all wore the companys gold-and-black shirts. Instead of Hertz, however, the logo said Allen & Co. The grandchildren bounced on their heels as the pilots unloaded the luggage, tennis rackets, and Buffetts red-and-white Coca-Cola golf bag into the SUVs. Then he and the others shook hands with the pilots, said good-bye to the flight attendant, and climbed into the SUVs. Bypassing Sun Valley Aviationa pocket-size trailer at the runways southern endthey swung through the chain-link gate onto the road that led to the peaks beyond. About two minutes had elapsed since the planes wheels first touched the runway. Right on schedule, eight minutes later, another jet followed theirs, headed to its own runway parking spot. Throughout the golden afternoon, jet after jet cruised into Idaho from the south and east or swung around the peaks from the west and descended into Hailey: workhorse Cessna Citations; glamorous, close-quartered Learjets; speedy Hawkers; luxurious Falcons; but mostly the awe-inspiring G-IVs. As the afternoon waned, dozens of huge, gleaming white aircraft lined the runway like a shop window full of tycoons toys. The Buffetts followed the trail blazed by earlier SUVs a few miles onward from the airport to the tiny town of Ketchum on the edge of the Sawtooth National Forest, near the turnoff to the Elkhorn Pass. A few miles later, they rounded Dollar Mountain, where a green oasis appeared, nestled among the brown slopes. Here amid the lacy pines and shimmering aspens lay Sun Valley, the mountains most fabled resort, where Ernest Hemingway began writing For Whom the Bell Tolls, where Olympic skiers and skaters had long made their second home. The tide of families they were joining this Tuesday afternoon all had some connection to Allen & Co., a boutique investment bank that specialized in the media and communications industries. Allen & Co. had put together some of the biggest mergers in Hollywood, and for more than a decade had been hosting an annual series of discussions and seminars mingled with outdoor recreation at Sun Valley for its clients and friends. Herbert Allen, the firms CEO, invited only people he liked, or those with whom he was at least willing to do business. Thus the conference was always filled with faces both famous and rich: Hollywood producers and stars like Candice Bergen, Tom Hanks, Ron Howard, and Sydney Pollack; entertainment moguls like Barry Diller, Rupert Murdoch, Robert Iger, and Michael Eisner; socially pedigreed journalists like Tom Brokaw, Diane Sawyer, and Charlie Rose; and technology titans like Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and Andy Grove. A pack of reporters lay in wait for them every year outside the Sun Valley Lodge. The reporters had traveled a day earlier to the Newark, New Jersey, airport or some similar embarkation point to board a commercial flight to Salt Lake City, then raced to Concourse Es bullpen to sit amid a crush of people waiting for flights to places like Casper, Wyoming, and Sioux City, Iowa, until it was time to cram themselves into a prop plane for the one-hour bronco ride to Sun Valley. On arrival their plane was directed to the opposite end of the airport next to the tennis-court-size terminal, where they witnessed a crew of tanned young Allen & Co. employees dressed in pastel SV99 polo shirts and white shorts welcoming the handful of Allen & Co. guests who were arriving early on commercial flights. These were instantly recognizable among the other passengers: men in Western boots and Paul Stuart shirts with jeans, women wearing goatskin-suede jackets and marble-size turquoise beads. The Allen staff had memorized the newcomers faces from photographs supplied in advance. They hugged people they had gotten to know in years past as if they were old friends, whisked away all the guests bags, and led their charges off to the SUVs lined up steps away in the parking lot. The reporters went to the rental-car desk, then drove to the Lodge, by now acutely conscious of their lowly status. For the next few days, many areas of Sun Valley would be marked as private, blocked from prying eyes by closed doors, omnipresent security, hanging flower baskets, and large potted plants. The reporters would lurk around the fringes, excluded from the interesting things going on inside, noses pressed against the bushes.1 Ever since Disneys Michael Eisner and Capital Cities/ABCs Tom Murphy had dreamed up a deal to merge their companies at Sun Valley 95 (the way the conference was often referred toas if it had engulfed the entire resort, which, in a way, it had), the press coverage had grown until it took on the artificially giddy atmosphere of a business version of Cannes. The mergers that splintered off from Sun Valley, however, were only occasional calves from an iceberg. Sun Valley was about more than making deals, though the deals garnered most of the press. Every year the rumors sizzled that this company or that was working on a deal at the mysterious conclave in the Idaho mountains. Thus, as the SUVs rolled one by one into the porte cochere, the reporters peered through the front windows to see who was inside. When someone newsworthy arrived, they chased their prey into the lodge, brandishing cameras and microphones. The press quickly recognized Warren Buffett as he stepped out of his SUV. The DNA of the conference had him built into it, said his friend Don Keough, chairman of Allen & Co.2 Most of the press people liked Buffett, who went out of his way not to be disliked by anyone. He also intrigued them. His public image was that of a simple man, and he seemed genuine. Yet he lived a complicated life. He owned five homes but occupied only two of them. Somehow he had wound up having, in effect, two wives. He spoke in homely aphorisms with a kindly twinkle in his eye and had a notably loyal group of friends, yet along the way he had earned a reputation as a tough, even icy dealmaker. He seemed to shun publicity yet managed to attract more of it than almost any other businessman on earth.3 He jetted around the country in a G-IV, often attended celebrity events, and had many famous friends, yet said that he preferred Omaha, hamburgers, and thrift. He spoke of his success as being based on a few simple investing ideas and tap-dancing to work with enthusiasm every day, but if that was so, why had nobody else been able to replicate it? Buffett, as always, gave the photographers a willing wave and a grandfatherly smile as he walked by. They captured him on film, then began peering at the next car. The Buffetts drove around to their French-country-style condominium, one of the coveted Wildflower group next to the pool and tennis courts, where Herbert Allen housed his VIPs. Inside, the usual loot awaited them: a pile of Allen & Co. SV99 logo jackets, baseball caps, zip fleeces, polo shirtsevery year a different colorand a zippered notebook. Despite his fortune of more than $30 billionenough to buy a thousand of those G-IVs parked out at the airportBuffett liked few things more than getting a free golf shirt from a friend. He took the time to look carefully through this years swag. Of even more interest to him, however, was the personal note that Herbert Allen sent to each guestand the perfectly organized conference notebook that explained what Sun Valley had in store for him this year. Timed to the second, organized to the hilt, crisp as Herbert Allens French cuffs, Buffetts schedule was laid out hour by hour, day by day. The notebook spelled out the conference speakers and topicsuntil now a closely guarded secretand the luncheons and dinners that he would attend. Unlike the other guests, Buffett knew much of this in advance, but he still wanted to see what the notebook had to say. Herbert Allen, the so-called Lord of Sun Valley and the conferences quiet choreographer, set the tone of casual luxury that pervaded the event. People always cited him for high principles, brilliance, good advice, and generosity. Youd like to die with the respect of somebody like Herbert Allen, a guest gushed. Afraid of being disinvited to the conference, those who voiced any criticism rarely went beyond vague hints that Herbert was unusual, restless, impatient, and possessed of an oversize personality. Standing in the shadow of his tall, wiry frame, one had to strain to keep up with the words that crackled forth like machine-gun fire. He barked questions, then cut off respondents mid-sentence, lest they waste a second of his time. He specialized in saying the unsayable. Ultimately Wall Street will be eliminated, he once told a reporter, although he ran a Wall Street bank. He referred to his competitors as hot-dog vendors.4 Allen kept his firm small, and his bankers staked their own money on their deals. This unconventional approach made the firm a partner rather than a mere servant to its clients, who were the elite of Hollywood and the media world. Thus, when he played host, his guests felt privileged, rather than like captives pitched by salesmen at every turn. Allen & Co. arranged a detailed social agenda every year built around each guests personal network of relationshipswhich the firm understoodand the new people that Allens majordomos felt each should meet. Unspoken hierarchies dictated the distances of the guests condominiums from the Inn (where meetings were held), which meals the guests were invited to attend, and with whom they would be seated. Buffetts friend Tom Murphy referred to this kind of event as elephant-bumping. Anytime a bunch of big shots get together, says Buffett, you can get people to come, because it reassures them if theyre at an elephant-bumping that theyre an elephant too.5 Sun Valley was always very reassuring, because unlike most elephant bumps, one could not buy ones way in. The result was a sort of faux democracy of the elite. Part of the thrill of coming was to see who was not invited, and, more thrilling still, who was disinvited. Yet within their stratum, people did develop genuine relationships. Allen & Co. fostered conviviality through lavish entertainment, beginning on the first evening, when the guests donned Western gear, climbed into old-fashioned horse-drawn wagons, and followed cowboys up a winding trail past a natural stone spire onto Trail Creek Cabin meadow. There, Herbert Allen or one of his two sons greeted the guests as the sun began to set. Cowboys entertained the children with rope tricks near a large white tent bedecked with urns of scarlet petunias and blue sage, while the Sun Valley old guard reunited and welcomed new guests as they stood side by side in line, plate in hand, for a buffet of steaks and salmon. The Buffetts usually ended the evening sitting with friends around the bonfire beneath the star-dappled western sky. The frolicking continued on Wednesday afternoon with an optional and very mild white-water paddle down the Salmon River. On this trip relationships blossomed, for Allen & Co. orchestrated who sat where on the bus to the embarkation point as well as on the rafts. The river guides steered through the mountain valley in silence, lest they interrupt conversations and disturb budding alliances. Spotters hired from the local population and ambulances lined the route in case someone tumbled into the freezing water. The guests were handed warm towels as soon as they put down their paddles and stepped out of the rafts, then served plates of barbecue. Those not rafting could be found fly-fishing, horseback riding, shooting trap and skeet, mountain biking, playing bridge, learning to knit, studying nature photography, playing Frisbee with the ubiquitous canine conference guests, ice-skating on the outdoor rink, playing tennis on perfect clay courts, lounging at the pool, or golfing on immaculate greens, where they rode in carts stuffed full of Allen & Co. sunscreen, snacks, and bug spray.6 All the entertainment flowed quietly, seamlessly, whatever was needed appearing unasked, supplied by a seemingly inexhaustible staff of almost-invisible yet ever-present Allenites in SV99 polo shirts. It was the babysitters, however, a hundred-some good-looking, mostly blond, deeply tanned teenagers in these same polo shirts and matching Allen & Co. backpacks, who were Herbert Allens secret weapon. As the parents and grandparents played, the sitters saw to it that each Joshua and Brittany was accompanied by his or her own playmate for whatever activity they chosea tennis clinic, soccer, bicycling, kickball, a wagon ride, a horse show, ice-skating, relay races, rafting, fishing, an art project, or pizza and ice cream. Each babysitter was personally selected to ensure that every child always had such a wonderful time that they would beg to come back year after yearwhile at the same time delighting their parents with occasional glimpses of the very, very attractive young person who was allowing them to spend days of guilt-free time with other adults. Buffett had always been one of the most appreciative of Allens beneficiaries. He loved Sun Valley as a family vacation, for left to his own devices at a mountain resort with his grandchildren, he would have been at a complete loss for what to do. He had no interest in outdoor activities other than golf. He never went skeet shooting or mountain biking, thought of water as a prison of sorts, and would rather go around handcuffed than ride on a raft. Instead, he slipped comfortably into the center of the elephant herd. He played a little golf and bridge, including a standing golf game with Jack Valenti, president of the Motion Picture Association of America, for a dollar bet, and a bridge game with Meredith Brokaw, and otherwise spent his time socializing with people like Playboy CEO Christie Hefner and computer hardware CEO Michael Dell. Often, however, he disappeared for long periods into his condo overlooking the golf course, where he read and watched business news in the living room seated next to an enormous stone fireplace.7 He barely noticed the view of pine-covered Baldy, the mountain outside his window, or the bank of blossoms like a Persian palace rug: pastel lupines and sapphire delphiniums towering over poppies and Indian paintbrush, crisp blue salvia and veronica nestled among the stonecrop and hens-and-chicks. The scenery is there, I guess, he said. He came for the warm atmosphere Herbert Allen had created.8 He liked being with his closest friends: Kay Graham and her son Don; Bill and Melinda Gates; Mickie and Don Keough; Barry Diller and Diane von Furstenberg; Andy Grove and his wife, Eva. But above all, for Buffett, Sun Valley was about reuniting with his whole family during one of the rare times most of the family spent together. He likes us all being in the same house, says his daughter, Susie Buffett Jr. She lived in Omaha; her younger brother, Howie, and his wife, Devonmissing this yearlived in Decatur, Illinois; while their younger sibling, Peter, and his wife, Jennifer, lived in Milwaukee. Buffetts wife of forty-seven years, Susan, who lived apart from him, had flown in to meet them from her home in San Francisco. And Astrid Menks, his companion for more than twenty years, remained at their home in Omaha. On Friday night, Warren donned a Hawaiian shirt and escorted his wife to the traditional Pool Party on the tennis courts next to their condo. Most of the guests knew and liked Susie. Always the star of the Pool Party, she sang old-fashioned standards by the light of tiki torches in front of the illuminated Olympic pool. This year, as the cocktails and camaraderie flowed, the babble of a barely comprehensible new languageB2B, B2C, banner ads, bandwidth, broadbandcompeted with the sounds of Al Oehrles band. All week long a vague sense of unease had drifted through the lunches and dinners and cocktails like a silent fog amid the handshakes, kisses, and hugs. A new group of recently minted technology executives, filled with an unusual swagger, introduced themselves to people who had never heard of them a year before.9 Some displayed a hubris that was at odds with Sun Valleys usual atmosphere, where a determined informality reigned and Herbert Allen enforced a sort of unwritten rule against pomposity, on penalty of banishment. The cloud of arrogance hung heaviest over the presentations that were the conferences centerpiece. Heads of companies, high government officials, and other people of note gave talks unlike those they delivered anywhere else, because hardly a word of what was said was ever whispered beyond the flower boxes hanging by the doors of the Sun Valley Inn. Reporters were banned, and the celebrity journalists and the media barons who owned the television networks and newspapers sat in the audience but honored a code of silence. Thus freed to perform only for their peers, the speakers said important and often true things that could never be articulated in front of the press because they were too blunt, too nuanced, too alarming, too easily satirized, or too likely to be misinterpreted. The workaday journalists lurked outside, hoping for crumbs that were rarely thrown. This year the new moguls of the Internet had been strutting, showing off their soaring expectations, trumpeting their latest mergers and looking to raise cash from the money managers sitting in the audience. The money people, who stewarded other peoples pensions and savings, together commanded so much wealth that it could hardly be comprehended: more than a trillion dollars.10 With a trillion dollars in 1999, you could pay the income tax of every single individual in the United States. You could give a brand-new Bentley automobile to every household in more than nine states.11 You could buy every single piece of real estate in Chicago, New York City, and Los Angelescombined. Some of the companies making presentations needed that money, and they wanted this audience to give it to them. Early in the week, Tom Brokaws panel, called The Internet and Our Lives, had drum-majored a procession of presentations about how the Internet would reshape the communications business. Pricelines Jay Walker took the audience through a dizzying vision of the Internet that compared the information superhighway to the advent of the railroad in 1869. One after another, executives laid out the glittering prospects for their companies, filling the room with the intoxicating vapor of a future unlimited by storage space and geography, so slick and visionary that while some were convinced that a whole new world was unfolding, others were reminded of snake-oil salesmen. The folks who ran technology companies saw themselves as Promethean geniuses bringing fire to lesser mortals. Other businesses that grubbed in the ashes to make the dull necessities of lifeauto parts, lawn furniturewere now of interest mostly for how much technology they could buy. Some Internet stocks traded at infinite multiples of their nonexistent earnings, while real companies that made real things had declined in value. As technology stocks overtook the old economy, the Dow Jones Industrial Average*1 had burst through the once-distant 10,000-point barrier only four months before, doubling in less than three and a half years. Many of the recently enriched congregated between speeches at a cordoned-off dining terrace by the Duck Pond, where a pair of captive swans paddled around a pool. There, any guestbut not a reportercould edge through the masses of people in khaki pants and cashmere cable sweaters to ask a question of Bill Gates or Andy Grove. Meanwhile, the journalists chased after the Internet moguls as they moved between the Inn and their condos, amplifying the atmosphere of inflated self-importance that permeated Sun Valley this year. Some of the new Internet czars spent Friday afternoon lobbying Herbert Allen to get them into celebrity photographer Annie Leibovitzs Saturday afternoon shoot of the Media All-Star Team for Vanity Fair. They felt they had been invited to Sun Valley because they were the people of the moment, and they had trouble believing that Leibovitz had made her own choices about who to photograph. Why, for example, would she include Buffett? His role in media had come mostly secondhandthrough board memberships, a large network of personal influence, and a history of media investments large and small. Besides, he was old media. They found it hard to believe that his face in a photograph still sold magazines. These would-be all-stars felt slighted because they knew perfectly well that the balance in media had shifted toward the Internet. That was so even though Herbert Allen himself thought the new paradigm for valuing technology and media stocksbased on clicks and eyeballs and projections of far-off growth rather than a companys ability to earn cold hard cashwas bunk. New paradigm, he sniffed. Its like new sex. There just isnt any such thing.12 *** The next morning, Buffett, emblem of the old paradigm, rose early, for he would be the closing speaker of the year. Invariably, he turned down requests to speak at conferences sponsored by other companies, but when Herbert Allen asked him to speak at Sun Valley, he always said yes.13 The Saturday morning closing talk was the keynote event of the conference, so instead of heading straight to the golf course or grabbing a fishing rod, almost everyone went to the breakfast buffet at the Sun Valley Inn, then settled into a seat. Today Buffett would be talking about the stock market. In private, he had been critical of the gunslinging, promoter-driven market that had sent technology stocks galloping toward delirious heights all year. The stock of his company, Berkshire Hathaway, languished in their dust, and his rigid rule of not buying technology stocks seemed outmoded. But the criticism had no influence on how he invested, and to date, the only statement he had made in public was that he never made market predictions. So his decision to get up at the podium in Sun Valley and do just that was unprecedented. Perhaps it was the times. Buffett had a firm conviction and an overwhelming urge to preach.14 He had spent weeks preparing for this speech. He understood that the market was not just people trading stocks as though they were chips in a casino. The chips represented businesses. Buffett thought about the total value of the chips. What were they worth? Next he reviewed history, pulling from an exhaustive mental file. This was not the first time that world-changing new technologies had come along and shaken up the stock market. Business history was replete with new technologiesrailroads, telegraph, telephone, automobiles, airplanes, television: all revolutionary ways to connect things fasterbut how many had made investors rich? He was about to explain. After the breakfast buffet, Clarke Keough walked to the podium. Buffett had known the Keough family for many years; they had been neighbors back in Omaha. It was through Clarkes father, Don, that Buffett had made the connections that led him to Sun Valley. Don Keough, now chairman of Allen & Co. and former president of Coca-Cola, had met Herbert Allen when he bought Columbia Pictures from Allen & Co. for Coca-Cola in 1982. Keough and his boss, Coca-Colas CEO, Roberto Goizueta, had been so impressed by Herbert Allens unsalesmanlike approach to selling that they had convinced him to join their board. Keough, a Sioux City cattlemans son and former altar boy, had now technically retired from Coca-Cola but he still lived and breathed the Real Thing, so powerful he was sometimes called the companys shadow chief executive.15 When the Keoughs were his neighbors in Omaha in the 1950s, Warren had asked Don how he was going to pay for his kids college and suggested that he invest $10,000 in Buffetts partnership. But Don was putting six kids through parochial school on $200 a week as a Butter-Nut coffee salesman. We didnt have the money, his son Clarke now told the audience. This is part of my familys past that we will never forget. Buffett joined Clarke at the podium, wearing his favorite Nebraska red sweater over a plaid shirt. He finished the story.16 The Keoughs were wonderful neighbors, he said. Its true that occasionally Don would mention that, unlike me, he had a job, but the relationship was terrific. One time my wife, Susie, went over and did the proverbial Midwestern bit of asking to borrow a cup of sugar, and Dons wife, Mickie, gave her a whole sack. When I heard about that, I decided to go over to the Keoughs that night myself. I said to Don, Why dont you give me twenty-five thousand dollars for the partnership to invest? And the Keough family stiffened a little bit at that point, and I was rejected. I came back sometime later and asked for the ten thousand dollars Clarke referred to and got a similar result. But I wasnt proud. So I returned at a later time and asked for five thousand dollars. And at that point, I got rejected again. So one night, in the summer of 1962, I started heading over to the Keough house. I dont know whether I would have dropped it to twenty-five hundred dollars or not, but by the time I got to the Keough household, the whole place was dark, silent. There wasnt a thing to see. But I knew what was going on. I knew that Don and Mickie were hiding upstairs, so I didnt leave. I rang that doorbell. I knocked. Nothing happened. But Don and Mickie were upstairs, and it was pitchblack. Too dark to read, and too early to go to sleep. And I remember that day as if it were yesterday. That was June twenty-first, 1962. Clarke, when were you born? March twenty-first, 1963. Its little things like that that history turns on. So you should be glad they didnt give me the ten thousand dollars. Having charmed the audience with this little piece of give and take, Buffett turned to the matter at hand. Now, Im going to attempt to multitask today. Herb told me to include a few slides. Show youre with it, he said. When Herb says something, its practically an order in the Buffett household. Speeding past exactly what comprised the Buffett householdfor Buffett thought of his household as being like any other familyshe launched into a joke about Allen. The secretary to the President of the U.S. rushed into the Oval Office, apologizing for accidentally scheduling two meetings at once. The President had to choose between seeing the Pope and seeing Herbert Allen. Buffett paused for effect. Send in the Pope, said the President. At least I only have to kiss his ring. To all you fellow ring-kissers, I would like to talk today about the stock market, he said. I will be talking about pricing stocks, but I will not be talking about predicting their course of action next month or next year. Valuing is not the same as predicting. In the short run, the market is a voting machine. In the long run, its a weighing machine. Weight counts eventually. But votes count in the short term. And its a very undemocratic way of voting. Unfortunately, they have no literacy tests in terms of voting qualifications, as youve all learned. Buffett clicked a button, which illuminated a PowerPoint slide on a huge screen to his right.17 Bill Gates, sitting in the audience, caught his breath for a second, until the notoriously fumble-fingered Buffett managed to get the first slide up.18 DOW JONES INDUSTRIAL AVERAGE December 31, 1964 874.12 December 31, 1981 875.00 He walked over to the screen and started explaining. During these seventeen years, the size of the economy grew fivefold. The sales of the Fortune five hundred companies grew more than fivefold.*2 Yet, during these seventeen years, the stock market went exactly nowhere. He backed up a step or two. What youre doing when you invest is deferring consumption and laying money out now to get more money back at a later time. And there are really only two questions. One is how much youre going to get back, and the other is when. Now, Aesop was not much of a finance major, because he said something like, A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. But he doesnt say when. Interest ratesthe cost of borrowingBuffett explained, are the price of when. They are to finance as gravity is to physics. As interest rates vary, the value of all financial assetshouses, stocks, bondschanges, as if the price of birds had fluctuated. And thats why sometimes a bird in the hand is better than two birds in the bush and sometimes two in the bush are better than one in the hand. In his flat, breathy twang, the words coming so fast that they sometimes ran over one another, Buffett related Aesop to the great bull market of the 1990s, which he described as baloney. Profits had grown much less than in that previous period, but birds in the bush were expensive because interest rates were low. Fewer people wanted cashthe bird in the handat such low rates. So investors were paying unheard-of prices for those birds in the bush. Casually, Buffett referred to this as the greed factor. The audience, full of technology gurus who were changing the world while getting rich off the great bull market, sat silent. They were perched atop portfolios that were jam-packed with stocks trading at extravagant valuations. They felt terrific about that. It was a new paradigm, this dawning of the Internet age. Their attitude was that Buffett had no right to call them greedy. Warrenwhod hoarded his money for years and given very little away, who was so cheap his license plate said Thrifty, who spent most of his time thinking about how to make money, who had blown the technology boom and missed the boatwas spitting in their champagne. Buffett continued. There were only three ways the stock market could keep rising at ten percent or more a year. One was if interest rates fell and remained below historic levels. The second was if the share of the economy that went to investors, as opposed to employees and government and other things, rose above its already historically high level.19 Or, he said, the economy could start growing faster than normal.20 He called it wishful thinking to use optimistic assumptions like these. Some people, he said, were not thinking that the whole market would flourish. They just believed they could pick the winners from the rest. Swinging his arms like an orchestra conductor, he succeeded in putting up another slide while explaining that, although innovation might lift the world out of poverty, people who invest in innovation historically have not been glad afterward. This is half of a page which comes from a list seventy pages long of all the auto companies in the United States. He waved the complete list in the air. There were two thousand auto companies: the most important invention, probably, of the first half of the twentieth century. It had an enormous impact on peoples lives. If you had seen at the time of the first cars how this country would develop in connection with autos, you would have said, This is the place I must be. But of the two thousand companies, as of a few years ago, only three car companies survived.21 And, at one time or another, all three were selling for less than book value, which is the amount of money that had been put into the companies and left there. So autos had an enormous impact on America, but in the opposite direction on investors. He put down the list to shove his hand in his pocket. Now, sometimes its much easier to figure out the losers. There was, I think, one obvious decision back then. And of course, the thing you should have been doing was shorting horses.*3 Click. A slide about horses popped up. U.S. HORSE POPULATION 190017 million 19985 million Frankly, Im kind of disappointed that the Buffett family was not shorting horses throughout this entire period. There are always losers. Members of the audience chuckled, albeit faintly. Their companies might be losing money, but in their hearts beat a conviction that they were winners, supernovas blazing at the cusp of a momentous shift in the heavens. Undoubtedly their names would grace the pages of history books someday. Click. Another slide appeared. Now the other great invention of the first half of the century was the airplane. In this period from 1919 to 1939, there were about two hundred companies. Imagine if you could have seen the future of the airline industry back there at Kitty Hawk. You would have seen a world undreamed of. But assume you had the insight, and you saw all of these people wishing to fly and to visit their relatives or run away from their relatives or whatever you do in an airplane, and you decided this was the place to be. As of a couple of years ago, there had been zero money made from the aggregate of all stock investments in the airline industry in history. So I submit to you: I really like to think that if I had been down there at Kitty Hawk, I would have been farsighted enough and public-spirited enough to have shot Orville down. I owed it to future capitalists.22 Another light chuckle. Some were getting tired of these musty old examples. But out of respect, they let Buffett get on with it. Now he was talking about their businesses. Its wonderful to promote new industries, because they are very promotable. Its very hard to promote investment in a mundane product. Its much easier to promote an esoteric product, even particularly one with losses, because theres no quantitative guideline. This was goring the audience directly, where it hurt. But people will keep coming back to invest, you know. It reminds me a little of that story of the oil prospector who died and went to heaven. And St. Peter said, Well, I checked you out, and you meet all of the qualifications. But theres one problem. He said, We have some tough zoning laws up here, and we keep all of the oil prospectors over in that pen. And as you can see, it is absolutely chock-full. There is no room for you. And the prospector said, Do you mind if I just say four words? St. Peter said, No harm in that. So the prospector cupped his hands and yells out, Oil discovered in hell! And of course, the lock comes off the cage and all of the oil prospectors start heading right straight down. St. Peter said, Thats a pretty slick trick. So, he says, go on in, make yourself at home. All the room in the world. The prospector paused for a minute, then said, No, I think Ill go along with the rest of the boys. There might be some truth to that rumor after all. 23 Well, thats the way people feel with stocks. Its very easy to believe that theres some truth to that rumor after all. This got a mild laugh for a half second, which choked off as soon as the audience caught on to Buffetts point, which was that, like the prospectors, they might be mindless enough to follow rumors and drill for oil in hell. He closed by returning to the proverbial bird in the bush. There was no new paradigm, he said. Ultimately, the value of the stock market could only reflect the output of the economy. He put up a slide to illustrate how, for several years, the markets valuation had outstripped the economys growth by an enormous degree. This meant, Buffett said, that the next seventeen years might not look much better than that long stretch from 1964 to 1981 when the Dow had gone exactly nowherethat is, unless the market plummeted. If I had to pick the most probable return over that period, he said, it would probably be six percent.24 Yet a recent PaineWebber-Gallup poll had shown that investors expected stocks to return thirteen to twenty-two percent.25 He walked over to the screen. Waggling his bushy eyebrows, he gestured at the cartoon of a naked man and woman, taken from a legendary book on the stock market, Where Are the Customers Yachts?26 The man said to the woman, There are certain things that cannot be adequately explained to a virgin either by words or pictures. The audience took his point, which was that people who bought Internet stocks were about to get screwed. They sat in stony silence. Nobody laughed. Nobody chuckled or snickered or guffawed. Seeming not to notice, Buffett moved back to the podium and told the audience about the goody bag he had brought for them from Berkshire Hathaway. I just bought a company that sells fractional jets, NetJets, he said. I thought about giving each of you a quarter share of a Gulfstream IV. But when I went to the airport, I realized thatd be a step down for most of you. At that, they laughed. So, he continued, he was giving each of them a jewelers loupe instead, which he said they should use to look at one anothers wives ringsthe third wives especially. That hit its mark. The audience laughed and applauded. Then they stopped. A resentful undercurrent was washing through the room. Sermonizing on the stock markets excesses at Sun Valley in 1999 was like preaching chastity in a house of ill repute. The speech might rivet the audience to its chairs, but that didnt mean that they would go forth and abstain. Yet some thought they were hearing something important. This is great; its the basic tutorial on the stock market, all in one lesson, thought Gates.27 The money managers, many of whom were hunting for cheaper stocks, found it comforting and even cathartic. Buffett waved a book in the air. This book was the intellectual underpinning of the 1929 stock-market mania. Edgar Lawrence Smiths Common Stocks as Long Term Investments proved that stocks always yielded more than bonds. Smith identified five reasons, but the most novel of these was the fact that companies retained some of their earnings, which they could reinvest at the same rate of return. That was the plowbacka novel idea in 1924! But as my mentor, Ben Graham, always used to say, You can get in way more trouble with a good idea than a bad idea, because you forget that the good idea has limits. Lord Keynes, in his preface to this book, said, There is a danger of expecting the results of the future to be predicted from the past.28 He had worked his way back around to the same subject: that one couldnt extrapolate from the past few years of accelerating stock prices. Now, is there anyone I havent insulted?29 He paused. The question was rhetorical; nobody raised a hand. Thank you, he said, and ended. Praise by name, criticize by category was Buffetts rule. The speech was meant to be provocative, not off-puttingfor he cared a great deal what they thought of him. He had named no culprits, and he assumed they would get over his jokes. His argument was so powerful, almost unassailable, that he thought even those who didnt like its message must acknowledge its force. And whatever unease the audience felt was not expressed aloud. He answered questions until the session ended. People began to stand, awarding him an ovation. No matter how they saw ita masterful exposition on how to think about investing or the last roar of an old lionthe speech was by any standard a tour de force. Buffett had stayed on top for forty-four years in a business where five years of good performance was a meaningful accomplishment. Still, as the record lengthened, the question always loomed: When would he falter? Would he declare an end to his reign, or would some seismic shift dethrone him? Now, it seemed to some, the time had come. It may have taken an invention as significant as the personal computer, coupled with a technology as pervasive as the Internet, to topple him, but hed apparently overlooked information that was freely available and rejected the reality of the approaching millennium. As they muttered a polite wonderful speech, Warren, the young lions prowled, restive. And so, even in the ladies room at the break, sarcastic remarks were heard from the Silicon Valley wives.30 It was not just that Buffett was wrong, as some felt, but that even if he were eventually proved rightas others suspected he would behis dour prediction of the investing future contrasted so sharply with Buffetts own legendary past. For in his early glory days, stocks were cheap, and Buffett had scooped them up in handfuls, almost alone in noticing the golden apples lying untouched on the path. As the years passed, barriers grew up that made it harder to invest, to get an edge, to figure out what others didnt know. So who was Buffett to preach at them, now that it was their turn? Who was he to say that they shouldnt make money while they could off this wonderful market? Throughout the rest of the lazy afternoon, Herbert Allens guests played one last game of tennis or golf or headed to the Duck Pond Lawn for a leisurely chat. Buffett spent his afternoon with old friends, who congratulated him on his triumph of a speech. He believed he had done a convincing job of swaying the audience. He had not given a speech full of such commanding evidence simply to go on the record. Buffett, who wanted to be liked, had registered the standing ovation, not the mutterings. But the less flattering version was how many were not convinced. They believed that Buffett was rationalizing having missed the technology boom, and they were startled to see him make such specific predictions, prophecies that surely would turn out to be wrong. Beyond his earshot, the rumbling went on: Good ol Warren. He missed the boat. How could he miss the tech boat? Hes a friend of Bill Gates.31 A few miles away at the River Run Lodge later that evening, with the guests at the closing dinner again arranged according to some invisible plan, Herbert Allen finally spoke, thanking various people and reflecting on the week. Then Susie Buffett took the stage beside the windows that overlooked the pebbly Big Wood River and once again sang the old standards. Later the guests returned to the Sun Valley Lodge terrace, where Olympic skaters axeled and arabesqued in the Saturday night ice show. By the time fireworks exploded across the sky at evenings end, Sun Valley 99 had been declared another glorious five-day extravaganza. Yet what most people would remember was not the rafting or the skaters; it was Buffetts talk about the stock marketthe first forecast he had made in exactly thirty years. 3 Creatures of Habit Pasadena July 1999 Buffetts partner, Charles T. Munger, was nowhere to be seen at Sun Valley. The Allen & Co. organizers had never invited him. Which was fine with Munger, for Sun Valley was the kind of event he would almost pay not to attend. Its rituals required pleasing too many people.1 Buffett was the one who enjoyed pleasing people. Even as he took his jabs at the audience, he made sure to remain personally well liked. Whereas Munger wanted only respect, and didnt care who thought he was a son of a bitch. Yet the two, in many peoples minds, were almost interchangeable. Buffett himself referred to them as Siamese twins, practically. They walked with the same lurching, awkward gait. They wore the same sort of gray suits draped stiffly over their frames, the inflexible bodies of men who have spent decades reading books and newspapers rather than playing sports or working outdoors. They arranged their graying hair in the same comb-over, they wore similar Clark Kentish glasses, and the same intensity flickered through their eyes. They thought alike and had the same fascination with business as a puzzle worth spending a lifetime to solve. Both regarded rationality and honesty as the highest virtues. Quickened pulses and self-delusion, in their view, were the major causes of mistakes. They liked to ponder the reasons for failure as a way of deducing the rules of success. I had long looked for insight by inversion, in the intense manner counseled by the great algebraist Carl Jacobi, Munger said. Invert, always invert. He illustrated this with the story of a wise peasant who said, Tell me where Im going to die so I wont go there.2 But while Munger meant this figuratively, Buffett took it more literally. He lacked Mungers subtle sense of fatalism, particularly when it came to the subject of his own mortality. Both men, however, were infected by the urge to preach. Munger described himself as didactic. He labored over occasional speeches on the art of successful living, which struck people as so insightful that they were hoarded and passed from hand to hand until, finally, the Internet made them accessible to all. He grew so enthused delivering these speeches that, on a few occasions, he became self-intoxicated, as Buffett put it, and had to be dragged from the stage. In private, Munger tended to lecture either himself or his audience, making conversations with him like sitting in the back of a runaway stagecoach. But while he considered himself an amateur scientist and architect and did not hesitate to expound on Einstein, Darwin, rational habits of thinking, and the ideal distance between houses in a Santa Barbara subdivision, Munger was nonetheless wary of venturing very far from what he had spent some time to learn. He dreaded falling prey to what a Harvard Law School classmate of his had called the Shoe Button Complex. His father commuted daily with the same group of men, Munger said. One of them had managed to corner the market in shoe buttonsa really small market, but he had it all. He pontificated on every subject, all subjects imaginable. Cornering the market on shoe buttons made him an expert on everything. Warren and I have always sensed it would be a big mistake to behave that way.3 Buffett was in no danger of suffering from the Shoe Button Complex. He feared appearing obnoxious or, worse, sanctimonious. He believed in what he called the Circle of Competence, drew a line around himself, and stayed within the three subjects on which he would be recognized as absolutely expert: money, business, and his own life. Yet, like Munger, he had his own form of self-intoxication. While Munger chose his speeches selectively but had trouble winding them up, Buffett could usually conclude a lecture, but found it hard not to start one. He gave speeches; he wrote articles; he wrote editorials; he gathered people at parties and gave little lessons; he testified in lawsuits; he appeared in television documentaries and did television interviews and took journalists along with him on trips; he went around to colleges and taught classes; he got college students to come and visit him; he gave lessons at the openings of furniture stores, the inauguration of insurance telemarketing centers, and dinners for would-be customers of NetJets; he gave locker-room talks to football players; he spoke at lunches with Congressmen; he educated newspaper folk in editorial board meetings; he gave lessons to his own board of directors; and, above all, he put on the teachers robes in his letters to and meetings with his shareholders. Berkshire Hathaway was his Sistine Chapelnot just a work of art, but an illustrated text of his beliefs, which was why Munger referred to it as Buffetts didactic enterprise. The two men had been each others best audience ever since they first met through mutual friends over lunch in 1959. After they talked their hosts into exhaustion, they wound up alone at the table, jabbering to each other. Since then, they had carried on an uninterrupted conversation for decades. Eventually, they could read each others minds, stopped talking, and carried on by telepathy. But by then their other audiences had expanded to include their friends, business partners, shareholdersindeed, the whole world. People reeled out of Buffetts office or away from Mungers speeches, figuratively smacking their foreheads and saying, My God! at some insight one of them had about a seemingly intractable problem, which now, in hindsight, seemed obvious. No matter how much either talked, demand for their words only increased. Like most things in their lives, they found this role easy and comfortable, engraved in their beings by long habit. But, accused of being a creature of habit, Buffett responded with a wounded look. Im not a creature of habit, he said. Now, CharlieCharlie is a creature of habit. *** Munger rose in the morning and set his quarter-inch-thick, old-fashioned cataract glasses on the bridge of his nose. He climbed into his car at precisely the same time every day, carefully placed his fathers briefcase which he now usedon the seat next to him, and drove from Pasadena to downtown Los Angeles.4 He changed lanes on his left side by counting the cars in his rearview mirror, then watching them pass in the front to sense when there would be a gap.5 (For years he drove with a can of gasoline in his trunk in case he forgot to stop for gas, but was finally persuaded to give up this particular habit.) Once downtown, he often met someone for breakfast at the sandy-brick art deco California Club, one of the citys venerable institutions, where he strode automatically to the first table in the dining room after grabbing a clutch of newspapers from the console table by the third-floor elevator. He tore through the papers like gift wrap on Christmas morning, until they lay around him in a heap. Good morning, Mr. Munger. The members of the L.A. business establishment genuflected as they passed by on their way to lesser tables, pleased if he recognized them and chatted for a moment or two. Munger regarded them through his right eye. His left had been destroyed in a failed cataract operation.6 Now, while he spoke, his left eyelid hung at half-mast as his head swiveled back and forth across the room, taking in the scene. The rotating half gaze gave him an aspect of eternal vigilance and permanent disdain. After finishing his blueberries, Munger repaired to the modest, cluttered office he rented from Munger, Tolles & Olson, the law firm he had founded in 1962 and retired from just three years later. Tucked away on an upper floor of the Wells Fargo Center, his domain was watched over by his longtime secretary, the Teutonic Dorothe Obert. There, surrounded by science and history books, biographies of Benjamin Franklin, an enormous portrait of aphorist and lexicographer Samuel Johnson, plans and models of his latest real estate deal, and a hydrocephalic bust of Franklin next to the windows, he felt at home. Munger admired Franklin for espousing Protestant bourgeois values while living as he damn well pleased. He frequently cited Franklin, and spent his days studying his works and those of other eminent dead, as he put it, like Cicero and Maimonides. He also administered Wesco Financial, a subsidiary of Berkshire; the Daily Journal Corporation, a legal publishing company that Wesco owned; and worked on a real estate transaction here and there. Would-be chatterersexcept for family, close friends, or business associatesmet with obscure ironic witticisms and discouragement from Dorothe. Munger spent much of his time working on four causes. When he chose, he could pitch in with an almost stunning generosity. However, lacking a soft spot for the people of what he called Dregsville, his charity took the form of a Darwinian quest to boost the brightest. Good Samaritan Hospital, the Harvard-Westlake School, the Huntington Library, and the Stanford Law School were the beneficiaries. These organizations knew that Mungers money and effort would be accompanied by much lecturing and insistence that everyone do things Charlies way. He would gladly pay for dormitories at Stanford Law School, as long as Stanford made each room exactly so many feet wide, with a window exactly here and the bedroom so many feet from the kitchen, and provided that the university locate the parking garage where he insisted. He embodied old-fashioned noblesse oblige, with all sorts of irritating strings attached to the money for the recipients own good, because he knew best. Even with all this overseeing of others activities, Munger often left for the day in time to play a little golf with his cronies at the Los Angeles Country Club. Then he joined his wife, Nancy, for dinner, sometimes at the Pasadena house hed designed himself or, more likely, with a longtime group of close-knit friends, once again either at the California Club or the L.A. Country Club. He concluded his day by burying his nose in a book. He vacationed regularly with his eight children and stepchildren and assorted grandchildren, usually at his cabin on Minnesotas Star Island, where, like his father, he was an avid fisherman. He hosted dozens of people on his enormous catamaran, the Channel Cat (described as a floating restaurant by one friend, and used mainly to entertain). In short, despite his idiosyncrasies, Munger was a straightforward family man who liked his friends, his clubs, and his charities. *** Buffett liked his friends and his clubs, but had little to do with charities. His life was even simpler than Mungers, despite a personality that was far more complex. He spent the vast majority of his time in Omaha, but his schedule revolved around a series of board meetings and trips to visit friends, orchestrated with an unhurried regularity, like the phases of the moon. On the days he was in town, he drove 1.5 miles from the house hed inhabited for four decades to the office at Kiewit Plaza that hed occupied for almost as long, where he sat down behind his fathers desk by eight-thirty a.m. There, he turned on the television to CNBC with the sound muted before picking up his pile of newspapers, keeping half an eye on the screen while plowing through a pile of publications on his desk: American Banker, Editor & Publisher, Broadcasting, Beverage Digest, Furniture Today, A.M. Bests Property-Casualty Review, the New Yorker, Columbia Journalism Review, the New York Observer, and newsletters from writers he admired on the stock and bond market. After that he digested the monthly, weekly, and daily reports faxed, mailed, and e-mailed by the businesses that Berkshire owned, a list that grew longer year by year, telling him how many auto policies GEICO had sold last week and how many claims it had paid; how many pounds of Sees Candies had sold yesterday; how many prison-guard uniforms had been ordered from Fechheimers; how many jet time-shares NetJets was selling in Europe and the United States; and all the restawnings, battery chargers, kilowatt hours, air compressors, engagement rings, leased trucks, encyclopedias, pilot training, home furnishings, cardiopulmonary equipment, pig stalls, boat loans, real estate listings, ice cream sundaes, winches and windlasses, cubic feet of gas, sump pumps, vacuum cleaners, newspaper advertising, egg counters, knives, furniture rentals, nurses shoes, electromechanical components. All the numbers on their costs and sales poured into his office, and he knew many of them from memory.7 In his spare time, he pored over reports from the hundreds of companies he hadnt bought yet. Partly out of interest, and partly just in case. If some dignitary made the pilgrimage to Omaha to meet him, he got in his steel-blue Lincoln Town Car and drove the 1.5 miles through downtown and out to the airport to pick him or her up personally. People were startled and charmed by the unaffected gesture, although he soon scraped their nerves raw by barely noticing stop signs, traffic lights, or other cars, weaving around the road while talking animatedly. He rationalized his distractedness by saying that he drove so slowly that, if he had an accident, the damage would be light.8 He always gave a tour of his office, showing off his totems, the memorabilia that told the story of his business life. Then he sat, leaning forward in a chair, hands clasped and eyebrows raised sympathetically as he listened to the visitors questions and requests. To each of them Buffett offered off-the-cuff wit, quick decisions on business proposals, and warm advice. As they left, he might surprise a famous politician or the CEO of some huge company by dropping in for lunch at McDonalds before ferrying him back to the airport. In between the reading, the research, and the occasional meetings, the phone rang all day long. First-time callers punching in Buffetts number were shocked to hear a hearty Hello! and often stumbled in confusion when they realized that he answered his own phone. His secretary, the amiable Debbie Bosanek, trotted in and out of his office with messages from the overflow calls. On his credenza, another phone rang from time to time. He took these calls instantly, for they were from his trader. Yellommm hmmyephow muchmmm hmmgo ahead, he would say, and hang up. Then he turned back to the other calls, or to his reading or CNBC, before leaving promptly at five-thirty p.m. for home. The woman waiting for him there was not his wife. He was perfectly open about Astrid Menks, with whom he had lived in an unusual triangular arrangement since 1978. Susie Buffett approved of, and in fact had arranged the relationship; yet he and Susie both made a great point of saying how very married they were, their routine as a couple as scheduled and orchestrated as everything else in Buffetts life. All the while, he offered no more explanation in public than If you knew everybody well, youd understand it quite well.9 While this was true in its way, it did not help the curious, since almost nobody knew both Susie and Astrid well, or, for that matter, Buffett himself. He kept these relationships separate, as he kept many of his relationships separate. By all appearances, however, Astrid and Susie were friends. Most nights, Buffett ate dinnersomething like a hamburger or pork chopat home with Astrid. After a couple of hours he turned his attention to his nightly bridge game on the Internet, to which he devoted about twelve hours a week. While he tapped away, glued to the screen with the background noise of the TV, Astrid mostly left him to his game, except when occasionally he said, Astrid, get me a Coke! Afterward, he usually talked to Sharon Osberg, his bridge partner and a close confidante, for a while on the phone as Astrid puttered around the house until ten, when Buffett had his nightly conference call with Ajit Jain, who ran his reinsurance business. Meanwhile, Astrid went to the market and picked up the early edition of the next days newspaper. While he read it, she went to bed. And that, it seemed, was the simple, ordinary life of a megabillionaire. 4 Warren, Whats Wrong? Omaha and Atlanta AugustDecember 1999 Nearly all of Buffetts $30 billion plusninety-nine percentwas invested in the stock of Berkshire Hathaway. He had spoken at Sun Valley about how the markets weighing machine was more important than its voting machine. But it was the voting machines opinion of his stock price that set the altitude from which he preached. People paid attention to him because he was rich. So when he predicted that the market could disappoint investors for seventeen years,1 he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and he knew it. If he was wrong, not only would he be the laughingstock of Sun Valley; in the record books of the worlds wealthiest men, his personal rank might drop. And Buffett paid close attention to that rank. Through the late 1990s, BRK (Berkshire Hathaways stock symbol) had boosted his profile by outpacing the market, until it peaked at $80,900 per share in June 1998. That a single share of Berkshire stock cost enough to buy a small condo was unique among American businesses. To Buffett, the stock price represented an uncomplicated measure of his success. It had grown in an ascending line since the day he first bought BRK for $7.50 a share. Even though the market had rocked through the late 1990s, until 1999 an investor who bought BRK and held on to it would have been better off. But now, Buffett found himself standing on the sinking platform of an unloved stock, watching the T&T(tech and telecommunications) stocks ascend. By August 1999, BRK had slumped to $65,000. How much should someone pay for a large, established business that returned $400 million to them in profits every year? How much for a small, new business that was losing money? Toys R Us was earning $400 million a year and had sales of $11 billion. eToys was losing $123 million a year and had sales of $100 million. The markets voting machine said that eToys was worth $4.9 billion, and Toys R Us was worth about a billion less than that. The presumption was that eToys was going to crush Toys R Us through the Internet.3 The one cloud of doubt that hung over the market concerned the calendar. Experts were predicting that disaster might strike at midnight, December 31, 1999, because the worlds computers were not programmed to handle dates beginning with a 2. Fearing panic, the Federal Reserve began to increase the supply of money rapidly to prevent cash shortages in case all the countrys ATMs froze at once. Thus turbocharged, shortly after Sun Valley the market had spiraled upward like a Fourth of July firecracker. If you had invested a dollar in January in the NASDAQ, an index full of technology stocks, your bet was now worth a buck twenty-five. The same bet in BRK was worth only eighty cents. By December, the Dow Jones Industrial Average closed the year up twenty-five percent. The NASDAQ blasted through the 4,000-point level, up an incredible eighty-six percent. BRK fell to $56,100. In just a few months BRKs lead for the past five years had been tsunamied. For more than a year, financial pundits had made sport of Buffett, a has-been, an emblem of the past. Now, on the eve of the millennium, Barrons, a weekly must-read on Wall Street, put Buffett on its cover with the headline Warren, Whats Wrong? The accompanying article said Berkshire had stumbled badly. He was running a Pamplona of negative press like nothing he had ever experienced. I know its going to change, he repeated over and over, I just dont know when.4 His shrilling nerves were urging him to fight back. Instead, he did nothing. He did not respond. Near the end of 1999, even many longtime value investors who followed Buffetts style had either shuttered their businesses or given in and bought technology stocks. Buffett did not. What he called his Inner Scorecarda toughness about financial decisions that had infused him for as long as anyone could rememberkept him from wavering. I feel like Im on my back, and theres the Sistine Chapel, and Im painting away. I like it when people say, Gee, thats a pretty good-looking painting. But its my painting, and when somebody says, Why dont you use more red instead of blue? Good-bye. Its my painting. And I dont care what they sell it for. The painting itself will never be finished. Thats one of the great things about it.5 The big question about how people behave is whether theyve got an Inner Scorecard or an Outer Scorecard. It helps if you can be satisfied with an Inner Scorecard. I always pose it this way. I say: Lookit. Would you rather be the worlds greatest lover, but have everyone think youre the worlds worst lover? Or would you rather be the worlds worst lover but have everyone think youre the worlds greatest lover? Now, thats an interesting question. Heres another one. If the world couldnt see your results, would you rather be thought of as the worlds greatest investor but in reality have the worlds worst record? Or be thought of as the worlds worst investor when you were actually the best? In teaching your kids, I think the lesson theyre learning at a very, very early age is what their parents put the emphasis on. If all the emphasis is on what the worlds going to think about you, forgetting about how you really behave, youll wind up with an Outer Scorecard. Now my dad: He was a hundred percent Inner Scorecard guy. He was really a maverick. But he wasnt a maverick for the sake of being a maverick. He just didnt care what other people thought. My dad taught me how life should be lived. Ive never seen anybody quite like him. PART TWO The Inner Scorecard 5 The Urge to Preach Nebraska 18691928 John Buffett, the first known Buffett in the New World, was a serge weaver believed to be of French Huguenot descent. He fled to America in the seventeenth century to escape religious persecution and settled in Huntington, Long Island as a farmer. Little else is known of the earliest Buffetts in the United States, except that they were farmers.1 It is clear, however, that Warren Buffetts urge to preach is part of a family legacy. An early example was one of John Buffetts sons,2 remembered for sailing north across the Long Island Sound to a coastal settlement in Connecticut, where he climbed a hill and commenced to preach religion to the heathens. But it is doubtful that the outcasts, scofflaws, and unbelievers of Greenwich repented on hearing his words, since history records that lightning promptly struck him down. Several generations later, Zebulon Buffett, a farmer in Dix Hills, Long Island, left his trace on the family tree as the first recorded exemplar of another Buffett traittreating ones own relatives with extreme tightfistednesswhen his grandson, Sidney Homan Buffett, quit his job working on Zebulons farm in disgust over the insultingly low pay. A gangly teenager, Sidney went west to Omaha, Nebraska, to join his maternal grandfather George Homan in his livery-stable business.3 The year was 1867; Omaha a settlement consisting mainly of a collection of wooden shacks. Since its days as a trail-outfitting center for westbound prospectors during the Gold Rush, Omaha supplied the staples to pioneersgambling, women, and booze.4 But with the end of the Civil War, it was about to be transformed. A grand transcontinental railroad would link the coasts of the newly reunited states for the first time, and Abraham Lincoln himself decreed that Omaha would be the railroads headquarters. The coming of the Union Pacific filled the town with a bustling commercial spirit, as well as a sense of destiny. Nonetheless, the place retained its reputation as the Sodom of a pious state,5 and a well-known rogues rookery. After working at the livery stable, Sidney left to open the first grocery store in a town with no paved streets. In this respectable but modest business, he sold fruit, vegetables, and game until eleven every night: prairie chickens for a quarter, jackrabbits for a dime.6 His grandfather Zebulon feared for Sidneys prospects and pelted him with letters containing advice, all rules thatwith one significant exceptionhis descendents still heed. Try to be punctual in all your dealings. You will find it difficult to get along with some men, deal as little as possible with such. Save your credit, for that is better than money. If you go on in business, be content with moderate gains. Dont be too hasty to get too rich. I want you to live so as to be fit to live and fit to die. 7 Content with moderate gains in an upward-scrambling, freewheeling place, Sidney gradually built the store into a success.8 He married Evelyn Ketchum and they had six children, several of whom died young. Two sons, Ernest and Frank, were among the survivors.9 It has been said, No man was ever better named than Ernest Buffett.10 Born in 1877, he ended his formal schooling in the eighth grade, and joined his father behind the counter during the Panic of 1893. Far more eccentric than his businesslike brother, Frank Buffett became a large, stove-bellied man, the heathen among the Puritans of the family, who even enjoyed the occasional drink. One day, a stunning young woman appeared at the store looking for a job. Her name was Henrietta Duvall, and she had traveled to Omaha to escape an unfriendly stepmother.11 Frank and Ernest were both immediately smitten, but it was the more handsome Ernest who won Henrietta as his wife in 1898. Ernest and Henriettas first child, Clarence, was born within a year of their marriage, followed by three more sons and a daughter. Shortly after the quarrel, Ernest went into a partnership with his father, Sidney; eventually he left to set up another grocery store. Frank remained single for most of his life, and for the next twenty-five years, as long as Henrietta lived, he and Ernest apparently never spoke. Ernest set about becoming a pillar of the town. At his new store, the hours were long, pay low, opinions cast in iron, and foolishness zero.12 Always dressed in a dapper suit, he scowled from his desk on the mezzanine to stop his employees from idling, and penned letters demanding that suppliers kindly speed up the celery.13 He charmed his lady customers, but never hesitated to judge and carried a little black notebook to write down the names of people who irritated himDemocrats, and people who didnt pay their grocery bills.14 Ernest was sure that the world needed his opinion and traveled to conferences around the country to bemoan the sorry state of the nation with like-minded businessmen.15 Self-doubt was not his strong suit. He always spoke in exclamation points and expected you to acknowledge that he knew best, says Buffett. In a letter to his son and daughter-in-law advising them to always have some ready cash, he described the Buffetts as bourgeois incarnate: I might mention that there has never been a Buffett who ever left a very large estate, but there has never been one that did not leave something. They never spent all they made, but always saved part of what they made, and it has all worked out pretty well.16 Spend less than you make could, in fact, have been the Buffett family motto, if accompanied by its corollary, Dont go into debt. Henrietta, also of French Huguenot extraction, was as thrifty, iron-willed, and teetotaling as her husband. A devout Campbellite,*4 she too felt the call to preach. While Ernest was at the store, she would harness the horses to the familys fringed surrey and gather her children to drive out into the countryside, where she knocked on farmhouse doors to hand out tracts. Her temperament did nothing to lighten the Buffett family tendencies. In fact, by some accounts, Henrietta was the preachingest of all the preaching Buffetts who had ever lived. The Buffetts were tradespeople, not members of the merchant or professional class, but as pioneer settlers of Omaha, they were exceedingly conscious of their place. Henriettas hope was that her four sons and daughter would become the first in the family to graduate from college. To pay for their schooling, she pared her household budgetmore than was strictly necessary, it is said, even by Buffett standards. All the boys toiled at the family store when they were young. Then Clarence began a career in the oil business, with a graduate degree in geology.17 George, her second, got a PhD in chemistry and wound up on the East Coast. Her three youngest, Howard, Fred, and Alice, all graduated from the University of Nebraska. Fred took up duties at the family store, and Alice became a home-economics teacher. Howard, the third son and Warrens father, was born in 1903. He had unhappy memories of feeling like an outsider during his years at Central High School in the early 1920s. Omaha was run by a handful of families who owned the stockyards, banks, department stores, and had inherited fortunes from the breweries now closed under Prohibition. My clothes were pretty much hand-me-downs from my two older brothers, he said, and I was a paperboy and the son of a grocery man. So the high school fraternities didnt look my way, and I was just one of the boys from what approximated outside of the tracks. He felt these snubs keenly; they marked him with a deep revulsion toward rank and privilege acquired by birth.18 At the University of Nebraska, Howard majored in journalism and worked at the college newspaper, the Daily Nebraskan, where he was able to combine the outsiders love of reporting on the activities of the powerful with the family fascination with politics. It would not be long before he met Leila Stahl, a girl whose background mingled the same interest in newspapers with self-consciousness about social class. Leilas father, John Stahl, a sweet little dumpling of a man of good German-American descent, had traveled Cuming County, Nebraska, in a horse and buggy with a buffalo robe on his lap as superintendent of schools.19 The family history says he adored his wife, Stella, who gave him three daughtersEdith, Leila, and Berniceand one son, Marion. Of English descent, Stella was unhappy living in West Point, Nebraska, a town of German-American hausfraus, where she never felt at ease. It is said that she consoled herself by playing the pipe organ. In 1909, Stella suffered a mental breakdown. This must have seemed an ominous recurrence of family history, for her mother, Susan Barber, who was described as maniacal, had been an inmate of the Nebraska State Insane Asylum, where she died in 1899. After an incident in which, according to family lore, Stella went after Edie with the fireplace poker, John Stahl gave up his traveling job to care for their children. Increasingly, Stella retreated to her darkened room, where she sat twisting her hair, apparently depressed. This isolation was punctuated by occasional episodes of cruel behavior toward her husband and the girls.20 Stahl, realizing that he could not leave the children alone with their mother, bought a newspaper, the Cuming County Democrat, so he could make a living working from home. From the time Leila was five, she and her sisters essentially ran the household and helped their father put out the paper. She learned to spell by setting type. When I was in the fourth grade, she recounted, we had to come home from school and set type before we could go out and play. By age eleven she could run a jackhammer of a Linotype press, and every Friday she missed school because of the headaches she suffered after having to get out the paper on Thursday night. Living above the business in a house infested by mice, the family pinned all their hopes for the future on Marion, the brilliant brother who was studying to be a lawyer. During World War I the Stahls difficulties grew. When the Cuming County Democrat came out against Germany in a German-American town, half their subscribers dropped the paper and switched to the West Point Republican a financial catastrophe. John Stahl himself was an ardent supporter of the Democratic political giant William Jennings Bryan. At the turn of the century, Bryan had been one of the most important politicians of his era, nearly becoming President of the United States. In his heyday, he stood for a kind of populism that he set forth in his most famous speech: There are two ideas of government. There are those who believe that if you just legislate to make the well-to-do prosperous, that their prosperity will leak through on those below. The Democratic idea has been that if you legislate to make the masses prosperous their prosperity will find its way up and through every class that rests upon it.21 The Stahls viewed themselves as part of the masses, the class that the rest rested upon. Their ability to bear that load was not increasing. By 1918, Leilas sixteen-year-old sister Berniceconsidered the dullard of the sisters, with a tested IQ of 139had apparently begun to give up on life. She was convinced she would end up mentally ill like her grandmother and mother, and die like her grandmother in the Nebraska State Insane Asylum.22 During this time, Leilas educational schedule suggests a chaotic home life. She delayed going to college for two years to help her father. After a single semester at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln, she returned home for another year to help out again.23 Energetic and considered the brightest of the girls, Leila later portrayed this episode in a different light, describing her family as perfect and saying that she stayed out of college three years to earn her tuition. When she arrived at Lincoln in 1923, she had one clear and acknowledged ambition, which was to find a husband. She headed straight to the college newspaper and asked for a job.24 A small-boned girl with a soft brown bob who bustled like the robin of spring, Leila wore a charming smile that softened the expression in her arrowhead-sharp eyes. Howard Buffett, who had started at the Daily Nebraskan as a sportswriter before rising to editor, hired her straightaway. Good-looking in a dark-haired, professorish way, Howard was one of only thirteen in the entire student body who had been tackled for the Innocents, a society of outstanding men on campus modeled after the honorary societies of Harvard and Yale. Named for the thirteen Popes Innocent of Rome, the Innocents declared themselves champions against evil. They also sponsored the prom and Homecoming.25 P resented with such a big man on campus, Leila grabbed him instantly. Well, I dont know whether she worked very much on the Daily Nebraskan, Howard said later, but she sure worked on me. Ive never regretted itdont make any mistake about itits the best deal I ever made.26 But Leila was a good student with a head for mathematics, so when she announced plans to drop out of college and marry, her calculus professor reportedly slammed down the textbook in dismay.27 Howard, who was about to graduate, went to his father to discuss his choice of career. He had no real interest in money but, at Ernests insistence, gave up the high-minded, low-paying business of journalism and the possibility of law school in favor of selling insurance.28 The newlyweds moved into a tiny white four-room bungalow in Omaha, which Ernest filled with groceries as their wedding gift. Leila furnished it top to bottom for $366items bought, she noted, at sort of wholesale prices.29 From that day forward she channeled her energy, ambition, and talent for mathwhich by all accounts exceeded her husbandsinto boosting Howards career.30 In early 1928, the Buffetts first child, Doris Eleanor, was born.31 Later that year, Leilas sister Bernice suffered a mental breakdown and quit her teaching job. But Leila seemed free of the moody listlessness that oppressed her mother and sister. A whirlwind of energy, she could talk nonstop for hours (although she litanied the same stories). Howard called her the Cyclone. As the Buffetts settled into the life of a young married couple, Leila got Howard to join her own First Christian Church, and noted proudly in her day book when he was made a deacon.32 Still avidly interested in politics, Howard began to show signs of the family urge to preach. But when he and Ernest turned the dinner table into a forum for endless discussions of the subject, Howards brother Fred was so bored that he would lie down on the floor and go to sleep. Leila had converted to her new husbands politics, however, and was now an enthusiastic Republican. The Buffetts applauded Calvin Coolidge, the man who proclaimed The chief business of the American people is business,33 and shared his belief in small government with minimal regulation. Coolidge had lowered taxes and granted citizenship to American Indians, but mostly he shut up and stayed out of the way. In 1928, his Vice President, Herbert Hoover, was elected as his successor, vowing to continue pro-business policies. The stock market had prospered under Coolidge, and the Buffetts felt Hoover was the man to keep it going. *** When I was a kid, Warren would later say, I got all kinds of good things. I had the advantage of a home where people talked about interesting things, and I had intelligent parents and I went to decent schools. I dont think I could have been raised with a better pair of parents. That was enormously important. I didnt get money from my parents, and I really didnt want it. But I was born at the right time and place. I won the Ovarian Lottery. Buffett always credited most of his success to luck. When it came to his recollections of his family, however, he was creating some of his own reality. Few would agree he couldnt have been raised with a better set of parents. When he talked about how important it is for parents to have an Inner Scorecard when raising their kids, he always used his fathers Inner Scorecard as an example. He never mentioned his mother. 6 The Bathtub Steeplechase Omaha 1930s In the 1920s, the champagne bubbles of a frothy stock market led ordinary people to invest for the first time.1 By 1927, Howard Buffett decided to join them and got a job as a stockbroker with the Union State Bank. The celebration ended two years later. On Black Tuesday, October 29, 1929, the market dropped $14 billion in a single day.2 Wealth worth four times the budget of the United States government evaporated in a few hours.3 The markets losses in 1929 cost $30 billion, close to what the country had spent fighting World War I.4 Amid the bankruptcies and suicides that followed, people began to hoard money, and nobody wanted stocks. It was four months before my dad made his next sale. His first commission was five bucks. My mother used to go out with him at night on the streetcar, waiting outside when he would call on somebody, just so he wouldnt feel so depressed when he came home. Ten months after the crash, on August 30, 1930, the Buffetts second child, Warren Edward, was born, five weeks before his due date. An anxious Howard went to see his father, hoping to be hired on at the family grocery store. All the Buffetts, even those with other jobs, put in a stint at the store every week, but only his brother Fred worked there full-time, and that for meager pay. Now, Ernest told Howard that he had no money to pay another son.5 In one sense, Howard felt relief. Hed escaped from working at the store and never wanted to go back.6 But he worried that his family would starve. Dont worry about food, Howard, Ernest told him. Ill just let your bill run. That was my grandfather, Warren says. Ill just let the bill run. It wasnt that Ernest didnt love his family, you just wished he showed it a little more often. I guess youd better go back on home to West Point, Howard told his wife. At least youll have three meals a day. But Leila stayed. She walked to Roberts Dairy to pay the bill rather than pay a streetcar fare. She started skipping her church circle because she couldnt afford the twenty-nine cents for her turn at bringing coffee.7 Rather than run up a tab at the family store, she sometimes went without to make sure Howard was fed.8 One Saturday, two weeks before Warrens first birthday, people stood on line downtown, dripping with sweat in the hundred-degree heat, waiting to reclaim their cash from the shaky custody of the local banks. They shuffled forward from early morning until ten p.m. and counted and recounted the people ahead in line, silently repeating a financial rosary: Please, God, let there be money left when its my turn.9 Not every prayer was heard. Four state banks closed their doors that month, leaving their depositors unpaid. One of them was Howard Buffetts employer, the Union State Bank.10 Warren repeats the family legend: On August 15, 1931, he went down to the bank. It was two days after his birthday, and the bank was closed. He had no job, and his money was in the bank. He had two little kids to feed.11 He didnt know what to do. There was not another job to find. But within two weeks Howard and two partners, Carl Falk and George Sklenicka, filed the papers to start a stockbrokerage firm, Buffett, Sklenicka & Co.12 It was a maverick decisionto open a stockbroking business at a time when no one wanted to buy stocks. Three weeks later, England went off the gold standard.*5 This meant that, to avoid bankruptcy, the country which was deep in debtwould simply print more money to pay off its loans. This is a neat trick that only a government can pull off. It was as if the country with the most widely trusted and accepted currency of the age announced: We are going to write bad checks, and you can take them or else. The announcement instantly exploded trust in formerly gilt-edged institutions. All over the world, financial markets plunged. The already sputtering United States economy coughed, then stalled, then plummeted into free fall. A rush of banks was sucked into its trailing vacuum and collapsed. In city after city, depositors fought their way to the tellers window and were turned away.13 But in the middle of this maelstrom, Howards business was succeeding. His clients at first were mostly family friends. He sold them safe securities like utility stocks and municipal bonds. In the firms first month of operation, as financial panic spread around the world, he produced $400 of commissions and the firm was profitable.14 Through the ensuing months, even as peoples savings evaporated and faith in banks disappeared, Howard stuck to the same kind of conservative investments that had gotten him started, steadily adding customers and growing his business.15 The familys fortunes had turned around. Then, shortly before Warrens second birthday, twenty-month-old Charles Lindbergh Jr. was kidnapped and murdered in March 1932. The snatching of the Lone Eagles baby was the biggest story since the Resurrection, according to pundit H. L. Mencken. The country flew into a kidnapping paranoia in which parents conveyed their terror of abduction to their children, the Buffetts being no exception.16 Around then, Howard suffered some kind of attack serious enough for Leila to call an ambulance. The Mayo Clinic eventually diagnosed him with a heart condition.17 From that time on, he lived with restrictions: He wasnt supposed to lift things, run, swim. Leila, whose life now revolved entirely around Howard, the Prince Charming who had rescued her from the miserable fate of running a Linotype press, must have been terrified at the thought of anything happening to him. Warren was already a cautious child, who had kept his knees bent and stayed close to the ground when he learned to walk. Now, when his mother took him to her church circle meetings, he was content to sit placidly at her feet. She diverted him with an improvised toya toothbrush. Warren gazed quietly at the toothbrush for two hours at a stretch.18 What could he have been thinking as he stared at its columns and rows of bristles? That November, with the country in crisis, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was elected President. Howard was certain this man of privilege who knew nothing of the common people would pollute the countrys currency and drive it to ruination.19 He stuck a big sack of sugar in the attic to prepare for the worst. By this time, Howard looked like a boyish Clark Kent in a business suit, nearsighted behind his wire-rimmed glasses, with receding dark hair, an earnest smile, and a genial manner. But he turned thunderous when it came to politics, reviewing the news of the day at top volume over dinner. Doris and Warren probably had no idea what Howard meant as he ranted about the horrors that would befall the country now that a Democrat occupied the White House. But terms like socialism started to embed themselves in the childrens minds. After dinner, they watched their awe-inspiring father retire to his red leather armchair in the living room next to the radio and disappear for hours behind his nightly newspaper and magazines. Politics, money, and philosophy were acceptable topics for dinner-table discussion at the Buffett house, but feelings were not.20 Even in an era of undemonstrative parents, Howard and Leila were notable for their lack of warmth. Nobody in the Buffett household said I love you, and nobody tucked the children into bed with a kiss. But to everyone outside the family, Leila appeared the perfect mother and wife. People called her peppy, upbeat, motherly, sweet, even a gusher.21 In repeating her history, as she was fond of doing, she painted out the awkward bits, describing herself as a fortunate person brought up by wonderful Christian parents. Her favorite stories told of her and Howards sacrificesthe three years of school she had missed to earn her college money, the four months Howard had gone without making a sale when he first started his business, walking to the dairy to save streetcar fare. Leila referred often to bouts of neuralgia (sometimes mistaken for migraines), which she attributed to the childhood years spent alongside the pounding Linotype.22 Nevertheless, she acted as though she must do everything and drove herself hardbridge teas and steak fries, birthdays and anniversaries, calling on neighbors and cooking for church suppers. She paid more visits, baked more cookies, and wrote more notes than anyone. When pregnant, she once cooked dinner by herself for the family while trying to quell her morning sickness by smelling a bar of soap.23 Above all her attitude was: anything for Howard. She crucified herself, said her sister-in-law Katie Buffett.24 But Leilas attitude of duty and sacrifice had another, darker, side: blame and shame. After Howard left on the streetcar for work in the morning, Doris and Warren would be playing or getting dressed and suddenly Leila might explode at them. Something in the tone of her voice might give a clue that the fuse was lit, but most of the time there was no warning. It was always something that we did or said, and there would be this flash, and then it didnt subside. All your past sins would be brought up. It was just endless. And my mother attributed it sometimes to having neuralgia, but she never showed that outwardly. When in a rage, Leila would verbally lash the children over and over again, always the same: their lives were easy compared to her sacrifices; that they were worthless, ungrateful, and selfish; and should feel ashamed. She would pick at every real and imagined flaw; she nearly always aimed the tirade at Doris, and carried on saying the same things for at least an hour, sometimes as long as two. She never stopped until both children just folded, says Warren, weeping helplessly. She was not content until she reduced you to tears, says Doris. Warren was forced to watch her explosions, unable to protect his sister and desperate to avoid being targeted himself. While it was apparent that her attacks were deliberate and she had some degree of control over them, it isnt at all clear how she perceived her behavior as a parent. But no matter what she thought she was doing, by the time Warren was three years old and their sister Roberta, known as Bertie, was born, it couldnt be put back together, he says, for him or for Doris. The damage to their souls was done. The children never asked for help from their father, even though they knew that he was aware of Leilas eruptions. Howard might say to them, Moms on the warpath, a tipoff that a rage was coming, but he didnt intervene. Usually, however, Leilas explosions took place out of Howards earshot, and they were never aimed at him. In a sense, therefore, he was the childrens protector. Even though he did not save them, Howard still meant security, because when he was around, they were safe. *** Outside the tidy white bungalow on Barker Avenue, Nebraska was sliding into lawlessness. Bootlegging flourished in Omaha until Warren was three years old.25 Out in the countryside, farmers faced with foreclosure on mortgages backed by nearly worthless farmland rose up in civil disobedience.26 Five thousand farmers marched on the state capitol in Lincoln until panicked lawmakers hastily passed a mortgage moratorium bill.27 As the cold winds scoured the parched western sand hills in November of 1933, they kicked up vast swirls of topsoil in towering black clouds that swept eastward as far as New York City at a clipper speed of sixty miles per hour. The gale shattered plate-glass windows and blasted cars off the road in its wake. The New York Times compared it to the volcanic eruption of Krakatoa. The dust-storm years had begun.28 In the middle of the worst drought of the twentieth century, Midwesterners took refuge in their homes as grit sandblasted the paint and pitted the glass on their automobiles. Leila swept red dust off the porch every morning. On Warrens fourth birthday, a cloud of ruddy dust buried the Buffetts front porch and the wind blew the paper plates and napkins off the party table.29 Along with the dust came years of extraordinary heat. In summertime 1934 the thermometer in Omaha hit 118 degrees. After searching for days, a Nebraska farmer found his cow down a crack in a remote stubble field, trapped when the parched earth split apart.30 P lainsmen told tall tales about someone who fainted dead away when hit in the face by a drop of water and had to be revived with three buckets of sand. People slept in their backyards, camped on the grounds of Central High School, and on the grassy lawn of Omahas Joslyn Art Museum, so as not to roast in the ovens of their own homes. Warren tried in vain to sleep covered in bedsheets soaked with water, but nothing could cool the baked air that steamed up to his second-story room. With the record drought and heat of 1934,31 millions of grasshoppers arrived to devour the parched corn and wheat down to stubble.32 Leilas father, John Stahl, suffered a stroke that year, and while visiting his grandfather in West Point, Warren could hear the background drone of the ravenous hoppers. At their worst, they consumed fence posts, the laundry on the clothesline, and finally one another, gumming up tractor engines and clouding the air, thick enough to obscure a car.33 In truth, the early 1930s brought many other things to fear than fear itself.34 The economy worsened. Imitators of the eras most notorious gangstersAl Capone, John Dillinger, and Baby Face Nelsonroamed the Midwest, pillaging the already vulnerable banks.35 P arents worried about the dust-bowl drifters and gypsies who passed through town. Occasional mad dog rabies scares quarantined children at home. The public swimming pools closed in the dog days of summer out of fear of infantile paralysispolioand parents warned their children constantly that if their lips touched the public water fountain, it could put them in an iron lung.36 Yet Nebraskans were trained from birth to respond to calamity with teeth-gritted optimism. Those years of dust and drought simply formed the backdrop to Midwestern life. The children grew up accustomed to outlandish weather in a state plagued with tornadoes and winds strong enough to blow a train from its tracks.37 The three little Buffetts went to school, played with friends, and ran around with a dozen kids in hundreddegree weather at neighborhood potluck picnics, their fathers in suits and their mothers in dresses and stockings. Many of their neighbors may have suffered, their standard of living in decline, but Howard, son of a grocery man, had elevated his family into the more comfortable half of the middle class. We made steady progress even in those tough times, he was to recall, in an extremely modest sort of way. He was being modest about the familys modesty. While fifty men stood in line for a $17-a-week job driving the orange Buffett & Son grocery trucks, Howards persistence in knocking on doors had made his stockbroking business, now called Buffett & Co., a success.38 Omaha was briefly under martial law during violent streetcar strikes and rioting in 1935, but Howard bought a brand-new Buick. He became active in local Republican politics. At age seven Doris, who had always worshipped her father, contemplated his future biography and wrote in the front of one of her notebooks, Howard Buffett, A Statesman.39 A year later, still in the shadow of the Great Depression, Howard built the family a much larger two-story red-brick Tudor-revival house in Dundee, a suburb of Omaha.40 As the family prepared to move, Leila got word that her brother, Marion, now a successful lawyer in New York, had been stricken with incurable cancer at age thirty-seven. My uncle Marion was the pride and joy of my mothers family, says Buffett, as well as their principal hope to carry on the family name, unsullied by insanity.41 His death that November, childless, devastated his family. The next piece of bad news arrived when Leilas father, John Stahl, suffered another stroke that year, this one debilitating. Her sister Bernice, who cared for him at home, seemed increasingly sunk in depression. Her other sister, Edie, a schoolteacher, the prettiest and most adventurous of the girls, had vowed to stay single until either her thirties or until Bernice wed, but Leila, sharp and aware, refused to be trapped by her familys woes. She was going to make it, no matter what; she was going to create a normal life with a normal family.42 She planned the move and bought new furniture. In a major step up in the world, Leila could afford to hire a part-time housekeeper, Ethel Crump. Now a more experienced mother of a more prosperous family, Leila formed a much healthier relationship with her youngest child, Bertie, as the intervals between her rages lessened. Bertie knew her mother had a temper but says she always felt loved. Warren and Doris never did. And Leilas obvious affection for Bertie did not help their sense of worthlessness.43 In November 1936, Roosevelt was reelected to a second term. Howards only consolation was that FDR would be out in another four years. While he read his conservative journals each night, the children listened to the radio, played games, or sang hymns as Leila accompanied them on the familys latest acquisitiona pipe organ like the one her own mother had played. While the Buffetts new house and occasional luxuries like the organ reflected their upward progress, Leila always bought her children thrifty, practical, forgettable gifts, clothing bought on sale that couldnt be returned, and necessitiesnothing that answered a childs fantasies. Warren had a little single-oval HO-gauge train set and coveted a more elaborate version, the kind he saw at the Brandeis department store downtown, which had multiple engines twisting and turning past flashing lights and signals, rising over snow-covered hills and dropping into tunnels, racing past tiny villages and disappearing into pine forests. But the closest he came to owning it was buying the catalog that depicted it. If you were a little kid with one little oval track, looking at this thing, it was completely unbelievable. Youd gladly pay a dime for the model-train catalog and just sit there and fantasize. An introverted child, Warren could lose himself for hours in a model-train catalog. Sometimes, however, as a preschooler, he hid, as he put it, at his friend Jack Frosts house, developing a babyish crush on Jacks kindhearted mother, Hazel. As time passed, his habit grew of spending much time at neighbors and relatives houses.44 His favorite relative was his fathers sister Alice, a tall woman who had remained unmarried, lived at home with her father, and taught home economics. Surrounding Warren with warmth, she showed interest in everything he did and was thoughtful about how to motivate him. By the time Warren entered kindergarten,45 his hobbies and interests revolved around numbers. Around age six, he became fascinated by the precision of measuring time in seconds, and desperately wanted a stopwatch. Alice knew better than to offer such an important gift with no strings. She was nuts about me, Buffett says, but she still would attach a condition or two. I had to eat asparagus or something like that. That was what motivated me. But I got a stopwatch in the end. Warren would pick up his stopwatch and summon his sisters to join him in the bathroom they shared to watch the new game he had invented.46 He filled the bathtub with water and picked up his marbles. Each had a name. He lined them up on the flat edge at the back of the tub. Then he clicked the stopwatch just as he swept the marbles into the water. They raced down the porcelain slope, clicking and rattling, jumping as they hit the waterline. The marbles chased each other toward the stopper. When the first one hit, Warren punched the stopwatch and declared the winner. His sisters watched him race the marbles over and over, trying to improve their times. The marbles never tired, the stopwatch never erred, andunlike his audienceWarren never seemed bored by the repetition. Warren thought about numbers all the time and everywhere, even in church. He liked the sermons, he was bored by the rest of the service; he passed the time by calculating the life span of hymn composers from their birth and death dates in the hymnals. In his mind, the religious should reap some reward for their faith. He assumed that hymn composers would live longer than average. Living longer than average seemed to him an important goal. But piety, he found, did nothing to improve longevity. Lacking any personal sense of grace, he began to feel skeptical about religion. The bathtub steeplechase and the information he had collected about the hymn composers had taught him something else, however, something valuable. He was learning to calculate odds. Warren looked around him. There were opportunities to calculate odds everywhere. The key was to collect information, as much information as you could find. 7 Armistice Day Omaha 19361939 When Warren started first grade at Rosehill School in 1936,1 he took to it right away. For one thing, it liberated him from spending part of the day at home with his mother. School opened up a whole new world for him, and right away he made two friends, Bob Russell and Stu Erickson. He and Bob, whom he called Russ, began walking to school together, and on some days, he went over to the Russells house after school. On other days, Stu, whose family lived in a modest frame house, went to the Buffetts new brick home in the Happy Hollow country club neighborhood. Warren had something to do almost every day after school until his father returned from work. He had always gotten along with other children; now they kept him safe. He and Russ would sit on the Russells porch for hours, watching the traffic on Military Avenue. Scribbling in notebooks, they filled column after column with the license-plate numbers of passing cars. Their families found this hobby strange but attributed it to the boys love of numbers. They knew Warren liked to calculate the frequency of letters and numbers on license plates. And he and Russ never explained their r eal reason. The street in front of the Russells house was the only route out of a cul-de-sac neighborhood where the Douglas County Bank was located. Warren had convinced Russ that if someday that bank were robbed, the cops could nab the robbers using license-plate numbers. And only he and Russ would own the evidence that the cops would need to solve the crime. Warren liked anything that involved collecting, counting, and memorizing numbers. He was already a keen stamp and coin collector. He counted how often letters recurred in the newspaper and in the Bible. He loved to read and spent many hours with books he checked out of the Benson Library. But it was the crime-fighting and the theatrical potential of the license plateswhich his family and the Russells never knew aboutthat brought out other aspects of his temperament. He loved to play cop, and he liked almost anything that brought him attention, including dressing up and playing at different roles. When Warren was a preschooler, Howard had returned from business trips to New York City with costumes for him and Doris, and he became an Indian chief, a cowboy, or a policeman. Once he started school, he began coming up with dramatic ideas of his own. Warrens favorite games, however, were competitive, even if he was only competing with himself. He progressed from the bathtub steeplechase to a yoyo, then to bolo, sending the bolo ball on its rubber string flying away from his wooden paddle a thousand times. On Saturday afternoons at the Benson Theater, in between moviesthree films for a nickel, plus a serialhe stood on the stage with other kids, competing to see who could keep the ball going longest. In the end everyone else stepped down, exhausted, leaving him alone onstage, still smacking the ball. He even played out his competitiveness in his special, teasing, warm relationship with Bertie. He called her chubby because it made her mad and tricked her into singing at the dinner table, which was against the family rules. He played games with her constantly but never let her win, even though she was three years younger. But he had a tender side too. Once when Bertie stuffed her treasured Dy-Dee doll in a wastebasket in a fit of anger at her mother, Warren rescued it and returned it to her in the sunroom. I found this in the wastebasket, he said. You wouldnt want this in the wastebasket, would you?2 Even as a child, Bertie recognized that her brother knew how to be tactful. Bertie, on the other hand, was the self-confident, adventurous one, which Doris and Warren thought might explain why Leila rarely tore into her. Bertie had her own theory, seeing herself as someone who was able to keep up appearances in the way that their mother valued. What mattered most to Leila was the esteem of others; she had what Warren would later come to call an Outer Scorecard. She was always worrying about what the neighbors would think, nagging her daughters to create the right appearance. I was so careful to do the right things. I didnt want it to happen to me, Bertie says of Leilas tirades. Doris was the rebellious one. Early on, she displayed a refined sense of taste and a high threshold for excitement, which put her at odds with the Buffetts sedate routines and cheeseparing ways. The exotic, the stylish, and the novel attracted her, while her mother sheathed herself in a cloak of humility and preferred a self-conscious austerity to any kind of display. Thus Doriss very being seemed an affront to her mother, and the two clashed constantly. Leilas occasional rages were no less fierce than before. Doris had become a pretty child. And the prettier she got, says Buffett, the worse it was. Warren showed early signs of a knack with people, but was also the competitive, precocious child, intellectually aggressive yet physically retiring. When his parents got him boxing gloves at age eight, he took one lesson and never put them on again.3 He tried skating, but his ankles wobbled.4 He didnt join in the street games with the other boys, even though he loved sports and was well-coordinated. The only exception to his aversion to hand-to-hand combat was Ping-Pong. When the Buffetts got a Ping-Pong table, he slammed away at it night and day against anyone who would take him onhis parents friends, kids from schooluntil he became a menace with the paddle. On the single occasion anyone remembers that called for fists, however, little Bertie went out and took care of things for him. He cried easily if anyone was mean to him; he worked hard to be liked and to get along well with others. Yet despite Warrens cheerful demeanor, something about him struck his friends as lonely. The Buffetts took a photograph of the three children at Christmas in 1937. Bertie seems happy. Doris looks wretched. Warren, clutching his favorite possession, a nickel-plated money changer, a gift from his aunt Alice, looks far less happy than called for by the occasion. Leilas determination that they appear to be the perfect Norman Rockwell family hardened when Warren was eight and new calamities befell the Stahls. Her mother, Stella, had deteriorated, and the family admitted her to the Norfolk State Hospital, formerly the Nebraska State Insane Asylum, where Leilas grandmother had died.5 Her sister Edie spent three months in the hospital and nearly died of peritonitis after suffering a ruptured appendix. Afterward, she made up her mind to go ahead and get married, and wed a man of questionable background who made her laugh. This did not improve Leilas dim view of her sister, who had always seemed to her more interested in adventure than duty. Meanwhile, Howard had been elected to the school board, a new role that became a point of pride in the family.6 Amid this mixture of Buffett progress and Stahl backsliding, Warren spent most of his time away from home, out of his mothers way. He paid calls around the neighborhood, made friends with other peoples parents, and listened to political talk at their houses.7 As he roamed, he began collecting bottle caps. He went to filling stations all over town, scooping bottle caps out of the wells beneath the ice chests where they had fallen after customers popped their sodas open. Down in the Buffetts basement, the piles of bottle caps grew: Pepsi, root beer, Coca-Cola, ginger ale. He became obsessed with collecting bottle caps. All this free information was lying around untouchedand no one wanted it! He found it amazing. After dinner, he spread his collection of bottle caps on newspapers all over the living-room floor, sorting and counting, sorting and counting.8 The numbers told him which soft drinks were most popular. But he also enjoyed sorting and counting as a way of relaxing. When he wasnt working on his bottle caps, he liked sorting and counting his coin collection and his collection of stamps. School for the most part bored him. In Miss Thickstuns fourth-grade class with Bob Russell and his other friend Stu Erickson, to pass the time, he played math games and counted in his head. He liked geography, however, and found spelling exciting, especially the spell-downs, in which six students from the first grade competed with six from the second. Whoever won advanced and competed with the third graders, and so on. Theoretically, a first grader could win six times and eventually beat a sixth grader. I wanted to pass Doris on the spell-downs, and Bertie wanted to pass me. Alas, all three Buffetts were very smart kids, and neither happened. Still, there was nothing like that for capturing our attention. Warren enjoyed spell-downs, but nothing motivated him like blackboard arithmetic. From the second grade on, students raced to the board, two at a time. First they competed at sums against the clock, then subtraction, finally multiplication and division, tallying their numbers down the board. Warren, Stu, and Russ were the brightest in the class. At first they scored about the same, but over time Warren pulled ahead a little. And then, with practice, a little more.9 Finally one day Miss Thickstun asked Warren and Stu to stay after school. Warrens heart pounded in his chest. We wondered what the hell we had done, Stu says. Instead of a scolding, Miss Thickstun told Warren and Stu to move their books from the 4A section on one side of the room to the 4B section on the other.10 They were skipping half a grade. Bob Russell was left behind, even though Mr. Russell got upset and complained. Warren stayed friends with both, but kept his relationships with them separate: As before, although each was a friend of his, they were never really friends with each other. Warrens fondness for minutiae continued to develop. His parents and their friendswho called him Warrenygot a kick out of his party trick of naming state capitals. By fifth grade he had immersed himself in the 1939 World Almanac, which quickly became his favorite book. He memorized the population of every city. He got a contest going with Stu over who could name the most world cities with populations over a million.11 One evening, however, Warren was distracted from his Almanac and his bottle caps by a terrible pain in his belly. The doctor made a house call, then went home to bed. But he couldnt get the house call out of his mind, so he returned and sent Warren to the hospital. Later that night, Warren underwent surgery for a ruptured appendix. The doctor had almost been too late. Warren lay gravely ill in the Catholic-run hospital for several weeks. But cared for by the nursing sisters, he soon found the hospital was a comforting haven. As he began to recover, other pleasures came his way. The World Almanac was brought for him to study. His teacher made all the girls in his class write him get-well letters.12 His aunt Edie, who understood her nephew well, brought him a toy fingerprinting kit. He knew exactly what to do with it. He coaxed each of the sisters into stopping by his room. He inked all of their fingers, got a set of prints, and filed this collection away carefully upon returning home. His family found this behavior entertaining. Who would want a set of nuns fingerprints? But Warren theorized that one of the sisters might eventually commit a crime. And if that happened, then only he, Warren Buffett, would own the clues to the culprits identity.13 Not long after his hospitalization, on an exceptionally cold and windy day in May 1939, his parents told him to get dressed. Then his grandfather appeared. Clad in a dignified single-breasted suit, a handkerchief tucked neatly in his breast pocket, Ernest Peabody Buffett looked the picture of respectability, like the president of the Rotary that he was. Ernest had a way with children, despite his stern air, and he liked to entertain his grandchildren. Bertie worshipped him. Were going to Chicago today, Warren, he announced. They boarded a train and went to see the Cubs play the Brooklyn Dodgers in what turned out to be a marathon baseball game that went scoreless for ten extra innings, tied nine to nine, and was finally called on account of darkness. It had lasted for four hours and forty-one minutes.14 After this exciting introduction to major-league baseball, Warren was thrilled when Ernest bought him a twenty-five-cent book about the 1938 baseball season. Warren memorized it. That was the most precious book to me, he says. I knew every players history from every team and could have told you clearly every word in that book. I knew it in my sleep. His aunt Alice introduced him to another new interest when she gave him a book about bridgeprobably Culbertsons Contract Bridge Complete: The New Gold Book of Bidding and Play.15 Contract bridgea social, psychological game in which figuring out the problem is as important as solving itwas sweeping the country at the time, and Warren found it suited him more than chess.16 Yet another of his many interests was music. For several years, he had been learning to play the cornet; among his heroes were the trumpet players Bunny Berigan and Harry James. Although music practice meant spending time at home with his mother, trying to please someone who could never be pleased, he persisted, and there came a time, after many painful hours of practice peppered with Leilas criticism, that he was rewarded by being chosen to participate in his schools Armistice Day ceremony. Each year on November 11, the anniversary of the treaty that ended World War I, the entire Rosehill student body went down to the gym for a ceremony honoring the wars dead heroes. In what had become a school tradition, trumpet players stationed at doors on either side of the gym would alternate playing Taps, one blowing the first dum da dum notes, and the other echoing dum da DUM, and so on. That year, Warrens cornet skills had advanced enough for him to be given the part of the echo. He woke up the morning of the event, exhilarated at the prospect of performing in front of the entire school. When the big moment came, he was ready. As Warren stood in the doorway with his cornet, the first trumpet player sounded, Dum da DUM. But on the second dum, he hit a wrong note. My whole life flashed before my eyes, because I didnt know what to do with the echo. They hadnt prepared me for this. Paralyzedmy big moment. Should he copy the other trumpet players mistake or embarrass him by contradicting what hed played? Warren was undone. The scene scalded itself permanently into his memoryexcept for what he did next. Years later, which course he followedassuming he played any note at allhad become a blank. He had learned a lesson: It might seem easier to go through life as the echobut only until the other guy plays a wrong note. 8 A Thousand Ways Omaha 19391942 The first few cents Warren Buffett ever earned came from selling packs of chewing gum. And from the day he started sellingat six years of agehe showed an unyielding attitude toward his customers that revealed much about his later style. I had this little green tray, which had five different areas in it. Im pretty sure my aunt Edie gave me that. It had containers for five different brands of gum, Juicy Fruit, Spearmint, Doublemint, and so on. I would buy packs of gum from my grandfather and go around door to door in the neighborhood selling this stuff. I used to do that in the evening, largely.1 I remember a woman named Virginia Macoubrie saying, Ill take one stick of Juicy Fruit. I said, We dont break up packs of gumI mean, Ive got my principles. I still, to this day, remember Mrs. Macoubrie saying she wanted one stick. No, they were sold only in five-stick packs. They were a nickel, and she wanted to spend a penny with me. Making a sale was tempting, but not tempting enough to change his mind. If he sold one stick to Virginia Macoubrie, he would have four sticks left to sell to somebody else, not worth the work or the risk. From each whole pack, he made two cents profit. He could hold those pennies, weighty and solid, in his palm. They became the first few snowflakes in a snowball of money to come. What Warren was willing to break up were red cartons of Coca-Cola, which he sold door to door on summer nights. He carried on selling them during family vacations, approaching sunbathers around the shores of Lake Okoboji in Iowa. Soda pop was more profitable than chewing gum: He netted a nickel for every six bottles, and stuffed these coins proudly into the ball-park-style nickel-plated money changer on his belt. He also wore it when he went door to door selling copies of the Saturday Evening Post and Liberty magazines. The money changer made him feel professional. It emblemized the part of selling that Warren most enjoyed: collecting. Although he now collected bottle caps, coins, and stamps, mainly, he collected cash. He kept his coins at home in a drawer, sometimes adding to the $20 his father had given him when he turned six, all recorded in a little maroon passbookhis first bank account. By the time he was nine or ten, he and Stu Erickson were selling used golf balls at Elmwood Park golf course until somebody reported them and they got kicked out by the cops. When the police talked to Warrens parents, however, Howard and Leila werent concerned. They just considered their son ambitious. As the Buffetts onlyand precociousson, Warren had a sort of halo, according to his sisters, and got away with a hell of a lot.2 At age ten, he got a job selling peanuts and popcorn at the University of Omaha football games. He walked through the stands yelling, Peanuts, popcorn, five cents, a nickel, half dime, fifth of a quarter, get your peanuts and popcorn here! The 1940 presidential election campaign was under way, and he had collected dozens of different WillkieMcNary buttons, which he wore on his shirt. His favorite read: Washington Wouldnt, Cleveland Couldnt, Roosevelt Shouldnt, which referred to FDRs outrageousto the Buffetts decision to run for a third term. While the U.S. had no constitutional term limit, the country hadso farrebuffed the idea of an imperial President.3 Howard felt that FDR was a despot who had grandstanded his way to popularity. The idea of four more years of FDR nearly choked him. Though he found Wendell Willkie too liberal for his personal tastes, Howard felt, Anyone to get rid of Roosevelt. Warren, who followed along with his fathers political views, enjoyed showing off his Willkie McNary buttons at the stadium. Then his manager called him into the office and said, Take those off. Youll get a reaction from the Roosevelt people. Warren put the buttons in his apron, where some of the dimes and nickels got wedged inside the backs of the pins. When he reported in after the game, his manager told him to dump out the contents of the pocket, pins and all. Then he swept them off the counter and took them away. That was my introduction to Business 101, Buffett says. I was pretty sad. And when Roosevelt won an unprecedented third term, the Buffetts were sadder still. But while politics was Howards main interest and money a sideline, for his son, those interests were reversed. Warren hung around his fathers office at the grand old Omaha National Bank building every chance he got, reading The Trader column in Barrons and the books on his fathers bookshelf. He planted himself in the customers room of Harris Upham & Co. At this regional stockbroking firm, down two flights of stairs from Howards office, he found it the height of glamour to be allowed to mark the board, chalking stock prices on a slow Depression-era Saturday morning. The market still traded for a two-hour session on weekends. Root-bound men with nothing better to do filled the semi-circle of chairs in the customers room, listlessly watching numbers crawl by on the Trans-Lux, an electronic display of prices of major stocks.4 Occasionally somebody would jump up and rip a handful of tape off the lazily clicking ticker machine. Warren arrived with his paternal great-uncle Frank Buffettthe family misanthrope who had been brokenhearted over losing Henrietta, now long dead, to his brother Ernestand his maternal great-uncle John Barber.5 Each man was enslaved by his long-standing habit of thinking in only one direction. Uncle Frank was a total bear on the world, and Uncle John was a total bull. I would sit between the two of them, and theyd sort of vie for my attention and try to sell me that they were right. They didnt like each other, so they wouldnt talk to each other, but they would talk to me in between. My great-uncle Frank thought everything in the world was going to go broke. And when somebodyd go up there to the counter behind the chairs and say, I want to buy a hundred shares of U.S. Steel at twenty-three, my uncle Frank would always boom out and say, U.S. STEEL? ITS GOING TO ZERO! That was not good for business. They couldnt throw him out, but they hated him around this place. It was not an office designed for short-sellers. Snug between his two great-uncles, Warren stared at the numbers, which were fuzzy. His trouble reading the Trans-Lux led to his familys discovery that he was nearsighted. After being fitted for glasses, Warren noticed that the numbers seemed to change according to some immutable law of their own. Although his great-uncles were both eager to sway him to their respectiveand extremepoints of view, Warren noticed that their opinions appeared to have no connection whatsoever to the numbers passing overhead on the Trans-Lux. He was determined to figure out the pattern, but as yet did not know how. My uncle Frank and my uncle John would vie for who would take me to lunch, because that was sort of beating the other guy. With my uncle Frank, wed go down to the old Paxton Hotel, where we could buy day-old food for a quarter. Warren, who enjoyed spending time with adults, relished being vied over by his uncles. Actually, he enjoyed being vied over by anyone. He craved attention from his other relatives and his parents friends, but especially from his father. Howard gave each of his children an East Coast trip at age ten, an important event in their lives. Warren knew exactly what he wanted to do: I told my dad I wanted to see three things. I wanted to see the Scott Stamp and Coin Company. I wanted to see the Lionel Train Company. I wanted to see the New York Stock Exchange. Scott Stamp and Coin was at Forty-seventh Street, Lionel was down around Twenty-seventh, and the Stock Exchange was all the way downtown. Wall Street in 1940 had begun to revive from the crash, yet remained a chastened place. The men of Wall Street were like a band of hardy mercenaries fighting on after most of their comrades had been felled in war. The way they made a living seemed vaguely disreputable with memories of the 1929 Crash so fresh in peoples minds. Yet even though they did not brag about it outside the bunker walls, some of these mercenaries were doing very well indeed. Howard Buffett took his son down to lower Manhattan and dropped in on the top man at one of the largest brokerage firms. Little Warren Buffett was getting a peek inside the bunkers gold-plated doors. Thats when I met Sidney Weinberg, who was the most famous man on Wall Street. My dad had never met him. He had this little tiny firm out here in Omaha. But Mr. Weinberg let us in, maybe because a little kid was along or something. We talked for about thirty minutes. As the senior partner of the investment bank Goldman Sachs, Weinberg had spent a decade painstakingly repairing the firms reputation after its disgrace for misleading investors with a notorious pyramid scheme in the market crash of 1929.6 Warren knew nothing about that, nor that Weinberg grew up an immigrants child and had started as a porters assistant at Goldman, emptying cuspidors and brushing the partners silk hats.7 But he certainly understood that he was in the presence of a big shot once he found himself in Sidney Weinbergs walnut-paneled office, its walls hung with original letters, documents, and portraits of Abraham Lincoln. And what Weinberg did at the end of their visit made a huge impression on him. As I went out, he put his arm around me and he said, What stock do you like, Warren? Hed forgotten it all the next day, but I remembered it forever. Buffett would never forget that Weinberg, a big shot on Wall Street, had paid such attention to him and seemed to care about his opinion.8 From Goldman Sachs, Howard took Warren over to Broad Street and through a set of enormous Corinthian columns into the New York Stock Exchange. Here, in the temple of money, men in brightly colored jackets shouted and scribbled standing around wrought-iron trading posts while clerks darted back and forth, strewing the floor with paper scraps. Yet it was a scene from the Stock Exchange dining room that captured Warrens imagination. We had lunch at the Exchange with a fellow named At Mol, a Dutchman, a member of the Stock Exchange and a very impressive-looking man. After lunch, a guy came along with a tray that had all these different kinds of tobacco leaves on it. He made up a cigar for Mr. Mol, who picked out the leaves that he wanted. And I thought, This is it. It doesnt get any better than this. A custom-made cigar. A custom-made cigar. The visions that cigar evoked in Warrens mathematical mind! He had exactly zero interest in smoking a cigar. But working backward, he saw what hiring a man for such a frivolous purpose implied. To justify the expense must mean that, even while most of the country was still mired in the Depression, the cigar mans employer was making a great deal of money. He grasped it right away. The Stock Exchange must pour forth streams of money: rivers, fountains, cascades, torrents of money, enough to hire a man for the pure frippery of rolling cigarshandmade, custom-made cigarsfor the Stock Exchange members own particular pleasure. That day, as he beheld the cigar man, a vision of his future was planted. He kept that vision when he went back to Omaha, old enough now to organize his quest and pursue it all the more systematically. Even as he followed the pastimes of an ordinary boy, playing basketball and Ping-Pong and collecting coins and stamps; even as his family mourned his small, sweet grandfather, John Stahl, who died that year at age seventy-threethe first loss in his lifehe worked with a passion for the future he saw ahead of him, right there in sight. He wanted money. It could make me independent. Then I could do what I wanted to do with my life. And the biggest thing I wanted to do was work for myself. I didnt want other people directing me. The idea of doing what I wanted to do every day was important to me. A tool that would help him soon fell into his hands. One day, down at the Benson Library, a book beckoned from the shelves. Its shiny silver cover gleamed like a heap of coins, hinting at the value of its contents. Captivated by the title, he opened it and was immediately hooked. One Thousand Ways to Make $1,000, it was called. A million dollars, in other words! Inside the cover, in a photograph, a tiny man gazed up at an enormous pile of coins. Opportunity Knocks, read the first page of the text. Never in the history of the United States has the time been so favorable for a man with small capital to start his own business as it is today. What a message! We have all heard a great deal about the opportunities of bygone years. Why, the opportunities of yesterday are as nothing compared with the opportunities that await the courageous, resourceful man of today! There are fortunes to be made that will make those of Astor and Rockefeller seem picayune. These words rose like sweet visions of heaven to Warren Buffetts eyes. He turned the pages faster. But, the book cautioned, you cannot possibly succeed until you start. The way to begin making money is to begin. Hundreds of thousands of people in this country who would like to make a lot of money are not making it because they are waiting for this, that, or the other to happen. Begin it! the book admonished, and explained how. Crammed with practical business advice and ideas for making money, One Thousand Ways to Make $1,000 started with the story of money and was written in a straightforward, friendly style, like someone sitting on the front stoop talking to a friend. Some of its ideas were limitedgoat-dairying and running doll hospitalsbut many were more practical. The idea that captivated Warren was pennyweight scales. If he had a weighing machine, he would weigh himself fifty times a day. He was sure that other people would pay money to do that too. The weighing machine was easy to understand. Id buy a weighing machine and use the profits to buy more weighing machines. Pretty soon Id have twenty weighing machines, and everybody would weigh themselves fifty times a day. I thoughtthats where the money is.9 The compounding of itwhat could be better than that? This conceptcompoundingstruck him as critically important. The book said he could make a thousand dollars. If he started with a thousand dollars and grew it ten percent a year: In five years, $1,000 became more than $1,600. In ten years, it became almost $2,600. In twenty-five years, it became more than $10,800. The way that numbers exploded as they grew at a constant rate over time was how a small sum could turn into a fortune. He could picture the numbers compounding as vividly as the way a snowball grew when he rolled it across the lawn. Warren began to think about time in a different way. Compounding married the present to the future. If a dollar today was going to be worth ten some years from now, then in his mind the two were the same. Sitting on the stoop at his friend Stu Ericksons, Warren announced that he would be a millionaire by the time he reached age thirty-five.10 That was an audacious, almost silly-sounding statement for a child to make in the depressed world of 1941. But his calculationsand the booksaid it was possible. He had twenty-five years, and he needed more money. Still, he was sure he could do it. The more money he collected early on, the longer the money could compound, and the better his chances of achieving his goal. *** A year later, he brought forth the kernel of his reality. To his familys amusement and surprise, by the spring of 1942, his hoard totaled $120. Enlisting his sister Doris as a partner, he bought three shares of a stock for each of them, costing him $114.75 for his three shares of Cities Service Preferred.11 I didnt understand that stock very well when I bought it, he says; he knew only that it was a favorite stock that Howard had sold to his customers for years.12 The market hit a low that June, and Cities Service Preferred plunged from $38.25 to $27 a share. Doris, he says, reminded him every day on the way to school that her stock was going down. Warren says he felt terribly responsible. So when the stock finally recovered, he sold at $40, netting a $5 profit for the two of them. Thats when I knew that he knew what he was doing, Doris recalls. But Cities Service quickly soared to $202 a share. Warren learned three lessons and would call this episode one of the most important of his life. One lesson was not to overly fixate on what he had paid for a stock. The second was not to rush unthinkingly to grab a small profit. He learned these two lessons by brooding over the $492 he would have made had he been more patient. It had taken five years of work, since he was six years old, to save the $120 to buy this stock. Based on how much he currently made from selling golf balls or peddling popcorn and peanuts at the ballpark, he realized that it could take years to earn back the profit he had lost. He would never, never, never forget this mistake. And there was a third lesson, which was about investing other peoples money. If he made a mistake, it might get somebody upset at him. So he didnt want to have responsibility for anyone elses money unless he was sure he could succeed. 9 Inky Fingers Omaha and Washington, D.C. 19411944 One December Sunday afternoon when Warren was eleven, the Buffetts were driving back from a visit to West Point after church. As they listened to the radio in the car, the announcer broke in to say that the Japanese had struck Pearl Harbor. Nobody explained exactly what had happened or how many were killed or injured, but from the commotion Warren quickly realized that the world was going to change. His fathers already reactionary political views quickly turned even more extreme. Howard and his friends considered Roosevelt a warmonger who lusted after dictatorship and was trying to achieve it by luring America into yet another European war. They felt that Europe, a continent unable to settle its own petty bickerings before these turned into mortal disputes, must be allowed to burn in its own tinderbox. Until now, Roosevelts blandishments had not worked. Neither international cooperationthe wickedly deceitful Lend-Lease program, which Howard considered Operation Rat Hole, 1 an outright gift of war supplies to England, neither a loan nor a leasenor giving speeches alongside that portly, popular Englishman Winston Churchill, had drawn America into the war. Roosevelt had told the countrylying through his teeth, they agreedTo you mothers and fathers, I give you one more assurance. Your boys are not going to be sent into any foreign wars.2 Howard now came to believe that in a desperate gamble, Roosevelt and his armys chief of staff, General George C. Marshall, had decided that the only way to get us into the European war was to get the Japanese to attack us, says Warren, and not tip off the people at Pearl Harbor. This belief was common among conservatives at the time, although Howard, as in most things, was strikingly firm in his convictions. The following spring, the Nebraska Republican Party tapped Howard with the awkward job of finding a candidate to run for Congress against a popular incumbent, Charles F. McLaughlin. At the last minute, according to family lore, Howard entered his own name on the ballot, unable to find another sacrificial lamb willing to run against a heavily favored Democrat. He found himself thrust into the role of campaigner. The Buffetts plastered simple flyers saying Buffett for Congress on telephone poles. They went to county fairs, where Howard and Leila handed out cards amid the livestock displays and entries in the best pickle competition. He was the most unlikely candidate. He hated to speak in public. My mother was a good campaigner, but my dad was introverted. Leila, a talker, instinctively knew how to work a crowd and enjoyed approaching people. The kids circulated, saying, Would you vote for my daddy? Afterward they got to ride on the Ferris wheel. Then we made this little fifteen-minute radio program. My mother played the organ; my father introduced us: Theres Doris, age fourteen. And theres Warren, age eleven. And my line was Just a second, Pop, Im reading the sports section. Then, the three of us sang America the Beautiful while my mother played this little organ. It was no stemwinder, but With that fifteen-minute radio program, everybody started volunteering. Still, the other guy had been in for four terms. Even with the help of volunteers, Howard struggled against the political handicaps of his pessimism and his literal honesty. Thus, the Buffett political platform bulged with dire warnings and bristled at the mindless social conformity observable everywhere in the 1940s Midwest. Howard demanded that voters buy one-way tickets out of Washington for all of the screwballs, stuffed shirts, stool pigeons, sleepwalkers, and society snobs. This fire-breathing rhetoric belied a sweetness in him, a subtle wit, and a certain innocence. For years, Howard had carried in his pocket a handwritten piece of paper, softened and worn to the texture of linen, which said, I am Gods child. I am in His Hands. As for my bodyit was never meant to be permanent. As for my soulit is immortal. Why, then, should I be afraid of anything?3 Unfortunately for his only son, when it came to the streets of Omaha, Howard meant this almost literally. When campaigning, he would roust Warren, now twelve years old, out of bed long before dawn, to head down to the stockyards in South Omaha. Along with the railroads, these were Omahas main business, employing almost twenty thousand people, mostly immigrants. More than eight million animals a year4 lumbered into a metropolis of meat and rolled out as billions of pounds of packaged goods.5 South Omaha once was a separate city, a short distance from downtown geographically but culturally a continent away. For decades it had served as the brewing ground for most of the citys ethnic and racial unrest. Warren planted his sneakers at one end of the block, hands clenched and eyes fixed anxiously on his father. Howard limped from a childhood bout with polio, and the family worried about his heart condition. Warrens stomach churned as he watched his father down the street, approaching huge, cleaver-faced men in overalls on their way into the packinghouses for the five-thirty a.m. shift. Many of them did not speak English at home. The least well off, the blacks and new immigrants, lived crammed into a buffer zone of boardinghouses and shanties next to the yards. Those with greater savvy and more means had worked their way out into the ethnic parishes nearby, living in neat small houses with steeply pitched roofs that rolled up and down South Omahas hills: Czechs in Little Bohemia, Serbs and Croats in Goose Hollow, the Poles in G Town (the former Greek Town); the Greeks were long gone, their homes destroyed in a 1909 anti-immigrant riot. The people whom Howard approached ranged from the top rank of workers, the specialized butchers from the killing gang who worked on the highest floor of the slaughterhouse, to those on the lower floors, in the boneyard, the lard department, and the fertilizing department. A handful of women trimmed pork, twisted wieners, painted and labeled cans, plucked chickens, and sorted eggs. Management especially prized black women, who could be counted on to fill offal room jobs, and for less pay than whites.6 They cleaned the pluckintestines, bladder, hearts, glands, and other organstheir hands immersed in water and waste, sorting, salting, and packing intestines for casings in a hell of heat and ankle-deep bloody water. They panted shallowly with open mouths to keep airborne particles of excrement out of the deeper parts of their lungs.7 Even the newest and lowliest immigrant or black man would not set foot in the offal room. That was strictly black womens work. Men and women, black and white, these people were Democrats in every fiber of their being. The rest of Nebraska might be turning against the New Deal, the Presidents cure for the Great Depression, but Franklin Delano Roosevelt was still a hero in this part of town. Yet the leaflets that Howard Buffett politely pressed into their callused hands shrieked that FDR was the greatest danger to democracy that America had ever known. If given a moment to speak, he would calmly explain why, as their Congressman, he would always vote to enact laws that the stockyard workers would oppose. Howard was a zealot, but he was neither stupid nor crazy. Even though he placed his trust in Gods hands, he had a backup plan. Warren had not come for an education, nor to tag-team his father in a fight. His job was to run like hell for the cops if the stockyard workers started beating up his father. Under the circumstances, a reasonable person might ask what Howard was doing there at all. His efforts might not be repaid by a single vote. But apparently he felt an obligation to appear before every potential voter in his district, however little of him they cared to see. Warren always managed to return home intact; he never had to run for the cops. That may have been just luck or it may have been Howards demeanor, which conveyed his basic decency. Still, the Buffetts had no reason to believe the voters saw that, nor that if they did, it would overcome his underdog status. On election day, November 3, 1942, Doris, convinced that her father had lost, went downtown and bought herself a new pin to wear to school the next day so she would have something to look forward to. My dad wrote out his concession statement. We all went to bed at eight-thirty or nine oclock, because we never stayed up late. And he woke up the next morning to find out hed won. Howards deep suspicion of foreign adventures was more than a quirk of his own Quaker-like personality. It reflected a reservoir of conservative isolationism, which had once run deep and wide through the Midwest. Although that stream was drying up, Pearl Harbor had revived it for a little while. Despite Roosevelts overwhelming popularity, labors support for his foreign policies had wavered temporarily in Omaha, just long enough to get Howard elected against an opponent who had been, perhaps, overconfident. *** The following January, the Buffetts rented out their house in Dundee and boarded a train to Virginia. Ernest handed them a hamper of beautifully packaged food along with instructions not to stray into any other cars, lest they pick up dread diseases from traveling servicemen. They arrived at Washingtons Union Station to find a provincial city grown packed and chaotic. Great crowds of people filled the town, most of them working at vast new wartime government agencies. The military had commandeered every building, office, chair, and pencil within reach in the effort to get itself organized in the newly finished Pentagon, the worlds largest office building, which was outgrown by the time it was completed. By now, flimsy temporary office buildings lined every inch of the Mall.8 Hordes of new arrivals had doubled the population. A ragged army of black men and women streamed across the 14th Street Bridge from Virginia, fleeing the tobacco farms, cotton fields, and textile mills of the povertystricken South, lured by the prospect of any job at all in the busiest city in the world. Following in the dust of the respectable, impoverished, and naive came pickpockets, prostitutes, grifters, and drifters, turning Washington into the nations crime capital. Rickety nineteenth-century wooden trolleys packed with government workers crept their way along impassable streets. At any of the trolley stops, local residents might be picketing against Capital Transit, which had refused to hire blacks.9 Still, the logjam of segregation was slowly starting to break. At Little Palace cafeteria on the black side of town, Howard University students were staging a series of lunch counter sit-ins, challenging the restaurants policy of refusing them service by simply occupying all available tables and refusing to leave, effectively shutting the place down.10 The Buffetts had friends, the Reichels11acquaintances of Howards from his stockbroking dayswho told them, dont live in Washington, its terrible. They knew of an enormous house in Virginia that someone in the Marines had just vacated. It sat on a hill above the Rappahannock River, next door to Chatham, headquarters of the Union Army in the battle of Fredericksburg. The house had ten fireplaces, formal gardens, cutting gardens, and a greenhouse. Although its grandeur was far above the Buffetts style, and it was located almost an hour from the city, they leased it temporarily. Howard rented a tiny apartment in the District of Columbia and commuted on the weekends. His time filled quickly as the Nebraska delegation assigned him to the financial committees, and he started fitting in and learning the rules and procedures and unwritten customs of serving as a Congressman. Leila soon began riding into Washington to look for a permanent place to live. She had been unusually irritable since their arrival and often spoke longingly of Omaha. The timing of the move had turned out to be inauspicious. Her sister Bernice had just insinuated that she would commit suicide, saying that she would not be responsible for what happened unless the family committed her to the Norfolk State Hospital, where their mother, Stella, was also housed. Edie, now in charge of her sisters care, consulted with a doctor. They thought that Bernice wanted to live with her mother and was conceivably using melodramatic means to get her way. Nevertheless, they clearly had to take the suicide threat seriously, and the family sent her off to Norfolk. The details of the Stahl familys problems were rarely discussed in front of the children. Each adapted to Washington in his or her own way. Beautiful fifteen-year-old Doris felt like Dorothy, who had just left blackand-white Kansas and stepped into the Technicolor land of Oz. Her life was transformed. She became the belle of Fredericksburg and fell in love with the town.12 Leila began to treat her daughter as a social climber who had pretensions above her station, and still launched the occasional tirade against her. But by now, Doriss spirit resisted her mothers constraints, and she had begun to fight for her own identity. Meanwhile, Warren, twelve years old, spent the first six weeks in an eighth-grade class that was way behind where he had been academically in Omaha. Naturally, his first instinct was to get a job, working at a bakery where he did damned near nothing. I wasnt baking and I wasnt selling. At home, furious and miserable at being uprooted, he wanted to be sent back to Omaha and reported a mysterious allergy that disturbed his sleep. He claimed that he had to sleep standing up. I wrote my grandfather these pathetic letters, too, and he sort of said, Youve got to send that boy back. You know, youre destroying my grandson. Succumbing, the Buffetts put Warren on a train back to Nebraska for a few months stay. To his delight, his companion on the train was Nebraska Senator Hugh Butler. He had always gotten along well with older people and chatted easily with Butler, in his precocious manner, all the way back to Omaha, his allergy forgotten. Bertie, nine years old, felt close to her grandfather and thought she had a special bond with him. She was jealous. Trusting in her relationship with Ernest, she wrote him: Dont tell my parents, but send for me too. When Bertie wrote the same kind of letters, I said, Dont pay any attention. Shes a fake.13 Ernest wrote back, A girl should be with her mother. Bertie sat in Fredericksburg, fuming that her brother always seemed to get his way.14 Warren returned to Rosehill School and reunited with his friends. Every day he showed up around noontime at the house of his fathers former partner, Carl Falk, whose wife, Gladys, served him sandwiches and tomato soup and kindness for lunch. He worshipped Mrs. Falk15 as if she were a surrogate mother, just as he had done with his friend Jack Frosts mother, Hazel, and with his aunts. Though Warren was comfortable with all these middle-aged women, he was shy, hopelessly shy, and girls his own age terrified him. Even so, he soon developed a crush on Dorothy Hume, one of the girls in his new eighth-grade class. His friend Stu Erickson had a similar crush on Margie Lee Canady, and his other friend Byron Swanson had a crush on Joan Fugate. After weeks of talk, they worked themselves up to ask the girls to go to the movies.16 But when Warren walked over to Dorothys house to invite her, he chickened out when her father answered the door. Warren tried to sell him a magazine subscription instead. Finally, however, he managed to ask Dorothy, and she said yes. On the appointed Saturday, Byron and Warren went together to pick up their dates because they were afraid to show up alone. Thus the afternoon started with a lengthy trudge from house to house to the streetcar stop, walking for blocks in uncomfortable silence. Margie Lee, who lived in the opposite direction, arrived at the stop with Stu and they all boarded the streetcar, where the boys stared red-faced at their shoes throughout the trip downtown as the girls chatted easily with one another. When they reached the theater, Margie Lee, Dorothy, and Joan strolled directly to a row of seats and sat down next to each other. The boys plan to cuddle up with the girls during two horror films, The Mummys Tomb and Cat People, instantly fell apart. Instead, they sat in their own group and watched the girls brunette heads huddled together as they giggled and shrieked through the weekly serials, the cartoons, and both movies. After a painful trip to Walgreens for after-movie treats, the boys retraced their trip on the streetcar in a dazed little group and began the long march to the girls houses before being dismissed by their dates. They had barely spoken a word the entire afternoon.17 All three were so mortified that it took each of them years thereafter to summon the courage to ask another girl out on a date.18 But while Warren lost heart, he did not lose interest; he next developed a crush on another girl in his class, Clo-Ann Kaul, a striking blonde. Yet she was not interested in him either; he seemed unable to make any headway at all with girls. His way of diverting himself from disappointment was, again, making money. My grandfather liked the idea that I was always thinking of ways to make money. I used to go around the neighborhood collecting wastepaper and magazines to sell for scrap. My aunt Alice would take me down to the collection drop-off, where you could get thirty-five cents for a hundred pounds, or something like that. At Ernests house, Warren read a shelf full of back issues of the Progressive Grocer. Subjects like how to stock a meat department fascinated him. On the weekends, Ernest put him to work at Buffett & Son, the empire over which he presided. About the size of a two-story garage, it had a Spanish-style tile roof that stood out in the pleasant upper-middle-class suburb of Dundee. The Buffetts had always sold on credit and delivery. Ladies or their cooks would ring up Walnut 0761 on the telephone and read their lists to clerks who took down their orders.19 Clerks rushed around the store, scrambling up and down a rolling wooden ladder that flew back and forth along the shelves, retrieving boxes, bags, and cans, and filling their baskets from the pyramids of vegetables and fruit. To cut a hand of bananas, they took down the wicked sharp knife next to a four-foot bunch of bananas that hung from a hook by the back door. They ran down to the basement to fill orders for sauerkraut and pickles that lay cooling in barrels near crates of eggs and other perishables. All the goods went into baskets, which the clerks on the mezzanine raised on a pulley, priced and packaged, and sent back downstairs. Then the orange Buffett & Son delivery trucks with rolled-up rubber or leather panels on the side drove the packages off to Omahas waiting housewives. Ernest sat at a desk on the mezzanine and glared down at the clerks. Behind his back, the employees called him Old Man Ernie. He didnt do a damn thing. He just gave orders, says Warren. I mean, he was king. He could see everything. And if a customer walked in who wasnt waited on like that Snap of the fingers and woe to the clerks. He believed in work, work, plenty of work. Ernest felt so responsible for making sure that no one in his charge had foolish notions about there being any free lunch in this world that he had once made a lowly stock boy bring two pennies to work to pay his Social Security tax in cash. This handover had been accompanied by a half-hour lecture on the evils of socialism, so that said stock boy would fully understand how that devil Roosevelt and the tweedy, pipe-smoking Ivy League professors he had brought into the government were ruining the country.20 The only time Ernest left the mezzanine was the minute he saw an important woman drive up with her chauffeur. He would tear down the stairs, grab an order slip, and wait on her himself, showing her the new alligator pearsavocadosjust flown in from Hawaii and handing peppermint sticks to her children.21 In the face of all this attention to rank, when her brother-in-law Fred once stopped waiting on Leila in order to attend to another customer, she stalked out in a huff and never shopped at the store again.22 Howard bought the groceries from then on. Warren now felt like one of these clerks, hustling around the store under Old Man Ernies thumb. Working in his grandfathers store, he came as close to being a slave as he ever would be in his life. He had me do a lot of little lesser jobs. Sometimes I was on the floor. Sometimes he had me counting wartime rationing stampssugar stamps, coffee stamps, sitting up on the mezzanine with him. And sometimes I was hiding where he couldnt see me. The worst job was when he hired me and my friend John Pescal to shovel snow. We had this huge snowstorm, a foot of superwet snow. We had to shovel out the whole bank of snow, in front where the customers parked and in the alleyway behind the store, in the loading dock, and by the garage where we had the six trucks. We worked at this for about five hoursshoveling, shoveling, shoveling, shoveling. Eventually, we couldnt even straighten our hands. And then we went to my grandfather. He said, Well, how much should I pay you boys? A dimes too little and a dollars too much! Ill never forgetJohn and I looked at each other. That worked out toat mosttwenty cents an hour for shoveling snow. Oh no! This was the amount we were supposed to split. That was my grandfather. Well, a Buffett was a Buffett, but Warren had learned a valuable lesson: Know what the deal is in advance.23 Ernest had two other Buffett traits: an impulsive streak with women and an obsession with perfection. He had entered into two short-lived marriages after Henrietta died, once coming back from a vacation in California newly wed to a woman he had just met. His perfectionism, however, expressed itself at work. Buffett & Son was a direct descendant of the oldest grocery store in Omaha and Ernests demanding ways were all in pursuit of an ideal vision of service to his customers. He felt certain the discount national chain stores that were encroaching on the neighborhoods were a fad that would disappear because they could never provide a comparable level of service. Sometime during this period, he wrote confidently to one of his relatives: The day of the chain store is over.24 When Buffett & Son ran out of bread, rather than disappoint his customers, Ernest sent Warren trotting down the street to the nearby Hinky Dinky supermarket to buy bread at retail. Warren did not enjoy this errand because he was quickly recognized once inside. Hellooooooo, Mr. Buffett! the clerks would call out to him, loud enough for everyone to hear, as he slunk through the store, trying to look inconspicuous, weighed down with armfuls of loaves. Ernest resented the Hinky Dinky, which, like Sommers, his other major competitor in Dundee, was run by a Jewish family. It rankled him to pay good money to a competitor, much less somebody Jewish. Like much of America before mid-century, Omaha practiced de facto segregation by both religion and race. Jews and Christians (and even Catholics and Protestants) lived essentially separate lives, with social clubs, civic groups, and many businesses refusing to accept Jews as members or hire them as employees. Ernest and Howard used the code name Eskimos to make offensive remarks about Jews when they were out in public. Since anti-Semitism was so much a matter of course in society at the time, Warren never gave their attitudes a thought. Ernest, in fact, was an authority figure to Warren, and he only escaped that authority when he was at school, and for a few hours every Saturday when his grandfather put him to work on the delivery truck. Unloading groceries from the truck was exhausting work, and Warren started to figure out how much he disliked manual labor. There was this driver, Eddie, that I thought was a hundred years old. He was probably about sixty-five, although he had driven a mule truck back when Buffett & Son delivered that way. He had the craziest delivery system that involved going first to Benson, then about five miles back to Dundee to drop somebodys groceries off, then back to Benson. All this during wartime gas rationing. Finally I asked why, and he gave me this disgusted look and said, If its early enough, we may catch her when shes undressed. Warren at first had no idea what this cryptic phrase meant. He took the groceries up to the house personally in the mornings while I carried twenty-four-bottle boxes of empty soda bottles that were being returned to the store. Eddie would be there ogling Mrs. Kaul, the best-looking customer, trying to catch her undressed. Mrs. Kaul was Clo-Ann Kauls mother, and while Warren was hauling empty soda bottles, Clo-Ann was ignoring him. I may have been the lowest-paid person to ever work in the grocery business. I didnt learn anythingexcept that I didnt like hard work. Warren took his battle for autonomy home to Ernests Sunday dinner table. He had despised everything green from birth, except money. Now, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and asparagus lined Warrens plate like foot soldiers in a battle of wills. With his parents, he had generally gotten his way. Ernest, however, brooked no nonsense. While Alice tried coaxing her nephew, his grandfather glared from his seat at one end of the table, waiting, waiting, waiting for Warren to finish his vegetables. You sat at the table for two hours to finish your asparagus, but he always won in the end. In most other ways, however, being at Ernests brought Warren a large measure of freedom. In his grandfathers garage, he had spotted Doriss blue Schwinn bicycle with her initials on ita gift from Ernest, left behind when they went to Washington. Warren had never owned a bicycle. A bicycle was a pretty big present in those days, you know, he says. He started riding Doriss. After a while he traded it in, using it as most of the down payment on a boys bike.25 Nobody said anything. Warren had that halo. His grandfather doted on him, in his way. At night he and Ernest listened with reverential attention to Ernests favorite radio host, Fulton Lewis Jr., who expounded constantly on the theme that America should not get involved in foreign wars. Ernest needed no convincing. After Fulton Lewis Jr. recharged his conservative energies, Ernest would gather his latest thoughts on the best seller he was writing. He had decided to call it How to Run a Grocery Store and a Few Things I Learned about Fishing, feeling these were the only two subjects about which mankind had any valid concern.26 I would sit there at night, or late afternoon, early evening, and my grandfather would dictate this to me. Id write it on the back of old ledger sheets because we never wasted anything at Buffett and Son. He thought that it was the book all America was waiting for. I mean, there wasnt any sense writing another book. Not Gone with the Wind or anything like that. Why would anybody want to read Gone with the Wind when they could be reading How to Run a Grocery Store and a Few Things I Learned about Fishing?27 Warren loved it all, or almost all. He was so glad to be back in Omaha and reunited with his aunt, grandfather, and friends that he almost forgot about Washington for a while. A few months later, the rest of the family made the three-day drive to Nebraska for the summer and moved into a rented house. Their finances were becoming stretched. Heretofore, the stockyards had simply been the home of some of Howards constituents. But when their reek drifted through town every time the wind blew from the south, everybody in Omaha knewthat was the smell of money. Howard now bought the South Omaha Feed Company to supplement his Congressional salary. And Warren went to work for his father. South Omaha Feed was a huge warehouse that seemed hundreds of feet long and had no air-conditioning. My job was to carry fifty-pound sacks of animal feed from a freight car into the warehouse. You cant imagine how big a freight car looks when you get inside and it is packed to the top. And a freight car in the summer, that is really something. There was a guy named Frankie Zick who was tossing these things around. He was a weight lifter. I had on a short-sleeved shirt because it was so hot, and struggling to sort of get these feed bags into my arms and drag them. By noon my arms were kind of a bloody mess. That job lasted for about three hours. I just walked over to the streetcar and went home. Manual labor is for the birds. Before the summer ended, the family took a short vacation at Lake Okoboji. As they were leaving, Doris discovered that Warren had traded in her bicycle. But through some miscarriage of family justice, again he suffered no consequences. Indeed, when summer ended and his parents forced Warren, sullen and grim-faced, onto a train headed back to Washington, the new bicycle he had bought for himself with his filched funds went along. Doris was furious. But the theft of her bicycle only marked the beginning of her brothers descent into behavior that would ultimately force his parents to take action. *** Back in Washington, the Buffetts moved into the Fitchous house, an attractive two-story white colonial with a mimosa tree in the yard in the sophisticated Washington suburb of Spring Valley, right off Massachusetts Avenue. A restricted community*6 built in 1930 for the socially and officially prominent, Spring Valley was designed as a little colony of outstanding personages.28 The homes ranged from gigantic stone Tudor mansions to white two-story clapboard colonials like the Buffetts house. Leila had paid $17,500 for it, including some furniture. Warren got the front bedroom. The families on either side had sons, all older than Warren. Across the street lived the Keavneys, and Warren, now thirteen years old, developed a crush on Mrs. Keavney, the nearest motherly middle-aged woman in sight. I was nuts about her, he says. The neighborhood had an international feel; it teemed with diplomats. The WAVES,29 women members of the wartime Navy, were headquartered at the nearby huge Gothic-style campus of American University. The Buffetts began adjusting to wartime life in Washington, a very different place from Omaha. The country had finally become prosperous, the Depression over, but with wartime rationing on, money mattered less and less. Everyday life was measured in points and coupons: 48 blue points a month for canned goods; 64 red points for perishables; coupons for meat, shoes, butter, sugar, gasoline, and stockings. No amount of money would buy meat without coupons; only chicken went unrationed. With butter rationed and scarce, everyone learned to squeeze yellow food coloring into containers of tasteless white oleomargarine. No one could buy a new car, because the carmakers devoted their plants to defense work. To take an automobile trip, you pooled the familys gas coupons. Blowing out a tire could mean serious trouble, since automobile tires were among the most strictly rationed commodities. Every morning, Howard took the streetcar that ran down Wisconsin Avenue to M Street in Georgetown, then turned down Pennsylvania Avenue. He got off near the old Executive Office Building and went to work in a Washington that heaved and roiled. The government and diplomatic community had ballooned, and the streets were packed with people in kilts and turbans and saris, with armies of clerical workers, and with a sea of uniformed military. From time to time, black women in Sunday dresses and church hats picketed the Capitol to protest lynchings in the South. Air-raid wardens walked the neighborhoods to check that all houses had opaque blackout curtains. Once or twice a month the Buffetts were required to go down to their basement and turn out all the lights for a mandatory blackout drill. Leila disliked Washington from the day she arrived. She was homesick for Omaha, and lonely too. Immersed in his new job, Howard had become a more distant husband and father. He worked at the office all day, then read the Congressional Record and legislative materials all evening. He spent Saturdays at the office and often returned there on Sunday afternoons after church. Doris now attended Woodrow Wilson High School, where again she fell in right away with the popular crowd. Bertie, too, made friends easily, finding a compatible group of girls in the neighborhood. Warrens experience was nothing like his sisters. He enrolled at Alice Deal Junior High School,30 which sat atop the highest hill in Washington, overlooking Spring Valley, the black school in the hollow behind it, and the rest of the city below. The students in his classmany of them diplomats kidswere a world more polished than Warren and his now-lost friends from Rosehill School. At first, he had difficulty making friends. He went out for basketball and football, but since he wore glasses and was timid in physical contact sports, neither was a success. Id been pulled away from my friends and I wasnt making new friends. I was young for my class. I was not poised at all. I wasnt a terrible athlete, but I wasnt a great athlete in the least, so that was not an entry ticket. And Doris and Bertie were knockouts, so they did fine. A good-looking girl does not have trouble, because the world will adjust to her. So they both fit in better than I did, far better, which was a little irritating too. His grades started out at Cs and Bs and improved to As, except in English. Mostly my grades related to how I felt about the teachers. I hated my English teacher, Miss Allwine.31 Music class was also Cs all the way through. Miss Baum, the music teacher, was the best-looking teacher in the school. Most of the boys had crushes on her, but Warren had real difficulties with Miss Baum, who reported that he needed to improve in cooperation, courtesy, and self-reliance. I was the youngest one in the class. I was interested in girls, and I wasnt avoiding them, but I felt I had less poise. The girls were way ahead of me socially. When I left Omaha, nobody in my class was dancing. When I moved to Washington, everybody had been dancing for a year or two. So I never caught up, in effect. The Buffetts move when Warren was twelve had deprived him of a crucial experience: Addie Foggs dancing class. At the American Legion hall in Omaha on Friday nights, Addie Fogg, a short, stout woman of middle age, lined the boys and girls up by height and paired them off, boys in bow ties and girls in stiff petticoats. They practiced the fox trot and box-step waltz. A boy learned how a gentleman behaves in public with a young lady, and struggled through elementary small talk to break a painful silence. He felt the touch of a girls hand, learned to hold her by the waist, and sensed her face close to his own. He tasted for the first time the demands and potential pleasures of leading a partner as they moved in unison. With its many small but shared embarrassments and triumphs, this group rite of passage awakened in its graduates a sense of belonging. To miss it could be profoundly isolating. Already insecure, Warren had been left behind, a child among budding young men. His classmates noticed he was friendly but seemed shy, especially around girls.32 He was a year younger than most of them, born in August and having skipped a half grade at Rosehill. I was out of whack. I felt very inept with girls at that time, and socially in general. But with older people, I was fine. Not long after the familys arrival in Spring Valley, Howards friend Ed S. Millerone of those older people called from Omaha. He wanted to talk to Warren. Warren, he said, Im in a terrible jam. The board of directors told me to get rid of our Washington, D.C., warehouse. This is a real problem for me. We have hundreds of poundscasesof stale cornflakes and cases of Barbecubes dog biscuits. Im in a real pickle. Im twelve hundred miles away and youre the only businessman I know in Washington. So he said, I know I can count on you. As a matter of fact, I told our warehouse men to deliver these cornflakes and Barbecubes dog biscuits to your house. Whatever you get for them, send me half; you keep the rest. And all of a sudden, these huge trucks come up and fill our garage, fill our basement, everything! Now my dad couldnt get the car in or anything. And now Ive got these things. Well, I just tried to figure out who it would be useful to, you know. And obviously the dog biscuits would be useful to a kennel. The cornflakes were not fit for human consumption anymore, so I figured they might be good for some animal. I sold the cornflakes to some poultry guy. I made probably a hundred bucks for the merchandise.33 When I sent the fifty percent to Mr. Miller, he wrote back and said, You saved my job. There were some awfully nice people like that back in Omaha. I always liked to hang around with adults when I was a kid. Always. I would walk over to church or something, and then I would just drop in on people. My dads friends were very nice too. They had this Bible class and various things at the rectory, and they would come over to the house and play bridge afterward. All these guys were very, very nice to me; they all liked me and called me Warreny. Id learned Ping-Pong from taking out books from the library and practicing at the Y. They knew I enjoyed playing with them down in the basement, and theyd take me on. I had all these things I was doing in Omaha. I had a nice niche there. When we moved to Washington, the Ping-Pong table disappeared. It was like my cornet. And the Boy Scouts. I was doing all these different things, but they all ended when we moved. So I was mad. But I didnt know exactly how to direct that. I just knew I was having a whole lot less fun than I was having before my dad got elected. After his father took him to watch a couple of sessions of Congress, Warren decided he wanted to become a congressional page, but Howard was not in a position to pull that off. Instead, Warren got a job caddying at the Chevy Chase Club, but once again discovered that physical labor did not suit him. My mother sewed towels inside my shirts because I was carrying these heavy bags around. Sometimes the golfersmainly women golferswould feel sorry for me and practically carry the things themselves. He needed a job that better fit his skills and talents. Almost from birth, like all the Buffetts, Warren had lived and breathed the news. He loved hearing it and now he would enter the business of delivering it and find he loved that too. He got himself hired to throw a paper route, delivering the Washington Post and two different routes for the Times-Herald. The Times-Herald belonged to Cissy Patterson, the autocratic cousin of Chicago Tribune publisher Robert McCormick. It catered to the right wing, which hated FDR and kept the President up nights worrying what it would print the next day. Cissy Patterson feuded with Eugene Meyer, a financier who owned the Washington Post and supported FDR in every line of his papers type. Warren started delivering in Spring Valley, near his home. The first year, the houses were far apart, which I was not too keen on. You had to deliver it every day, including Christmas Day. On Christmas morning, the family had to wait until I had done my paper route. When I was sick, my mom delivered the papers, but I handled the money. I had these jars in my room with half dollars and quarters.34 Then he added an afternoon route to his workload. The Evening Star, which was owned by this blue-blooded Washington family, was the dominant paper in town. In the afternoons, he rolled down the streets on his bike, grabbing copies of the Star to throw from the huge basket on the front. Near the end of the route he had to steel himself. On Sedgwick was this terrible dog. I liked to work by myself, where I could spend my time thinking about things I wanted to think about. Washington was upsetting at first, but I was in my own world all the time. I could be sitting in a room thinking, or I could be riding around flinging things and thinking. The thoughts he was thinking were angry thoughts. He spent his days acting them out at Alice Deal Junior High. Bertie Backus, Alice Deals principal, prided herself on knowing each pupil by name. She soon had special reason to know Warren Buffetts. I was kind of behind when I got there, and then I fell further behind. I was just mad at the world. I did a lot of daydreaming, and I was always charting thingsI would bring stock charts to school and just wasnt paying attention to what was going on in class. Then I got to be friends with John McRae and Roger Bell. And I became disruptive. The pleasing personality of his childhood all but disappeared. In one class, Warren enlisted John McRae to play chess with him while the teacher was talking, just to be obnoxious. In another class, he cut open a golf ball, which squirted some sort of liquid onto the ceiling. The boys had started to golf. John McRaes father worked as a greenskeeper at Tregaron, a famous estate close to downtown Washington that belonged to heiress Marjorie Merriweather Post and her husband, Joseph E. Davies, who was ambassador to Russia. The family had dozens of servants and was almost never home, so the boys went over and played on the nine-hole golf course. Then Warren convinced Roger and John to run away with him to Hershey, Pennsylvania, where they were going to try to get jobs caddying at a well-known golf course.35 We hitchhiked. And after we had successfully gone a hundred fifty miles or so, we made it to Hershey and stopped at this hotel and we made the mistake of bragging to the bellboy. The next morning, when we came down, there was this huge highway patrolman waiting for us, who took us down to the highway patrol headquarters. We just started lying. And we lied and lied and lied about having our parents permission. All the while there was this Teletype machine spitting out alerts about this and that. I was sitting there thinking that pretty soon there was going to be an alert from Washington, D.C., and this guy will know were lying. All I wanted to do was get out of there. Somehow they lied convincingly enough that the patrolman let them go.36 We started walking toward Gettysburg or someplace. We were having no luck hitchhiking, and then a trucker picked us up and stuffed all three of us into the cab. They were so scared by then, they only wanted to go home. The trucker stopped at a diner in Baltimore and divided us up with other truckers. It was getting dark and we felt like wed never get out of there alive, but they took us back to Washington, separately. Roger Bells mother was in the hospital. I mean, she had gone to the hospital over this, which made me feel terrible cause I had talked Roger into going. I was on my way to being a four-star delinquent. He had made another friend by then, Lou Battistone; but, as in Omaha, he had kept his friendship with Lou separate from his relationship with Roger and John. Meanwhile, Warren was doing worse than ever at school. His grades dropped to Cs and Ds and even D minuses: in English, in history, in freehand drawing, in music, even Cs in mathematics.37 Some of these grades were from the classes where I was supposedly good. Warrens teachers found him stubborn, rude, and lazy.38 Some of the teachers gave him double black Xs, for extra bad. His behavior was shocking for the times. In the 1940s, children did what they were told and obeyed their teachers. I was going downhill fast. My parents were dying, they were dying. He excelled in only one class, and that was typing. Washington was fighting the war on paper, and typing was considered a critical skill. At Alice Deal, typing was taught by placing black covers over the keys so that the students were forced to type by touch.39 It helped to be able to memorize, and it paid to have good hand-eye coordination. Warren was gifted at both. I made As every semester in typing. We all had these manual typewriters and, of course, youd slam the carriage back to hear this ding! I wasby farthe best in the class at typing out of twenty people in the room. When theyd have a speed test, I would just race through the first line so I could SLAM the carriage back. Everybody else would stop at that point, because they were still on the first word when they would hear my ding! Then theyd panic, and theyd try to go faster, and theyd screw up. So I had a lot of fun in typing class. Warren put this same ferocious energy into his three paper routes. He took to the paper-throwing as if he had been born with inky fingers. Next, says Lou Battistone, he conned the route manager, with that personality of his, into giving him The Westchester in historic Tenleytown. In this, Warren had pulled off a coup. The Westchester was the kind of route an adult news carrier would ordinarily manage. It was a great opportunity. The Westchester was classy. The Westchester was just the crme de la crme. Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands owned it.40 There were six U.S. Senators on that route, and colonels, and Supreme Court justices, all these biggies. There was Oveta Culp Hobby, and Leon Henderson, the head of the Office of Price Administration. Mrs. Hobby came from a famous Texas publishing family, and had moved to Washington to serve as director of the WACs, the Womens Army Corps. So all of a sudden, I had this huge operation. I might have been thirteen or fourteen years old. I first got The Westchester just for the Post. I had to give up my other morning routes when I got The Westchester, and I felt badly. Warren had grown close to his Times-Herald manager. And when I told him that I had the chance to get the Post at The Westchester and that meant I had to give up his route in Spring Valleyhe was terrific with me, but that was really kind of a sad moment. By then Warren considered himself an experienced paper-route operator, but he was tackling a complex logistical challenge. The Westchester consisted of five buildings that sprawled over 271/2 acres, four of them connected and one separate. The route included two more apartment buildings across Cathedral Avenue, the Marlin and the Warwick. He would also be covering a small route of single-family homes up to Wisconsin Avenue. I started on a Sunday, and they handed me a book telling me the people and their apartment numbers. There was no training session and I didnt have the book in advance. He put on his tennis shoes and pulled out his bus pass, which cost three cents each way, and climbed sleepily aboard the Capital Transit bus. He did not stop for breakfast. I got up there around four-thirty a.m. There were these bundles and bundles of papers. I didnt know what the hell I was doing. I didnt know how the numbering system worked or anything. I sat there for hours and hours sorting and bundling the papers. I was short papers in the end, because people just took them from the bundles as they left for church. The whole thing was a disaster. I thought, what the hell have I gotten into? It took until ten or eleven in the morning to finish up. But I stumbled my way through. And it got better and I got good very fast. It was easy. Warren raced out of his house to catch the first N2 bus over to The Westchester at 3900 Cathedral Avenue every morning. Often he had bus-pass number 001, the first person buying a bus pass each week.41 The driver got used to looking out for him if he was running a little late. He would jump off the bus and run the couple of blocks over to The Westchester. He had figured out the most efficient route and turned what could have been a boring and repetitive job delivering hundreds of newspapers each day into a competition with himself. See, the papers were a little thinner in those days, because of newsprint rationing. A thirty-six-page paper was a pretty good-size paper. Id stand at one end of the hallway with a bundle and pull off a paper, fold it over flat, and tuck it to make a pancake, or roll it into a biscuit. Then I smacked it against my thigh. And Id twist it against my wrist to put some spin on it and slide it down the hall. I could slide that thing fifty, even a hundred feet. It was kind of a test of skill, because the apartment doors were at different lengths down the hallway. Id do the longest ones first. But the trick was to be able to do it in such a way that theyd all come to rest a few inches from the door. And sometimes people would have milk bottles, which made it more interesting. He also sold calendars to his newspaper customers, and he developed another sideline too. He asked all his customers for their old magazines as scrap paper for the war effort.42 Then he would check the labels on the magazines to figure out when the subscriptions were expiring, using a code book he had gotten from MooreCottrell, the publishing powerhouse that had hired him as an agent to sell magazines. He made a card file of subscribers, and before their subscriptions expired, Warren would be knocking at their door, selling them a new magazine.43 Because The Westchester had so much turnover in wartime, Warrens biggest dread was customers who skipped out and didnt pay, leaving him stuck with the cost of their papers. After a few people skipped out on him, he started tipping the elevator girls to let him know when people were about to move. Then the imperious Oveta Culp Hobby got behind. He thought that she should have a little more empathy for her paperboy, since she owned her own newspaper, the Houston Post. But he began to worry that she would skip out on him. I paid my own bills monthly, always on time, and I always showed up to deliver the papers. I was a responsible kid. I got presented with a war bond for perfect service. With the customers, I didnt want to let the receivables build up. I tried all kinds of things with Oveta Culp Hobbyleaving notesand finally ended up knocking on her door at six in the morning to catch her before she could escape. Shy in other ways, Warren was never timid when it came to money. When Mrs. Hobby answered the door, I handed her an envelope, and she had to pay me. After school, Warren rode the bus back to Spring Valley and jumped on his bike to deliver the Star. On rainy winter afternoons, he would sometimes come off his paper route and appear on the doorstep of his friends homes. He always wore battered canvas sneakers, so full of holes that his feet were swimming to the ankles; his skin would be pimply with cold inside a soaking-wet oversize plaid shirt. For some reason he never seemed to wear a coat. Motherly Mrs. Whoever would smile and shake her head at the pitiful sight, bundle him up, and towel him off while he basked in her warmth.44 At the end of 1944, Warren filed his first income tax return. He paid only seven dollars in taxes; to get it down to that, he deducted his wristwatch and bicycle as business expenses. He knew that was questionable. But at the time, he was not above cutting a few corners to get where he wanted to go. At age fourteen, he had now fulfilled the promise laid out in his favorite book, One Thousand Ways to Make $1,000. His savings now totaled around a thousand dollars. He took great pride in that accomplishment. So far, he was ahead of the game, way ahead of the game, and getting ahead of the game, he knew, was the way to his goal. 10 True Crime Stories Washington, D.C. 19431945 Bad grades, tax evasion, and running away were the least of Warrens troubles in junior high. His parents didnt know it, but their son had turned to a life of crime. Well, I was antisocial, in eighth and ninth grade, after I moved there. I fell in with bad people and did things I shouldnt have. I was just rebelling. I was unhappy. He started with minor schoolboy pranks. I loved print shop. I used to make calculations in print-shop class of the frequency of letters and numbers. That was something I could do by myself. I could set type, you know, and that sort of thing. I enjoyed printing up all kinds of things. I made up a letterhead from the American Temperance Union, Reverend A. W. Paul, President. Id write letters to people on that letterhead saying that for years Id lectured around the country on the evils of drink, and in these travels my appearances were always accompanied by my young apprentice, Harold. Harold was an example of what drink could do to men. Hed stand there on the stage with a pint, drooling, unable to comprehend what was going on around him, pathetic. Then I said that, unfortunately, young Harold died last week, and a mutual friend had suggested that you might be a replacement for him.1 The people with whom Warren felt most comfortable encouraged his antisocial impulses. He and a couple of new friends, Don Danly and Charlie Tron, took to hanging out at the new Sears store. Near Tenley Circle where Nebraska and Wisconsin Avenues intersected, the store was an eye-opening swoop of modern design dropped into the middle of Tenleytown, the second oldest neighborhood in Washington. Letters the height of a man spelled out SEARS on a curved metal deck several stories above sidewalk level.2 On the roof behind the Sears sign was hidden a great novelty, an open-air parking garage, which quickly became popular with high school kids as a place to park and neck. The store had become the hangout for all the junior high kids too. Warren and his friends rode the H2 bus there at lunchtime or on Saturdays. Most of the kids liked the dark little lunch counter Sears had installed in the basement, with its mesmerizing conveyer belt that spit out doughnuts all day long. But Warren, Don, and Charlie preferred Woolworths across the street, even though the police station was on the opposite corner. Woolworths sat kitty-corner from Sears. They could eat lunch and case the joint through the windows. After their hamburgers, the boys would stroll down the stairs into Searss lower level, bypassing the lunch counter and going straight to the sporting-goods section. Wed just steal the place blind. Wed steal stuff for which we had no use. Wed steal golf bags and golf clubs. I walked out of the lower level where the sporting goods were, up the stairway to the street, carrying a golf bag and golf clubs, and the clubs were stolen, and so was the bag. I stole hundreds of golf balls. They referred to their theft as hooking. I dont know how we didnt get caught. We couldnt have looked innocent. A teenager whos doing something wrong does not look innocent.3 I took the golf balls and filled up these orange sacks in my closet. As fast as Sears put them out, I was hooking them. I had no use for them, really. I wasnt selling them then. Its hard to think of a reason why you had this multiplying group of golf balls in the closet, this orange sack thats just getting bigger all the time. I should have diversified my theft. Instead, I made up this crazy story for my parentsand I know they didnt believe me, butI told them I had this friend, and his father had died. He kept finding more of these golf balls that his father had bought. Who knows what my parents talked about at night.4 The Buffetts were aghast. Warren was their gifted child, but by the end of 1944, he had become the school delinquent. My grades were a quantification of my unhappiness. MathCs. EnglishC, D, D. Everything Xs for self-reliance, industry, courtesy. The less I interacted with teachers, the better it was. They actually put me in a room by myself there for a while where they would kind of shove my lessons under the door like Hannibal Lecter.5 When graduation day came and the students were told to show up in a suit and tie, Warren refused. With that his principal, Bertie Backus, had had enough. They wouldnt let me graduate with the class at Alice Deal, because I was so disruptive and I wouldnt wear clothes that were appropriate. It was major. It was unpleasant. I was really rebelling. Some of the teachers predicted that I was going to be a disastrous failure. I set the record for checks on deficiencies in deportment and all that. But my dad never gave up on me. And my mother didnt either, actually. Neither one. Its great to have parents that believe in you. Yet by the spring of 1945, as Warren was starting high school, the Buffetts had had enough too. By now, it was no great mystery how to motivate Warren. Howard threatened to take away the source of his money. My dad, who was always supportive of me, said, I know what youre capable of. And Im not asking you to perform one hundred percent, but you can either keep behaving this way or you can do something in relation to your potential. But if you dont do it, you have to give up the paper routes. And that hit me. My dad was low-key, just sort of letting me know he was disappointed with me. And that killed me probably a lot more than his telling me I couldnt do this or that, you know. 11 Pudgy She Was Not Washington, D.C. 19441945 The disruption Warren had created in his familys life undoubtedly made his fathers already challenging career as a new Congressman no easier. Members of the 78th Congress fraternized under a sort of jolly monarchy ruled by House Speaker Sam Rayburn, a Texas Democrat who kept five portraits of Robert E. Lee in his office, all facing south. The House that Rayburn oversaw was a comfortable home for the typical backbencher, an elbow-grabber who lived for county fairs and the chance to kiss somebodys grandma, a beauty queen, or any secretary he could catch. Famed for his artful behind-the-scenes vote-wrangling and powerful oratory, Rayburn operated a sort of private saloon in the afternoons where he served bourbon and branch water to his favorites. Naturally, Howard was not among them. Besides the fact that he was a Republican, his idea of a good time was reading the Congressional Record every night. He never went near a saloon. And yet, in many other ways, he did fit the profile of the typical Congressman of the erahailing from a small city, graduate of a state university, middling student, background in community politics, Rotarian from the middle of the middle class, not part of the country-club set, and a foe of Communism. But instead of joining the rest of his peers in what amounted to a club and beginning the climb up the ladder of power, Howard Buffett quickly gained a reputation as perhaps the least-backslapping Congressman ever to represent his state. He stayed miles away from the rubber chicken circuit of campaign money and vote-getting events that occupied so many Congressmen, and made it known his vote was not for sale or barter. He turned down a raise because the people who elected him had voted him in at a lower salary. He went around with eyebrows lofted at the perks that came with being a Congressman. The subsidized restaurants, the payrolls padded with friends, relatives, and mistresses, the greenhouse that supplied free plants, the stationery store that sold, at wholesale prices, everything from tires to jewelryHoward was shocked by all of it and let that be known. His long-standing isolationism was shared by a friend, Republican leader Robert Taft.1 But isolationists were no longer entering Congress; they were leaving or retiring. Moreover, with the country at war and the government running at a deficit, Howard was obsessed with the quixotic goal of trying to return the country to the gold standard. The United States had dropped the gold standard in 1933. Ever since, the Treasury had been printing money freely to finance first the New Deal and now the war. Howard feared that someday the United States might wind up like Germany in the 1930s, when people had to cart wheelbarrows of money down the street to buy a head of cabbagethe direct result of Germany being forced to deplete its gold stock to pay reparations after World War I.2 The economic chaos that resulted was one of the major factors that had led to Hitler. Certain that the government was going to spend the country into ruination, Howard bought a farm back in Nebraska to serve as a refuge for the family when everybody else starved. A distrust of government bonds was so well-entrenched in the Buffett household that when the family held a powwow about giving a savings bond to somebody for a birthday present, young Bertie, nine years old, thought her parents were trying to put one over on the guy. But wont he know theyre worthless?3 she asked. Howards rigidity impeded him from doing his job, which was to legislate. He would lose these votes in the House, maybe 412 to 3. My dad would be among the three. And it just didnt get to him. He was very much at peace. It would have gotten to meI get mad when I lose. I cant ever recall seeing him depressed or despondent. He just figured he was doing the best he could. He went his own way, and he knew why he was therefor us kids. He had a very pessimistic appraisal of where the country was going, but he was not a pessimist. The way Howard invariably held aloft his principlesinstead of working toward Republican Party goals by joining coalitionsstrained relationships with his colleagues and took a toll on the family. Leila cared about fitting in; other peoples opinions mattered to her. She was also competitive. Why cant you be a little more flexible, she said, like Ken Wherry?the junior Nebraska senator who was moving quickly up the ranks. Howard was having none of it. We believed in him, says Doris, but it was hard to see him lose all the time. That was an understatement. All the Buffetts admired Howards fortitude and credit their father for teaching them integrity. But each of the children absorbed in their own way a desire to belong that somehow muted or balanced the family streak of independence. Her husbands stance as the lone wolf of the party exacerbated Leilas irritable mood. Still miserable about living in Washington, she tried to create a miniature Omaha and spent her free time with the women of the Nebraska delegation. But that free time was limited, for she no longer had a cleaning lady. She felt put upon. I gave it all up to marry Howard,4 she would say, adding this lament to her stories of how she and Howard had sacrificed for their ungrateful childrens welfare. But rather than teaching those children to help around the house, she did everything, because it was just easier to do it myself. Feelings of martyrdom made her angry at the kids a lot of the time, especially at Doris, who was having her own issues about fitting in. Although strikingly pretty, Doris says she never felt that way, and was insecure about whether she was good enough for the sophisticated Washington crowd of which she longed to be a part. She was invited to the French Embassy for Margaret Trumans birthday party and was added to The Debutante Register, as she began planning to debut as a Princess of Ak-Sar-Ben*7 with the crowd she would have been graduating with back in Omaha. Warren made fun of her for her pretensions. Leila, herself a determined striver who cared deeply about appearances, would pore over every bit of news about the Duchess of Windsor, a penniless commoner who had been rescued by a prince.5 But, unlike the duchess, who spent the rest of her life amassing one of the worlds most impressive collections of jewels, Leilas ambition and pride wrapped themselves in a self-conscious disdain for ostentation. She pictured the family as a middle-class Midwestern archetype, a Saturday Evening Post magazine cover, and berated Doris for being socially ambitious. Still fourteen years old, Warren became a sophomore at Woodrow Wilson High School in February 1945, upon his graduation from Alice Deal.6 He wanted to be both special and normal at the same time. Much less mature than his classmates, he was being carefully watched by his parents, who were determined to see him straighten out. His paper routes were the source of his autonomy, such autonomy as he now had. And he had been readingas well as throwingthe papers. I read the comics, the sports section, and looked at the stock pages every morning before I delivered the newspapers. I read the cartoon Lil Abner every morning. I had to know what Lil Abner was doing every day. His appeal was that he made you feel so smart. Youd read this thing and think, If I was in that positionthis guy is so dumb. Because here was Daisy Mae, this incredible woman who was just nuts about him, and was always chasing after him, and he just kept passing her up and not noticing her. Every red-blooded American boy in those days would have been just waiting there for Daisy Mae to catch him. Daisy Mae Scragg, the hillbilly heroine of the Appalachian cartoon hamlet of Dogpatch, was a bodacious blonde whose cleavage burst from an off-the-shoulder polka-dot blouse. The dim-witted strongman Lil Abner Yokum spent most of his time trying to evade Daisy Maes marital designs on him. But the faster he ran away, the more deaf he seemed to her attention and longing, the more he spurned her, the harder Daisy Mae chased him. Even though rich and powerful men wooed her, to Daisy Mae there was but one man on earth, Lil Abner.7 Besides elusiveness, Lil Abners only apparent asset was his manly physique. Warrens poor record with girls so far suggested that if he ever wanted to attract the interest of a girl like Daisy Mae, he had better do something to make himself more attractive. Now he developed a new interest, which conveniently gave him an excuse as well for hiding away down in the basement. The way that Frankie Zick could clean-and-jerk fifty-pound bags of animal feed for hours at a time at South Omaha Feed had impressed him. He got his friend Lou Battistone interested and they embarked on a weight-lifting program. At the time, weight training was not the stuff of serious athletes, but it had many qualities that appealed to Warren: systems, measuring, counting, repetition, and competing with yourself. In search of technique, he had discovered Bob Hoffman and his magazine, Strength and Health. Strength and Health was Hoffmans attempt to overcome the stigma against weight lifting through aggressive promotion. It was edited, published, and apparently written largely by Hoffman himself. Ads for his products appeared on nearly every page. Uncle Bobs technical knowledge, his razzle-dazzle, the mans unflagging ability to market himself, were striking. He was the coach of most of the Olympic team. He was the head of the York Barbell Company, and he was the author of the Big Arms and the Big Chest books. The basic thing he sold initially was barbell sets. If you went to a sporting-goods store then, everything was York barbells. You could buy all these different kinds of sets. Warren got a set of dumbbells and a barbell with a set of plates in increments of one and a quarter pounds that slipped on and off the bar, which he tightened with a little screwdriver that came with the set. He kept the weights in the basement and was always down there clanking. My parents got a big kick out of the whole thing. Sometimes he went down to the YMCA to lift weights among other young men. He and Lou took their hobby seriously, making insider jokes about the heavy and light lifting system and upright rowing motions. They paid close attention to everything Uncle Bob wrote. Hoffman knew how to adapt to the tenor of the times. Everyone knew about the vicious Jap soldiers ability to withstand pain and suffering, so he wrote that the point of lifting weights was to fight the Japanese. He illustrated this with a photo of a vicious Jap soldier, arched in a backbend from his toes to the crown of his head, lifting a huge set of cement barbells over his chest, training to beat the Allies. Warren was not lifting weights to fight the Japanese, or, for that matter, to fight anybody. Everything that Uncle Bob wrote, however, inspired him in his competition with himself. But while Warren was clanking down in the basement, the Republicans were in hell. Franklin Roosevelt had managed to win a fourth term as President, ensuring the Democrats another four years in the White House. At the dinner table, the family listened to much ranting from Howard. Then, on April 12, Roosevelt died of a cerebral hemorrhage, and his Vice President, Harry Truman, succeeded him as President. Roosevelts death sent most of the country into deep mourning, tinged with fear. Three and a half years into the war, the country had lost the man who made it feel secure, and it had low expectations of Truman. He retained FDRs cabinet and sounded so humble that some thought he might be overwhelmed by the job. But to the Buffetts, no one could be worse than FDR. The family down the street whose father worked for the Canadian Embassy came to call on their Congressman neighbor upon the Presidents death and pay their condolences. But when they arrived, Doris says, Yo, ho, ho, we were celebrating.8 And to Warren, the death of a President meant another way to make money. Newspapers put out special editions, and he hustled himself out to the street corner, hawking papers while everybody mourned. One month later, on May 8, 1945, came V-E Day, the formal end of the war in Europe, following Germanys unconditional surrender. Again there were special editions to sell, and Warren echoed his fathers political convictions as a matter of course. But at the time, he was only passingly interested in these adult concerns, because his real obsession was weight lifting and Bob Hoffman. He spent most of his free time down in the basement. A few weeks later, when school was out, he could wait no longer. He had to meet his idol, Uncle Bob. He was it. I had to see him in person. With their parents amused blessing, Warren and Lou took off for York, Pennsylvania, hitchhhiking part of the way.9 He had this barbell factory up there in York where they turned this stuff out. It was really more of a foundry. And he had the whole Olympic team working there. John Grimek was the big bodybuilder. Steve Stanko held the worlds record then for the clean and jerk: three hundred eighty-one pounds. But this is before they had super-heavyweight classifications. In one sense the visit was demoralizing. The guys did not bulk up the same way in those days. It blew my mind that here were these guys that were Olympic champions, but a lot of them were small because they were in smaller-weight classes. And if you saw them in a foundry, wearing foundry-type clothes, they just looked like nothing. But in another sense, the sight of those fairly ordinary-looking men lifted the boys aspirations. Maybe success in bodybuilding was within their reach. They saw themselves becoming men, physical specimens who could impress a woman. Uncle Bobwhen he spoke, it was like God was talking to us. And when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you saw deltoids and abs and the latissimus dorsi and everything. You learned every muscle group. But the most impressive celebrity in Strength and Healthapart from Uncle Bob himselfwas not John Grimek, the greatest bodybuilder in the world. It was a woman. There were not a lot of women in Strength and Health. Pudgy Stocktons about the only one that ever made it. I liked Pudgy. She was impressive. We talked about her a lot at school. That was more than a slight understatement. Warren and Lou were obsessed with Abbye Pudgy Stockton, a work of art in human fleshtaut thighs rippling as her chiseled arms lofted a huge barbell above her wind-whipped hair, bikini showing off her tiny waist and perky bosom to all the musclemen and gaping onlookers at Santa Monicas Muscle Beach. Five foot one and 115 pounds, she could lift a grown man in the air over her head and do it without sacrificing any of her femininity. As the worlds Foremost Female Physical Culturist, she wrote Barbelles, a column in Strength and Health, and conducted a Salon of Figure Development, specializing in bust development, figure contouring, and reducing in Los Angeles.10 She had the muscle tone of Mitzi Gaynor and the mammary development of Sophia Loren, says Lou Battistone. She was phenomenal. And weI have to admit to youwe lusted for her. Until now, Daisy Mae had been Warrens fantasy girl. He would always look for the qualities of Daisy Mae in a woman. But PudgyPudgy was real. It was not clear, however, exactly what you did if you had a girlfriend like Pudgy.11 The boys puzzled over ads for Bob Hoffmans guide to a successful happy marriage, which featured Premarital examination. How to examine your wife before marriage to make sure shes intact, as well as courtship, why people marry, and minor forms of lovemaking. Just what were the minor forms of lovemaking? they wondered. Even the major forms were largely a mystery to them; the ads in the back of Strength and Health were the best the 1940s could do in terms of sex education. Dont worry, Dad, were down in the basement, doing a little studying for our physics exam. However, in the end, Warrens fascination with numbers won out. You know, you kept measuring that biceps to see if itd gone from thirteen to thirteen and a quarter inches. And you were always worried whether you were loosening up the tape or anything. But I never improved from looking like the Charles Atlas before picture. I think my biceps went from thirteen inches to thirteen and a quarter inches after thousands of curls. The Big Arms book didnt do me much good. 12 Silent Sales Washington, D.C. 19451947 That August, while the Buffetts were back in Omaha, the United States dropped two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki; on September 2, Japan formally surrendered. The war was over. Americans celebrated in near hysteria. But Warren recalls that he quickly started thinking through the next chess moves after the dropping of the bombs. I didnt know anything about physics. But I knew you could kill a couple of hundred thousand people if you were the first one to use the bomb in a war. Its as if I run into some guy in a dark alley, and Ive got a cannon, but hes got a gun. If hes willing to pull the trigger and I have some moral compunction against doing it, he wins. Einstein said right away, This has changed everything in the world except how men think. It put a fuse to the end of the world. Now, it may be a long fuse, and there may be ways to interrupt it, but once that metaphorical bomb has a dozen fuses all burning, the problem becomes a different sort of thing than if no fuse is lit. I was only fourteen, but it seemed to me just totally clear what was going to happen, and it has happened to quite a degree. A few weeks later, with the family back in Washington, Warren returned to finish tenth grade at Woodrow Wilson High School, at fifteen still a kid but now also a businessman. He was making so much money throwing papers that he had accumulated more than $2,000. Howard had let his son invest in Builders Supply Co., a hardware store that he and Carl Falk were opening next to the feed store back in Omaha.1 Meanwhile, Warren himself had bought a forty-acre farm for $1,200 about seventy miles away, near Walthill, in Thurston County, Nebraska.2 A tenant farmer worked the farm and they shared the profitsjust the kind of arrangement Warren liked, with someone else doing the sweaty, boring work. Warren began introducing himself to people in high school as Warren Buffett from Nebraska, who owned a tenant farm back in the Midwest.3 He thought like a businessman but did not look like one. He fit uncomfortably into the high school crowd, showing up with the same tattered sneakers and droopy socks peeking out from under baggy trousers day after day, skinny neck and narrow shoulders swallowed inside his shirt. If forced into dress shoes, he wore startling yellow or white socks above the scuffed leather. He seemed to squirm in his seat all the time. Sometimes he looked shy, almost innocent. At others, he wore a sharp, tough expression. Doris and Warren ignored each other if their paths crossed in the halls of high school. Doris, who was very popular, was particularly ashamed of me, because I dressed terribly. Sometimes your sister would help you get socialized but I rejected that, basically. It wasnt her fault; I was painfully aware of being socially maladjusted. I may just have felt so hopeless. Warrens stone-faced, smart-aleck act covered up the feelings of inadequacy that had made his life so difficult since leaving Omaha. He desperately wanted to be normal, but still felt very much the outsider. He was hesitant, said classmate Norma Thurston, his friend Don Danlys girlfriend, and he chose his words carefully and never made any commitment, however small, if he thought he might have to take it back.4 Many of his classmates plunged enthusiastically into teenage life, joining fraternities and sororities, getting pinned, and going to parties in their families basements where they served soda pop, hot dogs, and ice cream and then turned the lights down while everybody necked. Instead of necking, Warren rubber-necked. He had a regular Saturday night reservation with Lou Battistone at Jimmy Lakes theater, a local burlesque joint, where they had a fantasy flirtation with one of the dancers, Kitty Lyne. Warren would roar with laughter when a comedian took a pratfall or the second banana in the balcony started heckling him.5 He spent twenty-five dollars on a 1920s-style raccoon coat. When he wore it down to Jimmy Lakes, the bouncer told him, No clowning around, you guys. Either take that coat off, or you cant come in.6 He took it off. The side of Warren that had robbed Sears blind was in transition: fading, but not gone. He and Danly still took the occasional five-finger discount at Sears. When his teachers told him they had most of their retirement savings in AT&T stock, he shorted it, then showed them the trade tickets to give them heartburn. I was a pain in the ass, he says.7 His exceptional powers of reasoning and smart-aleck tendencies combined into a talent for taking perverse stands. Somehow, probably because he was the son of a Congressman, he wound up appearing on a radio program on January 3, 1946. CBS American School of the Air brought its program to WTOP, the local station owned by the Washington Post. On that Saturday morning, Warren went down to the station, where he and four other kids sat around a microphone and debated as Congress in Session. The shows hostess assigned him the job of spicing up the debate. He argued convincingly in favor of absurditiesideas on the order of eliminating income taxes or annexing Japan. When they wanted someone to take a crazy position, he says, I did it. But while he relished argument for its own sake, his clever retorts, lightning-fast counterarguments, and general contrariness hindered his quest to be liked by his peers. Until now, Warrens efforts to get along with people had had mixed results. He charmed adults, except for his teachers. He felt ill at ease with his peers, but had always managed to make a few close friends. He desperately wanted people to like him and especially not to attack him personally. He wanted a system. In fact, he already had one, but he wasnt using the system to its full effect. Now, lacking any other resources, he began to work harder at it. Warren had found this system at his grandfathers house, where he read everything he could get his hands on at a blazing pace, just as he did at home. Browsing the bookshelf in the back bedroom, he had consumed every issue of the Progressive Grocer and every single copy of the Daily Nebraskan that had been edited by his father, and worked his way like a boll weevil through all fifteen years of the Readers Digest that Ernest had accumulated. This bookcase also held a series of small biographies, many of them on business leaders. Since a young age Warren had studied the lives of men like Jay Cooke, Daniel Drew, Jim Fisk, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, John D. Rockefeller, and Andrew Carnegie. Some of these books he read and reread. One of them was specialnot a biography but a paperback written by former salesman Dale Carnegie,8 enticingly titled How to Win Friends and Influence People. He had discovered it at age eight or nine. Warren knew he needed to win friends, and he wanted to influence people. He opened the book. It hooked him from the first page. If you want to gather honey, it began, dont kick over the beehive.9 Criticism is futile, said Carnegie. Rule number one: Dont criticize, condemn, or complain. This idea riveted Warren. Criticism was something he knew everything about. Criticism puts people on the defensive, Carnegie said, and makes them strive to justify themselves. It is dangerous, because it wounds peoples precious pride, hurts their sense of importance, and arouses resentment. Carnegie advocated avoiding confrontation. People dont want criticism. They want honest and sincere appreciation. I am not talking about flattery, Carnegie said. Flattery is insincere and selfish. Appreciation is sincere and comes from the heart. The deepest urge in human nature is the desire to be important.10 Although dont criticize was the most important, there were thirty rules in all. Everybody wants attention and admiration. Nobody wants to be criticized. The sweetest sound in the English language is the sound of a persons own name. The only way to get the best of an argument is to avoid it. If you are wrong, admit it quickly and emphatically. Ask questions instead of giving direct orders. Give the other person a fine reputation to live up to. Call attention to peoples mistakes indirectly. Let the other person save face. I am talking about a new way of life, Carnegie said. I am talking about a new way of life. Warrens heart lifted. He thought he had found the truth. This was a system. He felt so disadvantaged socially that he needed a system to sell himself to people, a system he could learn once and use without having to respond in a new way to each changing situation. But it took numbers to prove that it actually worked. He decided to do a statistical analysis of what happened if he did follow Dale Carnegies rules, and what happened if he didnt. He tried giving attention and appreciation, and he tried doing nothing or being disagreeable. People around him did not know he was performing experiments on them in the silence of his own head, but he watched how they responded. He kept track of his results. Filled with a rising joy, he saw what the numbers proved: The rules worked. Now he had a system. He had a set of rules. But it did you no good to r ead about the rules. You had to live them. I am talking about a new way of life, said Carnegie. Warren began to practice. He started at a very elementary level. Some of it came naturally to him, but he found that this system could not be applied in an automatic and easy manner. Dont criticize sounded simple, but there were ways to criticize without even realizing it. It was hard not to show off, not to display annoyance and impatience. And admitting you were wrong was easy sometimes and very difficult at other times. Giving people attention and sincere appreciation and admiration was one of the hardest. Someone sunk in misery much of the time, as Warren was, found it hard to focus on others, not himself. Nevertheless, he gradually worked out for himself that the dark years of junior high were living proof that ignoring Dale Carnegies rules didnt work. As he started to gain his footing in high school, he continued to practice the rules in encounters with others. Unlike most people who read Carnegies book and thought, gee, that makes sense, then set the book aside and forgot about it, Warren worked at this project with unusual concentration; he kept coming back to these ideas and using them. Even when he failed and forgot and went for long stretches without applying himself to the system, he returned and resumed practicing in the end. By high school, he had accumulated a few more friends, joined the Woodrow Wilson golf team, and managed to make himself inoffensive if not popular. Dale Carnegie had honed his natural wit; above all, it enhanced his persuasiveness, his flair for salesmanship. He seemed intense, yet with an impish side; even-tempered and congenial, yet somehow solitary. Certainly his passion for making moneywhich occupied most of his spare timemade him unique at Woodrow Wilson. No one else in high school was a businessman. Just from pitching newspapers a couple of hours a day, he was earning $175 a month, more money than his teachers. In 1946, a grown man felt well paid if he made $3,000 a year for full-time work.11 Warren kept his money in a chifforobe at home, which no one but he was allowed to touch. I was in his house one day, says Lou Battistone, and he opened up a drawer and said, This is what Ive been saving. And he had seven hundred dollars in small bills. Thats a big stack, let me tell you.12 He had started several new businesses. Buffetts Golf Balls peddled refurbished golf balls for six bucks a dozen.13 These he ordered from a fellow in Chicago named Witek, whom Warren couldnt resist nicknaming Half-Witek. They were classy balls, really good golf balls too, Titleist and Spalding Dots and Maxflis, which I bought for three and a half bucks a dozen. They looked brand-new. He probably got them the way we first tried to get them, out of water traps, only he was better. Nobody at school knew about Half-Witek. Even his family didnt seem to realize that he bought the used golf balls that he and his friend Don Danly were selling. Fellow members of the Wilson golf team thought he fished them out of water traps.14 Buffetts Approval Service sold sets of collectible stamps to collectors out of state. Buffetts Showroom Shine was a car-buffing business that he and Battistone ran out of Lous fathers used-car lot, until they abandoned this because it involved manual labor and turned out to be too damn much work.15 Then one day when Warren was seventeen and a senior, he raced to tell Don Danly about a new idea. It had the same exponential quality to it as the weighing machines from One Thousand Ways to Make $1,000 where one machine could pay for another and another. I bought this old pinball machine for twenty-five bucks, he said, and we can have a partnership. Your part of the deal is to fix it up.16 And, lookit, well tell Frank Erico, the barber, We represent Wilsons Coin-Operated Machine Company, and we have a proposition from Mr. Wilson. Its at no risk to you. Lets put this nickel machine in the back, Mr. Erico, and your customers can play while they wait. And well split the money.17 Danly was game. Although no one had ever put pinball machines in barbershops before, they presented their proposition to Mr. Erico, who bit. The boys took the legs off the pinball machine, put it in Dons fathers car, and hauled it over to Mr. Ericos barbershop, where they installed it. Sure enough, the very first evening, when Warren and Don came back to check, Gee zip! Warren saidfour bucks worth of nickels had found their way into the machine. Mr. Erico was delighted, and the pinball machine stayed.18 After a week, Warren emptied the machine and scooped the nickels into two piles. Mr. Erico, he said, lets not bother going one for you, one for me. Just pick the pile you want.19 It was like the old-fashioned way of dividing cake: one child cuts, the other child chooses. After Mr. Erico swept one pile over toward his side of the table, Warren counted out the other and found $25 in his pile. That was enough to buy another pinball machine. Pretty soon, seven or eight of Mr. Wilsons pinball machines were sitting in barbershops around town. Warren had discovered the miracle of capital: money that works for its owner, as if it had a job of its own. You had to get along with the barbers. That was crucial. I mean, these guys could all go buy these machines for twenty-five bucks themselves. So we would always convince them that it took someone with a four-hundred IQ to repair pinball machines. Now, there were some pretty unsavory characters in the pinball business, and they all hung out at a place called Silent Sales. That was our hunting ground. Silent Sales was in the 900 block of D Street, right near the Gayety burlesque house on the seedy side of downtown. These characters at Silent Sales were amused by us, sort of. Danly and I would go down there, and wed look at these machines and buy whatever we could for twenty-five bucks. New machines cost about three hundred dollars. I used to subscribe to Billboard magazine in those days to keep track of what was going on in pinball machines. The guys at Silent Sales taught us some things. There were some illegal slot machines around. And they showed us how to pour beer into them to make a fifty-cent piece get stuck in the mechanism, and you could just keep pulling the handle until it paid. They showed us how to disable the electric cutoff for the coin-operated soda machines at the movie theaters so if you stuck a nickel in, then immediately pulled the plug, you could empty the whole machine. These guys would explain all this stuff to us and wed just eat it up. My dad probably suspected the kind of characters we were hanging out with. But he always felt Id turn out okay. Warren and Don were already making good money with single pinball machines in barbershops, but then they found a gold mine. Our home run of all time was down near Griffith Stadium, which is the old baseball park. In the middle of Washingtons worst slums, they found a seven-chair black barbershop. There were a lot of dudes down there. After we put a pinball machine in, we would come back to collect, and these guys had drilled holes in the bottom of the machine and rigged the tilt mechanism. It was a real contest of wills. But that was our mother lode, our best location by far. The guys who played at these barbershops were constantly imploring us to adjust the tilt mechanism so you could shove the machine harder without making it tilt. Listen, we were not judgmental about our customers. If anything, they were probably trying to pick up more ideas like the scams the guys at Silent Sales had taught them, and those they were inventing on their own. One time we were down in Danlys basement playing with my coin collection. To make collecting on the paper route more interesting, I used to collect different kinds of coins. So I had these Whitman coin boards with slots for the coins. I said to Don, It looks to me like we could take these coin boards and use them as molds for casting slugs. Danly was the brains of the operation. And so, sure enough, he learned how to pour these molds for casting slugs, and I supplied the coin boards. We would try to use the slugs for vending machines for soda pop and things like that. Our basic formula was to have our income in currency and our outgo in slugs. One time, Danlys father came down in the basement and said, What are you boys doing? We were pouring metal into these things. And it was, Were doing this experiment for school, Dad. We were always doing experiments for school. At school, however, Warren mostly liked to talk about his businessesnot his scamsand by the spring semester, near the end of high school, his raconteuring had turned him and Don into a minor legend around Woodrow Wilson. Everybody knew we had the pinball-machine business, and everybody kind of knew we were raking it in. We probably exaggerated too when we told them. And so people wanted in on it. It was like stocks. One of them was a boy named Bob Kerlinan intense kid who played on the golf team with Warren.20 He and Don werent open to letting anyone in on their pinball business, but they did have a plan for using Kerlin for their newest venture. We had given up stealing the golf balls from Sears, but we got this idea that we were going to retrieve lost golf balls from the lakes on golf courses around Washington. And now we saw a position for Kerlin, because neither one of us wanted to retrieve the golf balls. They created an elaborate scenario for how Kerlin would do this. It bordered on an evil prank, but school was out in a couple of months, so what the hell. We went down again to Ninth and D, where the army surplus store was located, right by Silent Sales, and bought a gas mask. And then we got this garden hose and we hooked them up and tested this thing in a bathtub by putting our faces in three inches of water. Doing what he called his Tom Sawyer routine, Warren said to Kerlin: This is your chance. Were going to deal you in. We told him that we would go out at four in the morning to some golf course in Virginia, and that he would wear the gas mask in the lake and retrieve the balls, and wed split the money three ways. Kerlin said, How do I stay down on the bottom? I said, Oh, Ive got that all worked out. What we will do is, youll strip, and youll be nude, but youll wear my Washington Post newspaper bag, and well put barbell plates in the newspaper bag so that youll stay on the bottom. So we went out to this golf course, and all the way Kerlin was expressing some doubt. And Danly and I said, Have we ever failed? I mean, youre looking at a couple of guysif you want to quit now, okay, but, you know, youre not in any future deals. So we got out there at the crack of dawn. Kerlin was stripped, and we were dressed warmly. He was totally nude with a Washington Post newspaper bag on and all these barbell plates, and he started wading into the lake. Of course, he didnt know if he was stepping on snakes or golf balls or whatever. And then he got down and when he tugged on the rope, we pulled him back up. He said, I cant see anything. We said, Dont worry about seeing anything, just grope around. And he started to go back down. But before his head went under, this truck came over the rise, carrying the guy thats going to fill up sand traps in the morning. He saw us and drove up, saying, What are you kids doing? Danly and I were thinking fast. Were conducting an experiment for our high school physics class, sir. Kerlin was nodding the whole time. So we had to get him out of the pond. The whole thing blew up on us.21 Whatever happened to poor Kerlin, and however nude he actually was, a watered-down version of this story got around. It would be the last great Tom Sawyering of Warrens high school career. By now, however, he had made a small fortune: a glistening $5,000 heap, sticky with the newsprint from throwing more than five hundred thousand newspapers. Newsprint snowflakes made up more than half his snowball. Rich as he was, however, Warren meant to keep that snowball rolling.*8 13 The Rules of the Racetrack Omaha and Washington, D.C. 1940s Warrens Dale Carnegie tests of behavior were handicapping: a mathematical experiment on human nature. The data he collected gave him the odds that Carnegie was right. This way of thinking was an extension of his childhood hobby of calculating the odds on the life expectancies of hymn composers. But his interest in longevity was no mere abstraction. Ernest Buffett, to whom Warren was extremely attached, had died in September 1946 at age sixty-nine, while the family was in Omaha campaigning for Howards third term. Warren was sixteen. Of his four grandparents, only Stella, age seventythree, remained alive, confined in the Norfolk State Hospital. Long before Ernests death, Warren had been preoccupied with his own lifespan; these latest family events did nothing to ease his mind about either longevity or insanity. Warrens passion for handicapping, however, extended to many other subjects, and in an embryonic form had started much earlierwell before he even knew the meaning of the termback when he was a little kid with marbles and license plates and bottle caps and a fingerprint kit for nuns. The art of handicapping is based on information. The key was having more information than the other guythen analyzing it right and using it rationally. Warren had first put this into practical use as a child down at the Ak-Sar-Ben racetrack, when his friend Bob Russells mother introduced the boys to the world of pari-mutuel betting. Warren and Russ were too young to wager, but they quickly figured out how to make a buck. Amid the cigarette butts, beer slops, old programs, and hot-dog remnants in the grime and sawdust of the Ak-Sar-Ben floorboards were thousands of discarded tickets, peeping out like mushrooms on the forest floor. The boys turned themselves into truffle hounds. They call that stooping. At the start of the racing season you get all these people whod never seen a race except in the movies. And theyd think that if your horse came in second or third, you didnt get paid, because all the emphasis is on the winner, so theyd throw away place and show tickets. The other time you would hit it big was when there was a disputed race. That little light would go on that said contested or protest. By that time, some people had thrown away their tickets. Meanwhile, we were just gobbling them up. We wouldnt even look at them when we were working. At night wed go through them. It was awful; people would spit on the floor. But we had great fun. If I found any winning tickets, my aunt Alice, who didnt care anything at all about races, would cash them in for us, because they wouldnt cash them for kids. Warren wanted to go to the races all the time. When Mrs. Russell wasnt taking him, my dad would never go to the races, says Buffett. He did not believe in the races. Instead, his parents let his great-uncle Frank, the oddball of the family, take him. Frank had long ago reconciled with Ernest and had eventually married a woman whom the family referred to as the gold-digger.1 He had no particular interest in the horses, but he took Warren to Ak-Sar-Ben because his great-nephew wanted to go. At Ak-Sar-Ben, Warren had learned something about how to read the tip sheet, and it opened up a whole new world. Handicapping horses combined two things he was very, very good at: collecting information and math. It was not unlike counting cards at blackjack, except that the winning hand had four legs and ran around a track. Soon, he and Russ knew enough to put out their own tip sheet, the cannily named Stable-Boy Selections. We got away with it for a while. They werent the hottest sellers in the world. I mean, a couple of little kids selling this thing we typed up in my basement on an old Royal typewriter. The limiting factor was carbons in those days. You could probably only get in five or so carbons. But I got on the Royal and Bob Russell and I doped out the horses and then we typed up this thing. We were in the track, yelling, Get your Stable-Boy Selections! But the Blue Sheet was the number-one tip sheet, and the racetrack was getting a commission on it. The Blue Sheet sold for a little more. At twenty-five cents, we were a cut-rate product. They shut down the Stable-Boy Selections f ast because they were getting a cut on everything sold in the place except for us. When the Buffetts moved to Washington, D.C., the only plus for Warren was the chance to upgrade his handicapping skills. The one thing I knew about Congress was that Congressmen had access to the Library of Congressand the Library of Congress had everything that had ever been written. So when we got to Washington, I said, Pop, theres just one thing I want. I want you to ask the Library of Congress for every book they have on horse handicapping. And my dad said, Well, dont you think theyre going to think its a little strange if the first thing a new Congressman asks for is all the books on horse handicapping? I said, Pop, who was out there at the county fairs stumping for your election? Who was down there at the packinghouses ready to get to the cops if something happened? I said, And youre coming up for reelection in two more years. Youre going to need me. So this is payoff time. And he got me hundreds of books on horse handicapping.2 Then what I would do is read all these books. I sent away to a place in Chicago on North Clark Street where you could get old racing forms, months of them, for very little. They were old, so who wanted them? I would go through them, using my handicapping techniques to handicap one day and see the next day how it worked out. I ran tests of my handicapping ability day after day, all these different systems I had in my mind. There are two kinds of handicappers. There are speed handicappers and class handicappers. Speed handicappers figure out the horse with the best times in the past. The fastest horse will win. Class handicappers feel that the horse thats run against ten-thousand-dollar horses and done well and now is running against the five-thousand-dollar horses will beat them. Because, they say, the horse runs just fast enough to win. In horse racing it pays to understand both types of handicapping. But back then I was basically a speed guy. I was a quantitative guy to start with. As he tested, thought, and observed, Warren discovered the Rules of the Racetrack: 1. Nobody ever goes home after the first race. 2. You dont have to make it back the way you lost it. The racetrack counts on people to keep betting until they lose. Couldnt a good handicapper turn these rules around and win? The market is a racetrack too. But I was not developing elaborate theories in those days. I was just a little kid. Betting in Washington was ubiquitous. I would go down to my dads office fairly often, and there was actually a bookie in what was then called the Old House Office Building. You could go to the elevator shaft and yell Sammy! or something like that and this kid would come up and take bets. Now, I used to do a little bookmaking too, for guys who wanted to bet on the Preakness or something like that. Thats the end of the game I liked, the fifteen percent take with no risk. My dad, you know, was struggling somewhat to keep this under control. He was amused by it to some extent, but he could also see how it could veer off in the wrong direction. During summer vacations, Warren returned to Omaha and went stooping at the Ak-Sar-Ben track, this time with his friend Stu Erickson.3 Back in Washington, he found a new friend to go to the racetrack with, someone who could advance his handicapping skills. Bob Dwyer, his high school golf coach, a potbellied, enterprising young man, made far more than his teachers stipend by selling life insurance and ice chests and other things during the summer when school was out.4 The other members of the golf team viewed Dwyer as tough and crusty, but he took a shine to Warren, who had a way about him and played enthusiastically despite his glasses always fogging up. One day Warren asked Dwyer to take him to the races. His coach said he needed permission. The next morning, Dwyer says, bright and early, he came prancing in with a note from his mother, saying it was all right to go to the races. So Dwyer wrote Warren some phony excuse to get out of class5 and then they took the Chesapeake & Ohio from Silver Spring, Maryland, over to the racetrack in Charleston, West Virginia. Going to the races with a teacher polished Warrens sophistication about handicapping. Dwyer taught Warren advanced skills in reading the most important tip sheet, the Daily Racing Form. Id get the Daily Racing Form ahead of time and figure out the probability of each horse winning the race. Then I would compare those percentages to the odds. But I wouldnt look at the odds first, to avoid prejudicing myself. Sometimes you would find a horse where the odds were way, way off from the actual probability. You figure the horse has a ten percent chance of winning but its going off at fifteen to one.*9 The less sophisticated the track, the better. You have people betting on the jockeys colors, and you have them betting on their birthdays, you have them betting on the horses names. And the trick, of course, is to be in a group where practically no one is analytical and you have a lot of data. So I would study the forms like crazy when I was a kid. One grade behind Warren at Woodrow Wilson but slightly older, Bill Gray went to a few horse races with him. He was very sharp with numbers. Very talkative.6 Very outgoing. We would discuss baseball, batting averages, sports.7 He knew which horses he was going to pick the minute he got off the train. He would go down to the track and say, well, this horse is too much weight, or this horse, where hes come in the last few races has not been good enough, or his times are not good enough. He knew how to judge the horses. Warren made six-to ten-dollar bets, sometimes on the nose.*10 He only bet big if the odds looked good, but he had a way of risking some of his hard-earned paper-route money on the right horse. He might change his mind as the different races came forward, says Gray. But for a sixteen-year-old, thats not so common, you know? Then one time, Warren went to Charleston by himself. And he lost in the first race. But he didnt go home. He kept on betting and he kept on losing, until he had lost more than $175 and his pockets were stripped nearly bare. I came back. I went to the Hot Shoppe, and I treated myself to the biggest thing they offereda giant fudge sundae or somethingand there went all the rest of my money. While I ate, I figured out how many newspapers I had to deliver to make up what I had lost. I was going to have to work more than a week to make back the money. And Id done it for dumb reasons. Youre not supposed to bet every race. Id committed the worst sin, which is that you get behind and you think youve got to break even that day. The first rule is that nobody goes home after the first race, and the second rule is that you dont have to make it back the way you lost it. That is so f undamental, you know. Did he realize that hed made an emotional decision? Oh, yeah. Oh, I was sick. It was the last time I ever did anything like that. 14 The Elephant Philadelphia 19471949 Warren graduated sixteenth out of 350 in his high school class, putting future stockbroker under his picture in the yearbook.1 The first thing he and Danly did with their freedom was to go in together and buy a used hearse. Warren parked the hearse in front of the house and used it to take a girl out on a date.2 When Howard came home later, he asked, Who put that hearse out here? Then Leila said one of their neighbors was gravely ill, and she was not having a hearse in front of the house. That was the end of the hearse. While he and Don were selling the hearse, Warren gave up his paper routes and got a summer job as a relief circulation manager for the Times-Herald, moving up in the world. Whenever he had to substitute for his paper carriers, he rose at four a.m., and delivered the papers from a little Ford coupe he borrowed from David Brown, a young man from Fredericksburg who had a crush on Doris and who had gone into the Navy.3 Standing on the running board of the car with the door open, he coasted at about fifteen miles an hour, one hand reaching inside the car to hold on to the wheel, the other hand grabbing the papers and pitching them onto the subscribers lawns. He rationalized that at such an early hour of the morning, nothing too terrible was likely to result from driving the car that way.4 Afterward he stopped by the Toddle House at four forty-five a.m. to treat himself to a double order of hash browns with paprika for breakfast. Then he went on to his second job, distributing papers at Georgetown University Hospital. I had to give the priests and nuns about a half a dozen papers free, which always irritated me no end. I thought they werent supposed to be interested in secular things. But this was part of the deal. And then I went room by room, ward by ward. After they had the baby, the women in the obstetrics ward would see me come in and say, Oh, Warren! Im going to give you something more valuable than a cash tip. Im going to tell you when my baby was born and how much it weighed. Eight thirty-one a.m., six pounds and eleven ounces. The babies birth times and weights were meant for betting on the policy racket, the numbers game in Washington.5 Warren ground his teeth whenever he got useless information instead of a cash tip. As a handicapper, he would never have played the policy racket. The odds were terrible. The policy racket paid off six hundred to one, and the guy that was your runner got ten percent of it. So you have a five hundred forty-to-one payoff on what was a thousand-to-one shot, basically. People made penny bets and dime bets. If you put a penny up, you might win $5.40 net. And everybody in town played. Some of my newspaper delivery customers used to ask me, Do you run policy numbers? I never did. My dad would not have approved if Id become a policy runner. He was already a good enough oddsmaker to work in Vegas, but he probably would not have bet on the next thing his father did. Howard Buffett voted for a bill that actually passed, joining 330 other Congressmen who made the Taft-Hartley Act law over President Trumans veto. One of the most controversial pieces of legislation ever enacted in the United States, the 1947 Taft-Hartley Act severely restricted the tactics used by labor unions. It made it illegal for them to support one another through secondary strikes and authorized U.S. Presidents to declare a national emergency and force striking workers back to work. It was referred to as a slave labor bill.6 Omaha was, of course, a union town, but it would never have occurred to Howard to vote according to his constituents preferences; he always voted his principles. So when the Buffetts went home to Omaha for a visit during the summer, and Warren went to a hometown baseball game with his father, he saw just how unpopular Howard had become among the blue-collar voters. They introduced the dignitaries in between the doubleheader. And he stood up and everybody in the place started booing. He just stood there and didnt say anything. He could handle things like that. But you just cant imagine the effect that has on a kid. Even the mildest forms of confrontation terrified him. But soon he would be standing on his own, out from under his fathers wing. At almost seventeen, Warren was barely a kid. One year older and a few years earlier he might have been fighting in the war. Instead of the military, in the fall he was starting college. The Buffetts had long taken for granted that Warren would attend the University of Pennsylvanias Wharton business school.7 Wharton was the nations most important undergraduate business college and Penn the brainchild of Benjamin Franklin, creator of aphorisms like he that goes aborrowing goes asorrowing, time is money, and a penny saved is a penny earned. In theory, Penn and Warren, who had the energy of two people and hustled like a stevedore while other kids played, were a perfect fit. However, Warren would have just as soon skipped the whole thing. What was the point? he asked himself. I knew what I wanted to do. I was making enough money to live on. College was only going to slow me down. But he would never have defied his father on something so important, so he acquiesced. Knowing their sons immaturity, the Buffetts arranged a roommate for him who was the son of some friends from Omaha. Five years older, Chuck Peterson had just returned from eighteen months service in the war. He was a handsome young man-about-town, dating a different girl every night, and drinking. Naively, the Petersons supposed that Warren might settle Chuck down, while the Buffetts reckoned that an older boy might help Warren adjust to college. In the fall of 1947, the entire family piled into the car and drove Warren to Philadelphia, where they deposited him and his raccoon coat in a little dormitory suite with a shared bathroom. Chuck had already moved in, but was out on a date somewhere. As the Buffetts drove away to return to Washington, they left their son at a campus filled with people much like Chuck. An army of World War II veterans marched across College Green and filled the Quad, the centers of Penn university life. Their worldliness widened by years the gap Warren had felt between himself and his classmates ever since moving to Washington. On an organized, busy, social campus, his baggy T-shirts and worn tennis shoes stood out among the purposeful men dressed in sports coats and polished oxfords. Penn was a football powerhouse; its fall social life revolved around football dates, followed by fraternity parties. Warren loved sports, but the social requirements were beyond him. He was used to spending much of his time honing ideas, counting his money, organizing his collections, and playing music in the privacy of his room. At Penn, his solitude battered by the sixteen hundred flirting, necking, jitterbugging, keg-tapping, football-tossing members of the Class of 1951,8 he was a butterfly in a beehive. The bees reacted much as expected to the butterfly that had flown into their midst. Chuck retained his military tidiness and the habit of constantly polishing his shoes. When he met his new roommate, Warrens disgraceful wardrobe shocked him. He soon discovered that the way Warren dressed symptomized something else. Just as Leila waited hand and foot on Howard and did all the work around the house, Warren had never been taught the most basic ways of taking care of himself. Chuck stayed out late socializing as usual his first evening after they met. The next morning, he woke late to find the bathroom in a mess and his new roommate gone to early classes. When he saw Warren that evening, he said, Clean up after yourself, will you? Okay, Chas-o, Warren said. I came in this morning and you left a razor lying at the bottom of the sink, Chuck went on. You left soap all over the sink, the towels were on the floor, and its sloppier than hell. I like things neat. Warren appeared to agree. Okay, Chas-o, okay, Chas-o, he said. The next morning, when Chuck got up, he stepped through sodden towels on the bathroom floor to find tiny damp hairs covering the sink, and a brand-new, soaking-wet electric razor lying in the basin, tethered to the outlet in the wall by its cord. Warren, lookit, said Chuck that evening. Unplug the damn thing. Somebodys going to get electrocuted. Im not going to pick it up out of the sink every morning. Youre driving me nuts with your sloppiness. Okay, okay, fine, Chas-o, said Warren. The next day was exactly as before, the razor lying in the sink. Chuck realized that his words were bouncing off Warrens head. He lost his temper and decided to take action. He unplugged the razor, filled the sink with water, and threw the razor in. The following morning, Warren had bought a new razor, plugged it in, and left the bathroom in the same state as before. Chas-o gave up. He was living in a pigsty with a hyperactive teenager who hopped around in constant motion, drumming his hands, beating them on every nearby surface. Warren was obsessed with Al Jolson and played Jolson records day and night.9 He sang, over and over, imitating Jolson: Mammy, my little Mammy, Id walk a million miles for one of your smiles, my Mammy!10 Chuck needed to study, and he could not hear himself think inside the suite. Warren, on the other hand, had plenty of time to sing. He hadnt bought a lot of textbooks, but he had read the ones he bought at the beginning of the semester, before classes started, the way someone else might flip through a Life magazine. Then he threw them aside and never opened them again. This left him all night long to sing Mammy if he felt like it. Chuck thought he was going mad. Warren knew he was immature, but he couldnt help it. I probably wouldnt have fit in very well anyplace at that time. I was still out of sync with the world. But I was also younger than anybody else, and, on top of that, I was young for my age in many ways. I really didnt fit in socially. Chucks social life, on the other hand, was in full swing; he had pledged Alpha Tau Omega. Warren had little interest in Greek life but pledged his fathers fraternity, Alpha Sigma Phi. It was not a jock house nor particularly brutal, but the rituals of pledging turned him red-faced. The secret motto of Alpha Sig was zeal, humility, courage.11 Warren had plenty of the first two, but courage was his Achilles heel. When the pledges were sent to Wanamakers to buy extra-large womens panties and brassieres, he circled the underwear department for a looooong time before facing the snickering coed salesgirls.12 That fall, Leila and Doris struggled to describe Warrens crew-cut, slightly bucktoothed appearance truthfully on a radio show in Washington called Coffee with Congress. Host: Incidentally, is Warren good-looking? Leila: He was good-looking as a small child. Hes just boyishI wouldnt call him good-looking, but hes not poor-looking either. Host: Hes handsome-looking. Leila: No, not handsome, just friendly. Host: Lets take the girls angle: Is he a cute boy? Doris (diplomatically): I think he has a rugged sort of look.13 Despite the drumming and the Mammy singing, Chuck came to be fond of Warren, viewing him as a sort of goofy kid brother, although he still could not believe his roommate continued to wear beat-up Keds throughout the winter, and even when dressed up, was likely to wear one black shoe and one brown shoe without noticing. Like many people who met Warren, Chuck began to feel the urge to take care of him. They had lunch together at the Student Union a couple of times a week. Warren always ordered the same thing: a minute steak, hash browns, and a Pepsi. Then he discovered chocolate sundaes topped with malted-milk powder and had those every day too. One day after lunch Chuck took Warren over to the new Ping-Pong table that had just been installed in the Student Union. After four years in Washington, Warren was so rusty that Chuck got the impression he had never played Ping-Pong. In the first couple of games Warren could just about return Chucks serve. Chuck won easily. Within a day or two, however, Warren played like a demon. The first thing every morning, he got up, went straight over to the Student Union, found a hapless victim, and slaughtered him at the Ping-Pong table. Before long, he was playing Ping-Pong three or four hours at a stretch every afternoon. Chuck could no longer hold his own. I was his first victim at Penn, he recalls. But Ping-Pong kept Warren out of the suite and away from the record player while Chuck was studying.14 Ping-Pong, however, did not fulfill Penns physical-education requirement. Rowing and sculling on the Schuylkill River were two of Penns most popular sports. Gaily painted boathouses belonging to the schools many rowing clubs lined the riverbanks. Warren went out for the 150-pound freshman crew with the Vesper Boat Club. He rowed on a team of eight oarsmen guided by a coxswain. Rowing was repetitious and rhythmic, like weight lifting, basketball, golf, Ping-Pong, and his game of bolo, all activities that Warren enjoyedbut it was a team sport. Warren liked to shoot a basketball in his driveway because you could practice alone. He had never succeeded at team sports or learned to dance with a partner. He had been the leader of every stunt or business venture in which he had ever been involved. He couldnt play the part of the echo. It was miserable. The thing about crew is, you cant coast or fake it. You have to put your oar in the water at exactly the same time as everybody else. You can be unbelievably tired but you have to match the pace, and it must be done in unison. Its an incredibly grueling sport. He came back to the dorm every afternoon sweating, head bowed, hands bloodied and blistered, and dropped crew as soon as he could. Warren was looking for a different kind of team. He wanted Chuck to sell used golf balls with him, but Chuck was too busy trying to study and maintain his social life. Warren also suggested that Chuck join him in a pinball business. He didnt need Chucks money or labor, and it wasnt even clear what Chucks role would be. But Warren, a one-man bandwagon, wanted someone to whom he could talk about his businesses, always and endlessly. If Chuck became a partner, it would make him part of Warrens world. He had always been good at this Tom Sawyering, but for once, he failed with Chuck. Still, he wanted Chuck as a friend as well as a business partner. He invited Chuck to visit him in Washington. Leila was astonished when Chuck ate everything she offered him, even oatmeal. Warren wont eat anything, she said. He wont eat this, he wont eat that. He always makes me fix something special for him. Chuck was amused to find that Warren had his mother so well trained. To Chuck, Warren seemed an odd mix of immature kid and brilliant prodigy. In many of his classes, he simply memorized what the professor said, not needing to look at a textbook.15 He flaunted obnoxious feats of memory by quoting page numbers and passages back in class and correcting his teachers on their text citations.16 You forgot the comma, he said to one.17 In an accounting course, the proctors had not even finished passing out the exam papers to the two-hundred-odd students when Warren, showing off, stood up and turned in his paper. He was done. Chuck, sitting on the other side of the room, was frustrated. Wharton was no picnic; a quarter of the class would flunk out. But Warren cruised through with no apparent effort, leaving him as much time as he wanted to drum his hands and sing Mammy, my little Mammy, all night long. Chuck liked Warren well enough, but it all finally got to him. He moved out on me. One morning I woke up and Chuck was gone.18 At terms end that summer, Warrenwho would never have thought hed actually be glad to return to Washingtonwent home. Leila was in Omaha helping Howard campaign for reelection. So the Buffett kids, who had rarely gotten any relief from their parents austere regimen, experienced a glorious summer of freedom. Bertie was a camp counselor. Doris had a job at Garfinkels, where she was shocked that the store asked your religion on the job application and blacks could shop only on the first floor, where no clothing was sold.19 Washington was then the most segregated city in the United States. Blacks could not work as streetcar conductors or motormen or at anything other than the most menial jobs. They could not enter the YMCA, eat in most restaurants, rent hotel rooms, or buy theater tickets. Dark-skinned diplomats had to be chaperoned, embarrassed and scandalized by a provincialism like no place else in the world. I would rather be an Untouchable in the Hindu caste system than a Negro in Washington, one foreign visitor said.20 The Washington Post, referred to by some right-wingers as The Uptown Communist Sheet, had been on a crusade about racism for some time,21 and President Truman had desegregated the military and was pushing for civil-rights reforms. But change was slow. Warren, who did not read the liberal Post, paid little attention to Washingtons racism. He was both unaware and immature, too absorbed in his own insecurity, his stunts, and his businesses. He returned that summer to his duties as relief circulation manager for the conservative Times-Herald. He still had the borrowed Ford and once again used it to deliver papers if he had to fill in for one of his paperboys, using the running board technique he had perfected earlier. He also reunited with his pal Don Danly. They thought about buying a fire engine together as their latest stunt, but instead found a 1928 Springfield Rolls-Royce Phantom I Brewster coupe for $350 in a junkyard in Baltimore. It was gray, weighed more than a Lincoln Continental, and was adorned with little bud vases. The car had two sets of instruments, so the lady in backthe employercould see how fast the chauffeur was driving. The starter was broken, so Don and Warren took turns cranking it until it finally started up, then they drove it the fifty miles or so back to Washington. It belched smoke, leaked oil, and lacked taillights and license plates, but when they were stopped by a cop, Warren kept talking and talking and talking until he wiggled their way out of a ticket.22 They put the Rolls in the garage underneath the Buffett house and started the motor up. The house immediately filled with acrid smoke, so they pulled it back out and up the steep driveway onto the street. They worked on it Saturday after Saturday. Danly did all the work, according to Doris, tinkering with the pipes and doing the welding, and Warren watched admiringly and encouraged it along. When they decided to paint the car, Don and his girlfriend, Norma Thurston, bought something called a Pad-o-Paint, which smeared on the color with a sponge. They painted the car dark blue; it looked really good to them. 23 Naturally, word had gotten around, so they rented it out, thirty-five bucks a pop. Then Warren had an idea for a stunt. He wanted to be seen in the car. Danly dressed up like a chauffeur, Warren put on the raccoon coat, and the two cranked and cranked to start the car, then drove downtown with platinum-blond Norma. As Danly lunged about under the hood, pretending to fix the motor, Warren directed him with a cane and Norma draped herself over the hood like a movie star. It was Warrens idea, says Norma. He was the more theatrical one. We were going to see how many people would look at us. Norma knew that Warren had never really dated in high school and needed help with girls, so she set him up with her cousin, Bobbie Worley. They dated chastely that summer, going to movies and playing bridge, Warren barraging her with an endless series of brainteasers and riddles.24 When fall came, he left Bobbie behind and returned to Penn as an eighteen-year-old sophomore. He now had two roommates, his fraternity brother Clyde Reighard and a freshman who was assigned to them, George Oesmann. The year before, he had Tom Sawyered Clyde into acting as the front man for a business venture that went nowhere, but during their short-lived partnership, the two had become friends. Warren had not changed much since his freshman year, but he had much more in common with Clyde than he had with Chuck Peterson. Clyde was amused by Warrens tennis shoes and T-shirts and dirty khaki pants, and he took it in stride when Warren needled and taunted him about his grades. While he didnt make me any smarter, says Reighard, he did make me use what I had more efficiently. Indeed, Warren was a master at using what he had efficiently, his own time especially. He rose early in the morning, ate chicken salad at the dorm for breakfast, then headed off to classes.25 After sleepwalking through his freshman year, he had finally found one class he liked: Professor Hockenberrys Industry 101, which discussed different industries and the nuts and bolts of running a business. It was textiles, it was steel, it was petroleum. I can still remember that book. I got a lot of stuff from it. I can remember talking about the laws of capture in petroleum, and the Bessemer processes in steel. I devoured that book. That was really interesting to me. But his suitemate Harry Beja, a grind who sweated through Hockenberrys class alongside Warren, resented the way he tobogganed ahead effortlessly.26 It was the same in business law, taught by Professor Cataldo, who had very close to a photographic mind. He would quote cases at length. I can still remember Hadley versus Baxendale and Kemble versus Farren. So I would do the same thing back to him on the exams, which entertained him to no end. I would quote from his stuff in answering questions, whether applicable or not. And he just ate it up. Helped by his prodigious memory, Warren was free to do as he pleased for much of the day. At lunchtime, he dropped by the Alpha Sig house, an old three-story mansion with a spiral staircase, where Kelsen, the black houseman, cooked, cleaned, and, in his white jacket, gave the place a degree of dignity. A bridge game went on twenty-four hours a day in a corner alcove, and Warren would sit down and play a few hands.27 His taste for practical jokes continued unabated. He occasionally enlisted one of his fraternity brothers, Lenny Farina, to pose for attention-getting photographs out on the street while he pretended to pick Lennys pocket or shine his shoes.28 Meanwhile, in a scam reminiscent of sending poor old Kerlin into a water trap naked wearing a gas mask, he and Clyde had told their third roommate, George, that he looked run-down and puny and would never attract girls unless he developed muscles. They finally maneuvered George into buying himself some barbells. And then we used to bang these barbells up and down while Harry Beja was studying down below. We had great fun taunting him by banging these barbells on the floor.29 By college, however, the evidence had become convincing. Warren had begun to give up on the idea of becoming a strongman. After a while, I decided my bones were wrong. My clavicles were not long enough. Its your clavicles that determine how broad-shouldered youll be, and you cant do much about your clavicles. Thats why I got disgusted and eventually quit. I decided that if I was going to have girl-like muscles anyway, then to hell with it. Girl-like muscles did not attract girls, and Warren had still not gone out on any dates since he arrived at Penn. Saturdays were big fraternity party days, with prefootball luncheons and postgame cocktail parties, dinners, and evening dances. Warren wrote a letter to Bobbie Worley, asking her to come up for a weekend and saying, in effect, that he had fallen in love. Bobbie liked him and was touched by his letter, but did not return his feelings. She would have enjoyed the weekend but said no because she felt it was wrong to lead him on.30 Warren had one date, with Ann Beck, a Bryn Mawr girl. He had worked at her fathers bakery shortly after moving to Washington, when he was in eighth grade and she was just a little girl with long blond hair. Ann had been voted the most bashful girl at her high school, and the day she and Warren spent together was like a shyness contest: They walked around Philadelphia in awkward silence.31 We were probably the two shyest people in the whole United States. Warren had no idea how to make small talk; when stressed, he emitted small grunts instead.32 Sometimes Warren and Clyde took the borrowed Ford coupe and drove off to the suburbs in search of movies about mummies, Frankenstein, vampires, or anything macabre.33 Since hardly anybody had a car at that time, his fraternity brothers were impressed.34 That was the irony: Warren was the only one with a car to make out in, but nobody to make out with. He passed on the Ivy Ball and the Inter-Fraternity Ball. He always skipped the Alpha Sig Sunday tea dances and never had a date at the fraternity house.35 His face would flush and he would stare at his shoes if anyone talked about sex.36 He was out of his element at such a hard-partying school, where the college fight song was Drink a Highball. I tried drinking because I was in a fraternity where about half my dues were going to buy alcohol for these parties. I felt I was getting screwed. But I just didnt like the taste. I dont like beer. And I can behave silly enough without it. I mean, I was right there with the restthe drinkers didnt have anything on me when it came to being silly. But even without a date on his arm or a glass in his hand, Warren sometimes showed up at his fraternitys Saturday night parties. He was able to draw a little crowd by sitting in a corner and lecturing on the stock market. He had a wit and an arresting way of talking. His Alpha Sig brothers deferred to his opinion when it came to money and business; they respected his deep, if one-sided, knowledge of politics. They decided he had some politician in him and gave him a paddle with his nickname: the Senator.37 Warren had joined the Young Republicans as a freshman because he was attracted to a girl who was a member. But instead of becoming her boyfriend, he became the groups president when he was a sophomore. Warren took over at an exciting timethe fall of a presidential election year. In 1948, the Republicans were supporting Thomas F. Dewey against the weak incumbent Harry Truman, who had become President on FDRs death. The Buffetts had grown to hate Truman. Though he had created what was known as the Truman Doctrine of containment, which was meant to prevent the spread of Communism, Howard, like many conservatives, felt that Truman and General George C. Marshall, his Secretary of State, were playing palsy-walsy with Soviet premier Stalin.38 Moreover, Truman had implemented the Marshall Plan, which sent eighteen million tons of food to Europe after World War II, and Howard was one of seventy-four Congressmen who had voted against it. Convinced that the Marshall Plan was another version of Operation Rat Hole and that the Democrats were wrecking the economy, Howard started buying gold chain bracelets for his daughters so they could feed themselves when the day came that the dollar was worthless. Howard was running for reelection to his fourth term that year. Even though Warren had been present when Howard was hissed and booed after hed voted for passage of the Taft-Hartley slave labor bill, he, like the rest of the family, considered Howards Congressional seat relatively safe. Nonetheless, Howard had placed his reelection in the hands of a campaign manager for the first timefamily friend Dr. William Thompson. Well-known and admired in Omaha, Thompson knew the pulse of the town and was a psychologist to boot. Day after day as the campaign progressed, people in Omaha would come up and say, Congratulations, Howard, youre in again, and I worked for you, as if the election were over. Dewey, too, appeared to be a shoo-in. The polls showed that Truman was trailing him badlyin fact, so badly that the Roper organization, a polling research firm, simply stopped taking polls. Truman ignored this, and for months had been traveling around the country speaking from the back of his train on a whistle-stop tour, advocating what he called his Fair Deal policy: universal health insurance, broad-based civil-rights legislation, and the repeal of Taft-Hartley. He had whistle-stopped in Omaha, marched in a parade, and dedicated a park, looking as cheerful as if he hadnt read the newspapers predicting his defeat.39 As Election Day approached, in happy anticipation of his fathers reelection and of Deweys victory, Warren made arrangements with the Philadelphia Zoo to ride an elephant down Woodland Avenue on November 3. He envisioned it as a sort of triumphal march, like Hannibal entering Sardinia. But on the morning after Election Day, Warren had to cancel his stunt. Not only had Truman won the 1948 election, but his father had lost. The voters had thrown Howard Buffett out of Congress. Id never ridden an elephant before. When Truman beat Dewey, the elephant went down the tube. And my dad lost an election for the first time in four campaigns. That was a really lousy day. *** Two months later, just a few days before the Buffetts left Washington at the end of Howards term, Warrens great-uncle Frank died. Frank had boomed ITS GOING TO ZERO! about every stock down at Harris Upham when Warren was a boy, and when his will was read, the family discovered that he owned government bonds and nothing else.40 He had outlived the gold-digger, and the terms of his will placed the bonds in a restricted trust that required that, upon maturing, they could only be reinvested in more U.S. government bonds. As if to convince his nephew and trustee, Howard, Frank had also apparently left various family members subscriptions to Baxters Letter, a doomsday sheet that preached that government bonds were the only safe investment. Frank meant to be at peace in the afterlife, the only Buffett (so far) to arrange that his opinions would resound from the grave. But Howard, of course, dreaded inflation and believed that government bonds could turn into worthless paper. Overcoming his scruples, he went to work to break the terms of Franks will and got a judge to approve some technical changes so the money could eventually be invested in stocks.41 These events took place during what Leila called the worst winter in years. Blizzards buried the Midwest and hay had to be airlifted to Nebraska from surrounding states for weeks during the freeze to keep the snowbound livestock from dying on their feet.42 The winter of the haylift became emblematic of the Truman victory. Howard, who had never gotten rich, now had two kids in college and another about to start. He went back to work at his old firm, now known as Buffett-Falk, but his partner Carl Falk, who had been handling his clients during his absence in Washington, was not interested in sharing them now. Striding around downtown Omaha with the bitter snow pelting his face, Howard tried to drum up new clients. But his long absence meant that his writings were the way most people knew him now, and articles like Human Freedom Rests on Gold Redeemable Money had given him the reputation of an extremist.43 In the spring of 1949, he went out into the countryside and knocked on farmhouse doors in search of a new clientele.44 As for Warren, his fathers defeat left him heartsick, but also offered him an excuse for leaving the East Coast. He was bored at school and hated Philadelphia so much that he had nicknamed it Filthy-delphia.45 At the end of the spring semester he headed back home for good, so relieved that he signed his letters Ex-Wharton Buffett. He rationalized this by saying that enrolling at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln, where he would spend the last years of his college career, would be cheaper than Penn.46 He gave the little Ford coupe back to David Brown, its tires threadbare. It was Browns problem to figure out how to replace them, since tires were still rationed.47 Warren wanted only one memento of Penn. On the way out the door, he and Clyde flipped a coin to see who got to keep their treasured copy of S.J. Simons Why You Lose at Bridge. Warren won. 15 The Interview Lincoln and Chicago 1949Summer 1950 The first thing Warren did on returning to Nebraska in that summer of 1949 was get a job in newspapers, managing country circulation for the Lincoln Journal. He and his friend Truman Wood, who was Doriss boyfriend, went halves on a car. Warren felt comfortable in Lincoln, going to university classes in the morning, then driving around managing his route in the afternoon. In his spare moments he called on the local newspaper editors and talked business, politics, and journalism. Supervising rural paperboys was a serious job, for he was now the boss. Fifty young boys in six rural counties reported to Mr. Buffett. The challenges of management suddenly became clear when he hired a ministers daughter in the town of Beatrice, thinking she would be a responsible paper carrier. The three paperboys in Beatrice promptly quit: Hed turned it into a sissy job. Warren spent part of his time that summer in Omaha, selling mens furnishings at JC Penneys. His spirits had begun to revive. He bought a ukulele to compete with the uke-playing boyfriend of a girl he was pursuing, but wound up holding only the ukulele instead of the girl. Penneys, however, was a good place to work. The employees put on an unofficial pep rally in the basement every morning where Warren, clad in a cheap suit, played his new ukuleleoff the clockwhile everyone sang, before heading off to his seventy-five-cents-an-hour job in mens furnishings. Penneys called him back over the Christmas holidays, improbably putting him to work selling menswear and Towncraft shirts. Looking at racks filled with products about as comprehensible to him as a French restaurant menu, he asked his manager what to tell the customers about the clothes. Just tell them its a sort of worsted, Mr. Lanford said. Nobody knows what a worsted is. Warren never did learn what a worsted was, but at JC Penneys he sold nothing but.*11 In the fall, he had moved into a furnished house on Pepper Avenue in Lincoln, which he shared with Truman Wood, and started full time at the University of Nebraska. He liked the teachers better than at Penn and he enrolled with a heavy course load, studying accounting with Ray Dein, the best professor he had had thus far. That year Warren revived his golf ball business, this time with a college friend from Penn, Jerry Orans, as a partner. He would drive down to the Omaha train station and pick up the golf balls from his old supplier, Half-Witek.1 Orans acted as his East Coast distributor, but in fact Warren had always wanted partners for the sake of partnership alone; in every business venture, he looked to friends to partner with him. (Needless to say, in Warrens partnerships, he was always the senior partner.) He was also investing and got the idea of shorting stock in the automaker Kaiser-Frazer. This company produced its first cars in 1947, but saw its share of the auto market fall from nearly one out of every twenty cars to fewer than one out of every hundred in less than a year. Dear Pop, he wrote his father on Nebraska Cornhusker stationery. If there isnt a trend line apparent in those percentages, Im no statistician. Kaiser-Frazer had lost $8 million during the first six months, so even with phony bookkeeping the loss will probably run more.2 He and Howard shorted the stock together. Back at school, he went down to the broker Cruttenden-Podestas office and asked a stockbroker, Bob Soener, where the stock was trading. Soener looked at the chalkboard and said, Five bucks. Warren explained that he had shorted the stock, borrowing shares to sell. If the price dropped, as he expected, he could buy the stock back, return the shares, and keep the difference. Since Warren thought Kaiser-Frazer was going bust, if he had sold the shares at five bucks, he could buy them back for pennies and make nearly five dollars on each share. Ill show this young whippersnapper, thought Soener. Youre not old enough to short a stock legally, he said. Oh yes, Warren said, I did it in my older sister Doriss name. He explained why the stock was going to zero and laid out the evidence.3 And he cut my feet right out from under me, says Soener. I had no retort whatsoever. Warren waited for the Kaiser-Frazer idea to work. And waited. He started hanging around CruttendenPodesta while he waited. He was convinced the idea would work. It was so obvious that Kaiser-Frazer would eventually go broke. Meanwhile, he and Soener became friends. In the spring of 1950, Warren was close to finishing college. After three years of study, he only needed to take a few classes at summer school to graduate. And then he made a decision that completely reversed his path to date. After high school he had felt fully qualified to achieve his goal of becoming a millionaire by age thirty-five with no further education. But now that he was close to graduating, at the point when most people are done studying and ready to go to work, Warren prepared to put work aside. He had fixed his ambitions on attending the Harvard Business School. Throughout his entire educational history he had shown little interest in formal schoolingas opposed to learningand considered himself largely self-taught. Harvard, however, offered him two important things: prestige and a network of future connections. He had just seen his father thrown out of Congress and his career as a stockbroker crushed, in part because he had tended to isolate himself by sacrificing relationships for the sake of rigid ideals. So perhaps it was not surprising that Warren chose Harvard. He was so certain that Harvard would choose him that he was already urging his friend Big Jerry Orans to Join me at Harvard.4 Furthermore, he wasnt even going to have to pay for all of his tuition. One day I read in the Daily Nebraskan a little item that said, The John E. Miller Scholarship will be awarded today.5 Applicants should go to Room 300 at the Business Administration building. And it provided five hundred dollars*12 to go to the accredited school of your choice. I went to Room 300, and I was the only guy who showed up. The three professors there kept wanting to wait. I said, No, no. It was three oclock. So I won the scholarship without doing anything. Enriched with this nugget mined from the college newspaper, Warren rose in the middle of the night to catch the train to Chicago, where his Harvard interview would take place. He was nineteen, two years younger than the average college graduate, and younger still than the average business-school student. His grades were good but not stellar. Despite being the son of a U.S. Congressman, he was using no connections to try to get into Harvard. Since Howard Buffett scratched no backs, his own back went unscratched, and his sons as well. Warren was relying on his knowledge of stocks to make a good impression in the interview. So far his experience had been that whenever he started talking about stocks, people could not help but listen. His relatives, his teachers, his parents friends, his fellow studentsall wanted to hear him discourse on this subject. But he had misunderstood Harvards mission, which was to turn out leaders. When he arrived in Chicago and introduced himself to the interviewer, the man saw past his confidence as a prodigy in a single subject straight through to his self-consciousness, his shaky inner core. I looked about sixteen and emotionally was about nine. I spent ten minutes with the Harvard alumnus who was doing the interview, and he assessed my capabilities and turned me down. Warren never got the chance to show off his knowledge of stocks. The man from Harvard told him gently that he would have a better chance in a few years. Warren was naive; it did not quite sink in what this meant. When the letter arrived from Harvard refusing him admission, he was shocked. His first thought, he says, was, What am I going to tell my dad? Awkward and stiff-necked he might be, but Howard was undemanding of his children. The Harvard dream was Warrens, not his fathers. Howard was accustomed to failure and resolute in defeat. The real question must have been: What am I going to tell my mom? These conversations took place, but their memory has drained away. And yet Warren would later come to consider his rejection by Harvard the pivotal episode of his life. Almost immediately, he started investigating other graduate schools. While leafing through the Columbia catalog one day, he came across two names that were familiar to him: Benjamin Graham and David Dodd. These were big names to me. Id just read Grahams book, but I had no idea he was teaching at Columbia. Grahams book was The Intelligent Investor, published in 1949.6 This book of practical counsel for all types of investorsthe cautious (or defensive) and speculative (or enterprising)blew apart the conventions of Wall Street, overturning what had heretofore been largely uninformed speculation in stocks. It explained for the first time in a way that ordinary people could understand that the stock market does not operate through black magic. Through examples of real stocks such as the Northern Pacific Railway and the American-Hawaiian Steamship Company, Graham illustrated a rational, mathematical approach to valuing stocks. Investing, he said, should be systematic. The book had mesmerized Warren. For years, he had been going downtown to the library and checking out every book available on stocks and investing. Many of the books dealt with stock-picking systems based on models and patterns; Warren wanted a system, something that would work reliably. He had been fascinated by numerical patternstechnical analysis. I read all of them over and over. The book that probably had the most influence on me was Garfield Drew, who wrote an important book about odd-lot stock trading.7 I r ead that about three times. I read Edwards and McGee, which is the bible of technical analysis.8 I would go down to the library and just clean them out. But when he found The Intelligent Investor, he read and reread it. It was almost like he found a god, said Truman Wood, his housemate.9 After careful study and thought, he had gone ahead and made a value investment on his own. Through a connection of his fathers, he had heard of a company called Parkersburg Rig & Reel, which he researched according to Grahams rules. He bought two hundred shares.10 According to the catalog Warren had now picked up, the man who had become his favorite author, Ben Graham, was lecturing in finance at Columbia University. And David Dodd was there too. Dodd was associate dean of the Graduate School of Business, and head of the department of finance. In 1934 Graham and Dodd had coauthored the seminal text on investing, Security Analysis. The Intelligent Investor was the laymans version of Security Analysis. Enrolling at Columbia would mean he could study with Graham and Dodd. And as Columbias catalog pointed out: No other city in the world offers as many opportunities to become acquainted at firsthand with the actual conduct of business. Here a student may come into personal contact with the outstanding leaders of American business, many of whom give generously of their time to take part in seminars, institutes, and conferences. Business establishments of the city cheerfully welcome groups of students as visitors.11 Even Harvard could not offer this. Warren now determined that he would go to Columbia. But it was almost too late. I wrote in August, about a month before school started, way past when you were supposed to do it. Who knows what I wrote? I probably wrote that I just found this catalog at the University of Omaha, and it said that you and Ben Graham taught, whereas I thought you guys were on Mount Olympus someplace just smiling down on the rest of us. And if I can get in, Id love to come. Im sure it was not a very conventional application. It was probably fairly personal. But in a written application, however unconventional, Warren could shape the impression he made more successfully than in a personal interview. The application wound up on the desk of David Dodd, who as associate dean was in charge of admissions. By 1950, after teaching at Columbia for twenty-seven years, Dodd had effectively become the junior partner of the famous Benjamin Graham. A thin, frail, balding man who cared for a disabled wife at home, Dodd was the son of a Presbyterian minister and eight years older than Warrens father. While Dodd may have been touched in some way by the personal nature of the application, it was also true that at Columbia, he and Graham were more interested in their students aptitude for business and investing than their emotional maturity. Graham and Dodd were not trying to create leaders. They taught a specialized craft. Whatever the reason, after the deadline, and without an interview, Warren was accepted by Columbia. 16 Strike One New York City Fall 1950 Warren arrived in New York City alone. The only person he knew there was his aunt Dorothy Stahl, widow of the revered Marion Stahl. Otherwise, the motherly women to whom he usually attached himself were unavailable. His teachers and classmates at the business school would consist almost entirely of men. Unlike Penn, where his family had been only a couple of hours away, he was on his own. And his father was once again immersed in politics, running to regain his seat in Congressthis time managing the campaign himself. But even if he won, New York was a long way from Washington. Warren had applied to Columbia too late to get into a university dorm, so he found the cheapest lodgings available: joining the YMCA for a dime a day and paying a dollar a day for a room at the Ys Sloane House on West 34th Street, down near Penn Station.1 He was far from broke, enriched by $500 from the Miller scholarship and $2,000 from Howard, a graduation gift and part of a deal not to start smoking.2 He also had $9,803.70 saved, some of it placed in stocks.3 His net worth included $44 in cash, his half interest in the car, and $334 invested in his Half-Witek golf ball business. But since Warren looked at every dollar as ten dollars someday, he wasnt going to hand over a dollar more than he needed to spend. Every penny was another snowflake for his snowball. On his first day in David Dodds class, Finance 111112: Investment management and security analysis, he recalls that Dodd broke his customary reserve and greeted him personally and warmly. Warren had already more or less memorized the course textbook, Security Analysis, Graham and Dodds seminal book on investing.4 As the principal drafter and organizer of Security Analysis, Dodd was of course intimately familiar with its contents. Yet when it came to the text itself, Buffett says, The truth was that I knew the book even better than Dodd. I could quote from any part of it. At that time, literally, almost in those whole seven or eight hundred pages, I knew every example. I had just sopped it up. And you can imagine the effect that would have on the guy, that somebody was that keen on his book. Published in 1934, Security Analysis was a mammoth textbook for serious students of the market, laying out in much more detail the innovative concepts that were later summarized for a popular audience in The Intelligent Investor. Dodd had taken meticulous notes at Ben Grahams lectures and seminars for four years, organizing them and enriching the examples with his own knowledge of corporate finance and accounting. He structured the book and proofread the galleys from his summer home on rustic Chebeague Island in Maines Casco Bay, in between golf games and mackerel-fishing tournaments.5 He described his role modestly: The genius was [Grahams], supplemented by long experience of a distinguished character, and exceptional literary talent. My most important role was to be a devils advocate on a variety of issues where I thought he had got himself out on a limb.6 Dodds class focused on valuing defaulted railroad bonds. Since childhood, Warren had been slightly obsessed with trains, and, of course, thanks to the long, checkered, and colorful history of the Union Pacific, Omaha was practically the center of the universe when it came to bankrupt railroads.7 Warren had read his favorite book on bonds, Townsends Bond Salesmanship, for the first time at the age of seven after making a special plea to Santa Claus for this tome.8 Now he took to the subject of bankrupt railroad bonds like a duck to the warm spring rain. Unsurprisingly, Dodd showed an unusual interest in him, introducing him to his family and taking him to dinner. Warren soaked up the fatherly attention and also felt sympathy for Dodd, who cared for his mentally ill wife. In class, Dodd would ask a question and Warrens arm would shoot into the air before anyone elses, waving for attention. He knew the answer every time, wanted to give it, was not afraid of attention, and did not mind looking silly. Nor did he seem to be showing off, as a classmate recalled; he was simply young, eager, and immature.9 Unlike Warren, most of his Columbia classmates had little interest in stocks and bonds and were probably bored by this mandatory class. They were a remarkably homogenous group of men,10 mostly headed to General Motors, IBM, or U.S. Steel after they got their degrees. One of them, Bob Dunn, was on his way to becoming the academic star of the class of 1951. Warren admired his presence and intelligence and often went over to the dorm to visit him. One afternoon, in the other room of Dunns two-room suite, Fred Stanback found himself wakened from a nap by a loud voice. Half asleep, he began to realize that the voice was saying such interesting things that he didnt want to doze off again. Rising from his bunk, he wandered into the next room. There he found a crew-cut, badly dressed kid, rattling a mile a minute, who leaned forward in his seat as if a starting gun were poised behind his head. Stanback plopped down in a chair and began to listen to Warren, who was declaiming with great authority about some undervalued stocks hed found. It was clear Warren had already immersed himself in the stock market. He talked about a clutch of tiny companies, including Tyer Rubber Company and Sargent & Co., which made locks, and a somewhat larger business, hardware wholesaler Marshall-Wells.11 Listening, Stanback became an instant disciple. He went out straightaway and bought stocks for the first time in his life. Stanback was the son of a live-wire salesman who had gotten rich peddling envelopes of headache powder and SnapBack Stimulant Powdersfull of caffeinefrom the back seat of a Model T Ford.12 Fred Jr. grew up, analytical and reserved, on Confederate Avenue in the tiny hamlet of Salisbury, North Carolina. He was a born audience for Warren. The two started spending time togethera fast-talking, scrawny-looking kid and a sandy-blond handsome young man with a molasses voice. One day Warren had an idea. He asked Professor Dodds permission to cut class to attend the annual meeting of Marshall-Wells. A few months before starting at Columbia, he and Howard had jointly bought twenty-five shares of this stock. Marshall-Wells was this wholesale hardware company up in Duluth, Minnesota. That was the first annual meeting I ever attended. They held their meeting in Jersey City, New Jersey, probably so fewer shareholders would attend. Warrens vision of shareholder meetings rose from his conception of the nature of a business. He had recently sold his tenant farm, doubling his money over five years. During the time he had owned it, he and his tenant farmer had shared the profits on the crop. But his tenant didnt share the profits from selling the land. As the capitalist, Warren put up the money and took the risk, and then he got the gain, if there was any. Warren thought of all businesses this way. The employees who managed the business shared in the earnings that their labors produced. But they were accountable to their owners, and it was the owners who got the gains as the value of the business increased. Of course, if the employees bought stock themselves, they became owners, too, and partners with the other capitalists. But no matter how much stock they owned, as employees their job required them to report to the owners on how well they had done. Thus, Warren saw a shareholder meeting as a time of accounting for the stewardship of the managers. This vision was rarely shared by company managements, however. Warren and his new friend Stanback took the train to Jersey City. Arriving in a drab meeting room on an upper floor of the Corporation Trust Company, they found half a dozen people awaiting a session in which the company planned to shuffle through an agenda of legal obligations in a perfunctory fashion. Paradoxically, managements indifference and shareholder negligence both worked on Warrens behalf, for the fewer folks came to the show, the more valuable would be whatever knowledge he could wrest from the company.13 One of those few was Walter Schloss, a thirty-four-year-old man who was working for the pittance of fifty dollars a week as one of four employees of Ben Grahams company, the Graham-Newman Corporation.14 As the meeting began, Schloss starting asking pointed questions of management. He was a bantamweight, mild-mannered, dark-haired man from a family of New York Jewish immigrants, but he probably struck the Marshall-Wells crowd as abrupt by the standards of Duluth. They were a little upset, says Stanback, that these outsiders were barging in on their meeting. Theyd never had anybody come to their meeting before, and they didnt like that.15 Warren was immediately taken with Schlosss approach, and when Schloss identified himself as working for Graham-Newman, he reacted as though at a family reunion. As soon as the meeting ended, Warren approached Schloss and they began to talk. He found him a man after his own heart, a believer that wealth is hard to accumulate and easy to lose. Schlosss grandfather had dallied away his hours in New York City at the Harmonie Club, leaving his apparel company in the charge of a bookkeeper whoas custodian of the money and the recordsapplied himself to using the latter to embezzle the former. Next, his father had set up a radio factory with a partner. The warehouse burned down under suspicious circumstances before a single radio was sold. Then, when Walter was thirteen, his mother lost her inheritance in the crash of 1929. The Schloss family got by through perspiration and determination. Walters father got a job as a factory manager, then sold stamps. Fresh out of high school in 1934, Walter worked as a Wall Street runnera member of the Pony Express of the brokerage firmscarrying messages up and down the street. Next, working in the companys cage handling securities, he had asked his boss if he could analyze stocks. The answer was nobut, he was told, Theres a fellow named Ben Graham whos just written a book called Security Analysis. Read that book and you wont need anything else.16 Schloss read Grahams book cover to cover and wanted more. Two nights a week from five to seven, he started going to the New York Institute of Finance, where Graham taught investing. Graham had begun these seminars in 1927 as trial runs for a college course he was thinking of teaching at Columbia. At the time, the public couldnt get enough of stocks, and the class was packed. Although I warned my students that any stocks mentioned were for illustration only and under no circumstances were to be taken as recommendations to buy, it did happen that some of the issues I discussed as undervalued subsequently enjoyed substantial advances, he said, in something of an understatement.17 When Graham mentioned names of stocks he was currently buying, people like Gustave Levy, the head trader at Goldman Sachs, scurried back to act on these ideas and make their firms and themselves rich. Schloss was so captivated that he wound up as one of a couple of employees working for his idol, Ben Graham, and his partner, Jerry Newman. Warren found himself instinctively drawn to Walter, not just for his enviable job but also because of the story of his gritty, disadvantaged background. At the Marshall-Wells meeting, Warren also recognized another shareholder by his barrel-shouldered, cigar-smoking profile. This was Louis Green, a well-known investor who was a partner in a small but respected securities firm, Stryker & Brown, and an ally of Ben Grahams.18 Together, Green, Graham, and Jerry Newman hunted for companies whose stock was cheaper than a warehouse full of stale Barbecubes dog biscuits. They tried to buy enough stock to get elected to the board of directors and thus influence management. Warren was mightily impressed by Lou Green and wanted to make a good impression, so he struck up a conversation with him, and he and Stanback and Green rode back together on the train from New Jersey. Green offered to take the two young men to lunch. That was like hitting the jackpot. Warren discovered Green was tightfisted, a man after his own heart. This guy was enormously wealthy, and we went to some cafeteria or something like that. At lunch Green began explaining what it was like to be pursued by women who were after his money. As he was somewhat past middle age, his technique for dealing with this was to confront the womans motives directly: You like these false teeth? How about my bald head? Or the pot belly? Warren was enjoying the conversation, until Green suddenly changed the subject and put him on the spot. He said to me, Why did you buy Marshall-Wells? And I said, Because Ben Graham bought it. True, Graham was already his hero, even though the two had never met. And since the inspiration for buying Marshall-Wells had indeed come from Security Analysis, Warren may have felt he had to be scrupulous about how he had learned of it.19 But, in fact, he had good reason to own Marshall-Wells beyond its mention in Security Analysis. Reputedly the largest hardware wholesaler in North America, Marshall-Wells was earning so much money that if it had paid out those earnings to shareholders as a dividend, they would have gotten $62 a share. The stock traded at around $200 a share. Owning a Marshall-Wells share was something like owning a bond, one that paid thirty-one percent interest (the $62 earnings on a $200 share). At that rate, in three years, Warren would have nearly two dollars of value for every dollar he had invested in Marshall-Wells. Even if the company didnt pay the money out, the stock would have to rise eventually. You would be crazy to pass up such a stock. But Warren did not explain any of this to Lou Green. Instead, he said, Because Ben Graham bought it. Lou looked at me and said, Strike one! Ill never forget the way he looked at me when he said it. It dawned on him: Warren, think for yourself. He felt foolish. Were sitting in this little cafeteria, Im with this impressive character, and all of a sudden Im striking out. He did not want to make any more mistakes like this, and he did want to find more stocks like MarshallWells, so as Grahams seminar approached, Warren started memorizing everything he could find out about Ben Grahams method, his books, his specific investments, and Graham himself. He had learned that Graham was chairman of the board of a company called Government Employees Insurance Company, or GEICO.20 This stock was not mentioned in Security Analysis. When he looked in the Moodys Manual, he found that the Graham-Newman Corporation had owned fifty-five percent of it but had recently given out the stock to its shareholders.21 What was this GEICO? Warren was curious. So on a cold, wintry Saturday morning a few weeks later, he jumped on the earliest train to Washington, D.C., and showed up at GEICOs door. No one was about, but a guard answered his knock. As he recalls, Warren asked in his humblest manner whether anyone was there who might explain GEICOs business to him. He made sure to mention that he was a student of Ben Grahams. The guard trotted upstairs to the office where GEICOs financial vice president, Lorimer Davidson, sat working. Faced with this request, Davidson thought to himself that being a pupil of Bens, I would give him five minutes and thank him, find a polite way of sending him on his way.22 He told the guard to show Warren in. Warren introduced himself to Davidson with precise but flattering sincerity: My name is Warren Buffett. Im a student at Columbia. Ben Graham is going to be, probably, my professor. I read his book, and I think hes wonderful. And I noticed that hes the chairman of Government Employees Insurance. I dont know anything about it, but I wanted to come here and learn. Davidson started talking to Warren about the arcane business of auto insurance, thinking that out of kindness to a pupil of Grahams, he would waste a few minutes of his valuable time. But, he said, After about ten to twelve minutes of his questions, I realized that I was talking to a highly unusual young man. The questions he was asking me were the questions that would have been asked by an experienced insurance-stock analyst. His follow-up questions were professional. He was young, and he looked young. He described himself as a student, but he was talking like a man who had been around a long time, and he knew a great deal. When my opinion of Warren changed, I began asking him questions. And I found out that he had been a successful businessman at age sixteen. That he had filed his own income tax at age fourteen and every year since then. That he had had a number of small businesses. Lorimer Davidson had accomplished so much himself that he was hard to impress. Davy, as he was universally known, had been a mediocre student, but, he says, Almost from the time I was ten, eleven years old, I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to be just what my father was. I never thought of any other business [than being a bond salesman]. He saw Wall Street as Mecca, the ultimate place. In 1924 Davidson had made $1,800 in commissions in his first week selling bonds. Over time, he began to play the stock market using borrowed money, trading Radio, the Radio Corporation of America, or RCA. In July 1929, he shorted Radio, which was trading at an absurd price, betting that it would go down. But absurd prices can become even more absurd, and when the stock went up another 150 points, Davidson lost everything. Then, when the market crashed on October 29, he had to forget his pregnant wife and the loss of every cent hed ever made in order to navigate the horror his clients now faced. He and his colleagues stayed up until five a.m. calling their accounts. Almost without exception, they, too, had traded on borrowed money. At first the clients came up with the cash to repay their loans. Market seers and government officials kept saying stocks would quickly rebound. They got the velocity right but the direction all wrong. With each succeeding wave of margin calls, half of Davidsons remaining clients were wiped out, unable to pay their debts, forfeiting their accounts. Davidson, who had been pocketing an incredible $100,000 a year in commissions before the crash,23 was soon making about $100 a week selling bondsand considering himself well off. It was a pretty sorry sight, he recalled of those Depression years, to see an old friend, married with children, very successful, and now he has to work to get a nickel for an apple selling fruit at the corner of Wall and Broad. It was through his job selling bonds that Davy happened to call on the Government Employees Insurance Company. When he found out how GEICO worked, he was instantly captivated. GEICO sought to make auto insurance cheaper by marketing through the mail without an agent.24 That was a revolutionary concept at the time. To make it work, GEICO needed a rule that would allow it to avoid the folks who drive thirty miles over the speed limit after downing half a bottle of tequila at three a.m.25 Borrowing an idea from a company called USAA that sold only to military officers, GEICOs founders, Leo Goodwin and Cleves Rhea, had decided to sell its insurance only to government employees because, like military officers, they were responsible individuals who were accustomed to following the law. Better still, there were a lot of them. Thus, the Government Employees Insurance Company was born. Later, the Rhea family had hired Davidson to sell their stock, since they were based in Texas and no longer wanted to commute. While putting together a syndicate of buyers, he approached Graham-Newman Corporation in New York. Ben Graham was interested but deferred to his gruff partner, Jerry Newman. Jerry thought that to buy something at the offering price was illegal. He said, I never bought anything at the offering price before; Im not going to start now, Davidson said. They dickered. Davidson brought Jerry Newman around to investing $1 million for fifty-five percent of the company, with some modest concessions. Ben Graham became chairman of GEICO, and Newman joined its board. Six or seven months later, Lorimer Davidson told GEICOs CEO Leo Goodwin that he would take a pay cut to work for GEICO, managing its investments. Goodwin consulted with Ben Graham, who agreed. Hearing this story from Davidson, Warren was fascinated. I just kept asking questions about insurance and GEICO. He didnt go to lunch that dayhe just sat there and talked to me for four hours like I was the most important person in the world. When he opened that door to me, he opened the door to the insurance world. Now, the door to the insurance world is one most people would rather stayed firmly nailed shut. But insurance was taught in business schools, Warren had studied it at Penn, and there was an aspect of it a little like gambling that intrigued the oddsmaker in him. He had become interested in an insurance scheme called a tontine, in which people pool their money and the last survivor gets the whole pot. But tontines were now illegal.26 Warren had even considered actuarial sciencethe mathematics of insuranceas a career. He could have spent decades toiling over tables of mortality statistics, handicapping peoples life expectancies. Besides the obvious ways this suited his personalitywhich tended toward specialization; relished memorizing, collecting, and manipulating numbers; and preferred solitudeworking as a life actuary would have let him spend his time pondering one of his two favorite preoccupations: life expectancy. However, his other favorite, collecting money, had won out. Warren was starting to grapple with the fundamental concept of business: How do companies make money? A company was much like a person. It had to go out and find a way to keep a roof over its employees and shareholders heads. He grasped that because GEICO sold insurance at the cheapest price, the only way it could make money would be to have the lowest possible costs. He also learned that insurance companies take their customers premiums and invest them long before the claims are paid. That sounded to him like getting to use somebody elses money for free, just the kind of idea that appealed to him. GEICO seemed to Warren a no-lose proposition. That Monday, less than forty-eight hours after he arrived back in New York, Warren dumped stocks worth three-quarters of his growing portfolio and used the cash to buy 350 shares of GEICO. It was an extraordinary move for the normally cautious young man. That was especially true because, at its current price, GEICO was an investment that Ben Graham would not have approved of, even though Graham-Newman had only recently become its largest shareholder. Grahams idea was to buy stocks trading for less than the value of their assets, and he did not believe in concentrating in just a few stocks. But Warren was amazed by what he had learned from Lorimer Davidson. GEICO was growing so fast that he felt confident of being able to predict what it would be worth in a few years. On that basis, it was cheap. He wrote a report about it for his fathers stockbrokerage firm, saying that GEICO was trading at $42 per share, a multiple of about eight times its recent earnings per share. Other insurance companies, he noted, were selling at much higher multiples of their earnings. Yet GEICO was a small company in a large field, whereas its competitors were companies whose growth possibilities have largely been exhausted. Warren then made a conservative projection of the companys value in five years. He thought the stock would be worth between $80 and $90 per share.27 A less Graham-like analysis could hardly be imagined. Grahams 1920s bubble and Depression experiences had made him suspicious of earnings projections, so suspicious that while he paid lip service to this method of valuation in his teaching, he never used it himself in valuing stocks to buy for his firm. But Warren was betting three-quarters of his patiently accumulated money on the numbers he had calculated. In April, he wrote to Geyer & Co. and Blythe and Company, the most prominent brokerage firms specializing in insurance stocks, asking for their research. Next he visited these experts to talk to them about GEICO. After he heard their views, he explained his own theory. They told Warren he was nuts. GEICO, they said, could not succeed over the larger, more established companies that used agents. It was a tiny company, with a market share of less than one percent. Huge insurance companies with thousands of agents dominated the industry, and so it would ever be. Yet here was GEICO, growing like a dandelion in June and printing money like the U.S. Mint. Warren didnt understand why they couldnt see what was right before their eyes. 17 Mount Everest New York City Spring 1951 As his second semester began at Columbia, Warren hummed with excitement. His father had just been reelected to Congress for a fourth timeby the largest majority yetand he was finally going to meet his hero. In his memoir, Ben Graham describes himself as a loner who never had an intimate friend after high school: I was cut out to be everybodys friend but no ones bosom pal or crony.1 Nobody cracked his shell. Men all admired him, they all liked him, and they all wanted to be his friend more than he wanted them to be. You came away feeling terrific about him, but you never got to be his pal. Buffett would later call this Grahams protective coating. Even his partner David Dodd never became an intimate. Graham had great difficulty in understanding and empathizing with others. People found him almost painful to talk toso cerebral, so erudite, so clever. He was not relaxing to be around; people had to keep their wits about them all the time in his company. While he was always kind, he quickly tired of conversing with his fellow human beings; the real friends and intimates of his life were his favorite authorsGibbon, Virgil, Milton, Lessingand their subjects, which, he said, had far more significance for me and left a greater impression on my memory than the living people around me. Born Benjamin Grossbaum,2 Graham passed his first twenty-five years in a period when the country experienced four financial panics and three depressions.3 His familys fortune dwindled after his fathers death when Ben was nine; his worldly, ambitious mother lost most of her own small stake in the stock-market panic of 1907, and she wound up having to pawn her jewelry. One of Grahams earliest memories was standing at a bank teller window, trying to cash his mothers check as the teller audibly asked a colleague whether Mrs. Grossbaum was good for five dollars. During this time, Graham recalled, the family was saved through the charity of relatives from misery, though not from humiliation.4 Nonetheless, Ben excelled throughout his education in the New York City public schools, where he read Victor Hugo in French, Goethe in German, Homer in Greek, and Virgil in Latin. Upon graduation, he wanted to attend Columbia University but needed financial aid. When the scholarship examiner visited the Grossbaums, he turned Ben down. Bens mother was convinced that he did so because the family still clung to a few Louis XVI chairs and some other fine pieces of furniture, despite its reduced circumstances. Ben, however, was sure the examiner had detected a secret deformity in his soul: For years I had been struggling against something the French call mauvaises habitudes [bad habits, a euphemism for masturbation], and which a combination of innate puritanism on my part and the hair-raising health tracts prevalent in those days had raised to a moral and physical issue of enormous proportions.5 Graham and his bad habits wound up at tuition-free City College, bereft and broke, convinced that a degree from this school would not advance him in the snobbish, cultivated world to which he aspired. The last straw came when two borrowed books were stolen from his locker and he had to pay to replace them. He had no pocket money at all. He dropped out, got a job assembling doorbells, and recited the Aeneid and the Rubiyt to himself as he worked. Eventually, he reapplied to Columbia and this time was given the scholarship that had earlier been denied himthrough a clerical error, it turned out. At Columbia, he became an academic star, even while working at a variety of menial jobs to help pay his expenses. Checking waybills, he would mentally compose sonnets for distraction. On graduation, he turned down a scholarship to law school as well as offers from three different departmentsto teach philosophy, mathematics, and Englishin order to follow his deans advice and go into the advertising business.6 Grahams sense of humor always tended toward irony. His first effort at writing a jingle for the nonflammable cleaning fluid Carbona was rejected as too frightening to customers when he produced this limerick: There was a young girl from Winona Who never had heard of Carbona She started to clean With a can of benzene And now her poor parents bemoan her. After this episode, Columbias Dean Keppel recommended Graham for a job at the brokerage house Newburger, Henderson & Loeb. Graham said of Wall Street, I knew it only by hearsay and in novels as a place of drama and excitement. I felt the urge to participate in its mysterious rituals and momentous events. He started in 1914 on the bottom rung of the Wall Street ladder, earning $12 a week as a runner. Then he worked as an assistant board boy, scurrying to and fro in a customers room, changing stock prices on a chalkboard. Graham parlayed these jobs into a career through a classic Wall Street maneuver: He did research on the side, until one day a floor broker gave a report he had writtennegatively appraising the bonds of the Missouri Pacific Railroadto a partner at Bache & Company, which hired him as a statistician.7 Later, he returned to Newburger, Henderson & Loeb as a partner, where he remained until 1923. Then, a group of financial backers, including members of the Rosenwald family (early partners in Sears), lured him away by providing him with starting capital of $250,000, which enabled him to go out on his own. Graham closed this business in 1925 when he and his backers disagreed over his compensation, and established the Benjamin Graham Joint Account on January 1, 1926, with $450,000 from clients and his own money. Shortly afterward, Jerome Newman, the brother of one of his clients, offered to make an investment in the firm and join Graham as a partner at no salary until he learned the business and added value. Graham, however, insisted on paying him, modestly at first, and Newman brought to the partnership a broad general knowledge of business as well as management skills. In 1932, Graham wrote a series of articles in Forbes, Is American Business Worth More Dead Than Alive? in which he chastised company managements for sitting on troves of cash and investments, and investors for overlooking this value, which was not reflected in the prices of stocks. Graham knew how to dislodge the value, but his problem was capital. Through its stock-market losses, the firms account was down from $2.5 million to $375,000.*13 Graham felt responsible for recouping his partners losses, but that meant he would have to more than triple their money. It would take some doing even to keep the Joint Account alive. Jerry Newmans father-in-law saved it by putting in $50,000. And by December 1935, Graham did triple the money, and earned the losses back. For tax reasons, in 1936 Graham and Newman reorganized the Joint Account into two businessesGrahamNewman Corporation, and Newman & Graham.8 Graham-Newman charged a fixed fee and had issued shares to the public which now traded on an exchange. Newman & Graham was a hedge fund, or private partnership with a limited number of sophisticated partners, that paid Graham and Newman based on their performance as managers. The two men remained partners for thirty years, although in his memoir, Graham cited Jerry Newmans lack of amiability, his demanding, impatient, and fault-finding personality, and his inclination to be too tough in negotiation. Newman, said Graham, was far from popular, even among his friends, of whom he had many, and had numerous quarrels with close associates, which he always made up in the end. He and Graham got along because of Grahams protective coating; other peoples behavior never seemed to disturb Grahams equanimity. The one exception to this was Grahams penchant for taking on established business figures in a fight. Through diligent research digging through a report published by the Interstate Commerce Commission, he had discovered that Northern Pipeline, an oil transmission company whose stock sold for $65, owned railroad bonds worth $95 per share in addition to its pipeline assets. However, the Rockefeller Foundation, which controlled the stock, was doing nothing to release the value of the railroad bonds to shareholders. The stock traded at a depressed price that did not reflect the value of the bonds, so Graham began quietly accumulating shares until his firm became the largest owner after the Rockefeller Foundation. Then he pushed for the bonds to be distributed to the shareholders. Northern Pipelines management, who had come from Standard Oil when it was broken up in 1911, gave him a runaround. It said the company needed to keep the bonds in order to be able to pay for replacing the aging pipeline someday. But Graham knew better. Finally, the managers simply said: Running a pipeline is a very complex and specialized business, about which you know very little but which we have done for a lifetime. If you dont agree with our policies, why dont you just sell your shares? But Graham viewed his role as serving all the companys investors, not just himself, and instead of selling, he went down to the shareholders meeting in remote Oil City, Pennsylvania, where he was the only person who attended other than company employees. He made a motion about the railroad bonds, but the management refused to recognize him because he had brought no one along to second the motion. In its dealings with him, the management also made what he felt were some anti-Semitic innuendos, which hardly inclined him to give up the fight. Over the next year, he bought additional shares, teamed up with other investors, and prepared to mount a legal battle with managementa proxy fight. By the time of the next shareholders meeting, he had assembled enough votes to get two additional directors elected to the board, which tilted the balance in favor of distributing the bonds. The company submitted and ended up handing out the equivalent of $110 per share in cash and stock to its shareholders. The battle became a famous incident on Wall Street, and Graham went on to build the Graham-Newman Corporation into one of the best-known, although far from the largest, investment firms in the business. He did it even while inflicting a handicap on his own performance. His teaching style used examples taken directly from Graham-Newmans office. Every time he mentioned a stock in the classroom, the students ran out and bought it, pushing up the price and making it more expensive for Graham-Newman to buy. This drove Jerry Newman crazy. Why make the firms job harder by letting other people in on what they were doing? To make money on Wall Street meant keeping your ideas to yourself. But, as Buffett said, Ben didnt really care how much money he had. He wanted to have enough, and he went through that period in 29 to 33 that was very rough. But if he had as much money as he felt he needed, anything else was totally immaterial to him. Over the twenty-year life of Graham-Newman Corporation, its performance had beaten the stock markets performance by an average of 2.5 percent a yeara record exceeded by only a handful of people in the history of Wall Street. That percent might sound trifling, but compounded for two decades, it meant that an investor in Graham-Newman wound up with almost sixty-five percent more in his pocket than someone who earned the markets average result. Much more important, Graham had achieved this superior performance while taking considerably less risk than someone who simply invested in the stock market as a whole. And Graham did it mainly through his skill at analyzing numbers. Before him, assessments of a securitys value were largely guesswork. Graham developed the first thorough, systematic way of analyzing the value of a stock. He preferred to work by studying only publicly available informationusually a companys financial statementsand rarely attended even public meetings with a companys management.9 Although his associate Walter Schloss had been at the Marshall-Wells meeting, it was his own idea to go, not Grahams. Bens third wife, Estey, drove her husband up to Columbia from the Graham-Newman Corporations office at 55 Wall Street every Thursday afternoon after the market closed to teach his seminar on common stock valuation. This course was the culmination of the Columbia finance curriculum, so highly regarded that men who were already working in money management signed up for it, sometimes more than once. Warren, of course, looked up to Graham with worshipful awe. He had read the Northern Pipeline story over and over when he was ten years old, well before he understood who Benjamin Graham was in the investing world. Now he hoped to bond with his teacher. But outside the classroom, he and Ben had few hobbies in common. Graham dabbled in the arts and sciences in a quest for knowledge, writing poetry, failing spectacularly as a Broadway playwright, and puttering around filling notebooks with ideas for clumsy inventions. He also devoted himself to ballroom dancing, clumping around for years at the Arthur Murray studio, where he danced like a wooden soldier and counted the steps out loud. During dinner parties, Graham often disappeared in the middle of a course to work on mathematical formulas, read Proust (in French), or listen to the opera in solitude, rather than suffer the dull company of his fellow man.10 I remember the things I learn, he wrote in his memoir, rather than the things I live. The one exception where living took precedence over learning was his assignations. About the only way a human being competed with the classic authors for Grahams attention was to be female and beddable. He was short and physically unimposing, but people had told him that his sensual full lips and penetrating blue eyes reminded them of the actor Edward G. Robinson.11 There was something elfish-looking about him, and he was not a handsome man. Nonetheless, Graham seemed to be a Mount Everest for women who liked a challenge: they met him and wanted to climb on top. In his three wives, Grahams taste had ranged wide: from the passionate, strong-willed teacher Hazel Mazur to Broadway showgirl Carol Wadeeighteen years his juniorto his third wife and former secretary, the intelligent, lighthearted Estelle Estey Messing. Complicating all these marriages was his complete indifference to monogamy. Graham later wrote a memoir12 in which he begins, Let me describe my first extramarital affair in the soberest fashion, a sobriety he giddily abandons six sentences later as he explains the recipe for his liaison with the sharp-tongued, by no means beautiful Jenny: one part attraction and four parts opportunity. If more attraction was present, he needed less opportunity, making him shameless, even annoying, in his sexual advances toward women he found attractive. Combining two of his hobbies, Graham might dash off a seductive little poem to a woman he fancied on the subway. Yet he was so cerebral that, even for his lovers, it must have been a challenge to hold his attention. The darting from amour to business in the following passage of the memoir is pure Graham:13 I have a sentimental memory of the last hour we spent together in the cabin of her Ward Line steamer. (Little did I think then that my firm was later to control that old-established steamship company.) He drove his wives to distraction with his philandering. But Warren at the time knew nothing about Grahams personal life and was focused only on what he could learn from the brilliant teacher. On the first day of Grahams seminar in January 1951, Warren walked into a smallish classroom containing a long rectangular table. In the middle sat Graham, surrounded by eighteen or twenty men. Most of the other students were older, some of them war veterans. Half were not Columbia students but businessmen who were auditing the course. Once again, Warren was the youngestyet also the most knowledgeable. When Graham asked a question, inevitably he would be the first one to have his hand up and immediately start talking, recalls one of his classmates, Jack Alexander.14 The rest of the class became the audience to a duet. In 1951, many American businesses were still worth more dead than alive. Graham encouraged his students to use real-life examples from the stock market to illustrate this, down-and-dirty companies such as Greif Bros. Cooperage, a barrel maker whose stock Warren owned. Its main business was slowly disappearing but whose stock was trading at a substantial discount to the cash that could be netted if its properties and inventory were simply sold off and its debts repaid. Eventually, Graham reasoned, that intrinsic value would surface the way a river-tossed barrel, trapped under winter ice, pops to the surface in a spring thaw. You had only to interpret the balance sheet, decoding the numbers that proved there was a barrel of money trapped under the ice. Graham said that a company is no different than a person, who might think that her net worth was $7,000, comprising her house, worth $50,000, less her mortgage of $45,000, plus her other savings of $2,000. Just like people, companies have assets that they own, such as the products they make and sell, and debtsor liabilitiesthat they owe. If you sold all the assets to pay off the debts, what would be left was the companys equity, or net worth. If someone could buy the stock at a price that valued the company cheaper than its net worth, Graham said, eventuallya tricky word, eventuallythe stocks price would rise to reflect this intrinsic value.15 It sounded simple, but the art of security analysis lay in the detailsplaying detective, probing for what assets were really worth, excavating hidden assets and liabilities, considering what the company could earnor not earnand stripping apart the fine print to lay bare the rights of shareholders. Grahams students learned that stocks were not abstract pieces of paper, and their value could be analyzed by figuring what the whole pie of a business was worth, then dividing it into slices. Complicating matters, however, was that issue of eventually. Stocks often traded at odds with their intrinsic value for long periods of time. An analyst could figure everything right and still appear wrong in the eyes of the market for the investing equivalent of a lifetime. That was why, as well as being a detective, you had to build in what Graham and Dodd called a MARGIN OF SAFETYthat is, plenty of room for error. Grahams method struck people who studied it in one of two ways. Some grasped it immediately as a fascinating, all-consuming treasure hunt and others recoiled from it as a dreary homework assignment. Warrens reaction was that of a man emerging from the cave in which he had been living all his life, blinking in the sunlight as he perceived reality for the first time.16 His former concept of a stock was derived from the patterns formed by the prices at which pieces of paper traded. Now he saw that those pieces of paper were simply symbols of an underlying truth. He instantly grasped that the patterns formed by trading these pieces of paper did not signify a stock any more than those childhood piles of bottle caps had signified the effervescent, sweet-sour-spicy taste of soda pop that made people crave it. His old notions dissolved in an instant, conquered by Grahams ideas and illuminated by the way he taught. Graham used all kinds of nifty, effective tricks in his class. He would ask paired questions, one at a time. His students thought they knew the answer to the first, but when the second came along, it made them realize that maybe they didnt. He would put up descriptions of two companies, one in terrible shape, practically bankrupt, another in fine form. After asking the class to analyze them, he would reveal that they were the same company at different times. Everyone was surprised. These were memorable lessons on thinking independently, typical of how his mind worked. Along with his Company A and Company B teaching method, Graham used to talk about Class 1 and Class 2 truths. Class 1 truths were absolutes. Class 2 truths became truths by conviction. If enough people thought a companys stock was worth X, it became worth X until enough people thought otherwise. Yet that did not affect the stocks intrinsic valuewhich was a Class 1 truth. Thus, Grahams investing method was not simply about buying stocks cheap. As much as anything it was rooted in an understanding of psychology, enabling its followers to keep their emotions from influencing their decision-making. From Grahams class, Warren took away three main principles that required nothing more than the stern discipline of mental independence: A stock is the right to own a little piece of a business. A stock is worth a certain fraction of what you would be willing to pay for the whole business. Use a margin of safety. Investing is built on estimates and uncertainty. A wide margin of safety ensures that the effects of good decisions are not wiped out by errors. The way to advance, above all, is by not retreating. Mr. Market is your servant, not your master. Graham postulated a moody character called Mr. Market, who offers to buy and sell stocks every day, often at prices that dont make sense. Mr. Markets moods should not influence your view of price. However, from time to time he does offer the chance to buy low and sell high. Of these points, the margin of safety was most important. A stock might be the right to own a piece of a business, and the intrinsic value of the stock was something you could estimate, but with a margin of safety, you could sleep at night. Graham built in his margin of safety in various ways. As well as buying things for considerably less than he thought they were worth, he never forgot the danger of using debt. And although the 1950s had become one of the most prosperous eras in American history, his early experiences had scarred him and given him the habit of assuming the worst. He looked at business through the lens of his 1932 Forbes articlesas worth more dead than alivethinking of a stocks value mostly in terms of what the company would be worth if deadthat is, shut down and liquidated. Implicitly, Graham was always looking over his shoulder at the 1930s, when so many businesses went into bankruptcy. He kept his firm small in part because he was so risk-averse. And he rarely bought more than a tiny position in any companys stock, no matter how sound the business.17 This meant the firm owned a large array of stocks that required much tending. While plenty of stocks did sell at prices below the businesses liquidation value, which made Warren an enthusiastic follower of Graham, he disagreed with his teacher about the need to buy so many stocks. He had cast his lot with one stock: Ben would always tell me GEICO was too high. By his standards, it wasnt the right kind of stock to buy. Still, by the end of 1951, I had three-quarters of my net worth or close to it invested in GEICO. And yet Warren worshipped his teacher, even though he had strayed so far from one of Grahams ideas. As the spring semester wore on, Warrens classmates gradually accepted the routine of the classroom duet. Warren was a very focused person. He could focus like a spotlight, twenty-four hours a day almost, seven days a week almost. I dont know when he slept, says Jack Alexander.18 He could quote Grahams examples and come up with examples of his own. He haunted the Columbia library, reading old newspapers for hours on end. I would get these papers from 1929. I couldnt get enough of it. I read everythingnot just the business and stock-market stories. History is interesting, and there is something about history in a newspaper, just seeing a place, the stories, even the ads, everything. It takes you into a different world, told by somebody who was an eyewitness, and you are really living in that time. Warren collected information, weeding out biases imposed by other peoples way of thinking. He spent hours reading the Moodys and Standard & Poors manuals, looking for stocks. But it was the weekly Graham seminar that he looked forward to more than anything else he did. He even convinced his disciple Fred Stanback to come in and audit a class or two. While the chemistry between Warren and his teacher was obvious to everyone else in the class, one student in particular had taken note of him. Bill Ruane, a stockbroker at Kidder, Peabody, had found his way to Graham through his alma mater, Harvard Business School, after reading two important and memorable booksWhere Are the Customers Yachts? and Security Analysis. Ruane loved telling tales about his stockbroking job, though he swore that his first choice of career was working as an elevator boy at the Plaza Hotel, a future derailed by a lengthy wait for a uniform.19 He and Warren had connected immediately. But neither Ruane, nor any other of Grahams students, nor Warren himself, ever had the temerity to try to see Graham outside the seminar room. Warren did manage to find reasons, however, to drop in on his new acquaintance, Walter Schloss, down at the Graham-Newman Corporation.20 He got to know Schloss better and learned he was caring for a wife who had been suffering from depression throughout most of their marriage.21 Schloss, like David Dodd, appeared to be remarkably loyal and steadfast, qualities that Buffett sought out in people. He also envied Schloss his job; he would have cleaned the washrooms for free in exchange for one of those gray laboratory-style jackets, made of thin cotton, that everyone at GrahamNewman wore to keep from dirtying their shirtsleeves while they filled out the forms that Graham used to test stocks against his investing criteria.22 Above all, Warren wanted to work for Graham. As the semester neared an end, the rest of the class was busy finding their futures. Bob Dunn would be heading off to U.S. Steel, possibly the most prestigious corporate job in the United States. Almost every young businessman saw the route to success as working his way up the ladder in a great industrial corporation. In Eisenhowers postwar, post-Depression America, job security was all-important, and Americans believed that institutionsfrom the government to large corporationswere essentially benevolent. Finding ones cell inside the institutional beehive and learning how to fit in was the normal and expected thing to do. I dont think there was one guy in the class that thought about whether U.S. Steel was a good business. I mean, it was a big business, but they werent thinking about what kind of train they were getting on. Warren had one goal in mind. He knew he would excel if Graham would hire him. While lacking self-confidence in many things, he had always felt sure-footed in the specialized area of stocks. He proposed himself to Graham for a job at Graham-Newman Corporation. It took audacity to even dream of working for the great man himself, but Warren was audacious. He was, after all, Ben Grahams star student, the only one to earn an A+ in his class. If Walter Schloss could work there, why couldnt he? To clinch the deal, he offered to work for free. He went in and asked for the job with far more confidence than he had felt riding up to Chicago for his interview with the Harvard Business School. Graham turned him down. He was terrific. He just said, Lookit, Warren. In Wall Street still, the white-shoe firms, the big investment banks, they dont hire Jews. We only have the ability to hire a very few people here. And, therefore, we only hire Jews. That was true of the two gals in the office and everybody. It was sort of like his version of affirmative action. And the truth is, there was a lot of prejudice against Jews in the fifties. I understood. Buffett found it impossible to say anything that could be interpreted as critical of Graham, even decades later. Of course, it must have been incredibly disappointing. Couldnt Graham have made an exception for his star student? Someone it wouldnt cost him anything to employ? Warren, who idolized his teacher, had to accept that Graham viewed him impersonally, so much so that he would not overrule a principle even for the best student who had ever taken his class. There was no appealat least for now. Chagrined, he stayed through graduation, then once again he pulled himself together and stepped aboard a train. He had two consolations. He would be back in Omaha, where he felt he belonged. And it would be much easier to pursue his love life there, for he had met an Omaha girl and was now smitten. As usual, the girl he wanted was not smitten with him. But this time, he was determined to change her mind. 18 Miss Nebraska New York City and Omaha 19501952 Warren had always been a washout with girls. He longed to have a girlfriend, but the very things that made him different hindered his quest. Nobody was more shy than I was with girls, he says. But my reaction to that was probably to turn into a talking machine. When he ran out of words about stocks or politics, he resorted to grunts. He was afraid to ask girls out. He summoned the nerve when a girl occasionally did something that made him think he wouldnt get turned down, but in general his attitude was, Why would they want to go out with me? Thus he didnt go on many dates during high school or college. And when he did, something always seemed to go wrong. On a date to a baseball game with a girl named Jackie Gillian, the high point was hitting a cow with his car on the way home. He took another girl to hit golf balls at a driving range.1 That didnt fly. Driving a hearse to pick up Barbara Weigand, he says, was sort of desperate, not a stunt. It may have worked as an icebreaker, but after that, what was there to say? On a date with a shy girl like Ann Beck, he was struck mute; he was so insecure that he had no idea what to do. Girls didnt want to hear about Ben Graham and the margin of safety. If he couldnt get to first base with Bobbie Worley, who had dated him all one summer, what hope did he have? Very little, he thought, and maybe the girls could sense it. Finally, the summer of 1950 before he went to Columbia, his sister Bertie set him up on a date with her roommate from Northwestern. A round-cheeked kewpie of a brunette named Susan Thompson,2 she had quickly impressed Bertie, who was a year and a half younger, as a special girl with a knack for understanding people.3 As soon as Warren met Susie, he was fascinated, but suspected she was too good to be true: I bet she was a fake at first. I was intrigued by her and I was pursuing her, but I was determined to find the hole in the dike. I just couldnt believe anybody was really like her. Susie, however, was not interested in him. She was in love with somebody else. After Warren went off to Columbia, he read in Earl Wilsons gossip column4 in the New York Post that Miss Nebraska 1949, Vanita Mae Brown, was living at the Webster womens residence5 and performing with the singer and teen idol Eddie Fisher on a television show. Vanita had attended the University of Nebraska at the same time as Warren, although she had escaped his notice and aspirations until now. Something about the situation overcame his shyness. Since the glamorous Miss Nebraska was living in New York, he telephoned her at the Webster. Vanita took the bait. Before long, she and Mr. Omaha had a date. He learned that her upbringing had been nothing like his. She grew up in South Omaha near the stockyards, cleaning chickens at Omaha Cold Storage after school. Her pinup body and girl-next-door face had been her ticket out. She got a job in Omaha as an usherette at the Paramount Theater, then parlayed her love of putting herself on display into victory in a local beauty pageant. I think her talent was bedazzling the judges, Buffett says. After winning the Miss Nebraska title, she represented the state as Princess Nebraska in the Washington, D.C., Cherry Blossom Festival. From there she moved to New York City, where she was now desperately trying to make it in show business. Although Warren was not the kind of guy to take a girl to dinner at the Stork Club or a show at the Copacabana, she must have welcomed a hometown face. Soon the two of them were exploring the streets of New York together. Looking to upgrade themselves, they went to Marble Collegiate Church to hear Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, a famous self-improvement writer and speaker. Warren serenaded her with Sweet Georgia Brown by ukulele on the bank of the Hudson, toting along cheese sandwiches as riverside picnic fare. Even though Vanita hated cheese sandwiches,6 she seemed willing to keep seeing him. He found her so entertaining and quick-witted that talking to her was like playing verbal Ping-Pong.7 The aura of Technicolor that surrounded her made her magnetizing. Vanitas interest did not delude him, however, about his woefully lacking social skills. With each passing year, he had become more desperate to improve them. Hed seen an ad for a public-speaking course in the Dale Carnegie method. Warren trusted Dale Carnegie, who had already helped him to get along better with people. He went to a Carnegie course in New York with a $100 check in his pocket. I went to Dale Carnegie because I was painfully aware of being socially maladjusted. And I went and gave them a check, but then I stopped payment on it because I lost my nerve. Nor did Warrens social deficiencies augur well for his prospects with Susan Thompson, to whom he had been writing all fall. She was not encouraging, but neither did she tell him outright to stop bothering her. Warren quickly hit on the strategy of befriending Susies parents as a gateway to their daughter. Over Thanksgiving, he went to Evanston with them for a Northwestern football game. Afterward, the three of them had dinner with Susie, but she ditched them early to go out on a date.8 Warren returned to New York after the holiday, discouraged but no less intrigued. He continued to see Vanita. She had one of the most imaginative minds Ive ever run into, he says. In fact, dating her began to take on an edge of unpredictability and risk. At various times she threatened to go down to Washington when Howard was speaking on the floor of Congress and throw herself at his feet, shrieking, Your son is the father of my unborn child! Warren thought she might actually do it. Another time, she created such a scene as they left a movie theater that, unable to listen to it any longer, he hoisted her up and stuffed her, jackknifed, into a wire-mesh trash basket on the street corner. She hung there, suspended and screaming, as he stalked away.9 Vanita was beautiful, she was smart, and she was entertaining. She was also dangerous, and Warren knew it was risky to get more involved with her. But there must have been some sort of thrill to it. Dating Vanita was like walking a leopard on a leash to see if it would make a good pet. Yet, Vanita could handle herself fine. She had no problem carrying it off. The only question was whether she was going to want to carry it off. You didnt have to worry about her embarrassing you unless she wanted to. Once Warren invited her to a dinner at the New York Athletic Club for Frank Matthews, a distinguished lawyer and Secretary of the Navy. Having the beautiful Miss Nebraska on his arm would be a plus. Matthews was Nebraskan, the crowd was full of people worth knowing, and Warren wanted to be known. During the cocktail hour, Vanita made sure he would indeed be talked about. After he introduced her as his date, she corrected him and insisted she was his wife. I dont know why he does this, she said. Is he ashamed of me? Would you be ashamed of me? Every time we go out, he pretends that Im just his date, and weve been married. Finally, Warren realized that even though Vanita could handle herself just fine when she wanted to, the truth was that she would always want to embarrass me. She preferred acting that way with me, he says, and she did so regularly. Vanita had a fascination about her, however, and had he not had an alternative, there is no telling what would have happened next.10 Every time Warren went home to Nebraska, he saw Susan Thompson as much as she allowed, even though it wasnt much. To him she seemed immensely sophisticated, even authoritative, and generous with her emotions. Susie was way, way, way more mature than I was, he says. He started falling hard for her and disentangling himself from Vanita, even though it was obvious I wasnt Number One11 with Susie. My intentions were clear, he says; they just werent having any effect on her. Susan Thompsons family was well known to the Buffettsin fact it was her father, Doc Thompson, who had managed Howards only failed reelection campaignbut in most respects they were as different as could be from Warrens. Susies mother, Dorothy Thompson, a sweet, tiny woman, warm, genuine, and wise to the world, was known in the family as the wife who went along. She made sure dinner was on the table at six p.m. sharp and supported the many lives her husband, Dr. William Thompson, led. A smallish, silver-haired peacock of a man who wore bow ties and dressed in three-piece wool suits in lavender or cotton-candy pink or chartreuse, he cut a striking figure and carried himself with the posture of someone who was confident that he was being admired. He came, he said, from a long line of teachers and preachers, and seemed to want to replicate all their labors at once.12 As dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of Omaha, he ran the college while at the same time teaching psychology. As assistant athletic director, he controlled the university athletic programs and directed them with all the gusto of a former football player and sports fanatic. This role made him so prominent that every cop in town knew him, says Buffett, which was a good thing, because of the way he drove. He also designed IQ tests and psychology tests, and supervised the testing of all the citys schoolchildren.13 Not content to enjoy a day of rest from bossing people around and testing their children, on Sundays he donned the vestments of an ordained minister and preached v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y in a deep, booming voice at the tiny Irvington Christian Church, where his daughters made up the two-person choir.14 The rest of the time, he broadcast his political beliefs, which were similar to Howard Buffetts, to anyone who came within the sound of his voice. Doc Thompson expressed his wishes with a jovial smile while insisting that they be obeyed at once. He talked of the importance of women while expecting them to wait on him. His work revolved around the inner self, but he was noticeably vain. He clung to those he loved, growing nervous when they were out of his sight. A chronically anxious hypochondriac, he often predicted that some sort of disaster would befall anyone he cared about. He lavished affection on those who satisfied his demanding ways. The Thompsons older daughter, Dorothy, known as Dottie, was not one of those. According to family lore, during the first few years of Dotties life, when her father was especially displeased with her, he locked her in a closet.15 A charitable interpretation would be that the pressure of trying to finish his PhD with a toddler underfoot unhinged him. Seven years after Dotties arrival, their second daughter, Susie, was born. Dorothy Thompson, seeing how badly Dottie was responding to her husbands harsh child-rearing methods, supposedly asserted herself to tell him that one was yours, Im raising the next. Susie was sickly from birth. She had allergies and chronic ear infections and endured a dozen ear lancings during her first eighteen months. She suffered through long bouts of rheumatic fever, and her illnesses confined her to the house for four to five months at a time from kindergarten through second grade. She later recalled watching her friends playing outside her window during these periods, while she longed to join them.16 Through her many illnesses, the Thompsons constantly comforted, cuddled, and rocked their daughter. Her father doted on her. There was nothing in his life remotely approaching her, says Warren. Susie could do no wrong, but everything that Dottie did was wrong. They were always critical of her. A family home movie shows Susie, about age four, shouting, No! and ordering around Dottie, age eleven, as they played with a tea set.17 When at last Susie was well and no longer a prisoner of her bedroom, she never chose to play sports or games outdoors but was always eager to make friends.18 It was people she had missed during those long days of illness. When youve had pain, Susie later recalled, the release from it can be totally freeing. Its marvelous. To be free of pain is a great state of being. I learned that at a very young age. Knowing that, you can be very simpleminded about life. And then you get with people and think, boy, people are really fascinating.19 As Susie grew older, she retained her girlish round cheeks and a breathy, deceptively childlike voice. During her teens she went to Omahas Central High, an integrated school with a student body of different faiths and colors, unusual in the 1940s. Even though she was part of a crowd that some considered snobbish, her classmates recall her as having friends among all these groups.20 Her exuberant warmth and her ethereal way of speaking could come across as a little phony, even a little loopy,21 but her friends said there wasnt anything phony about her. Her interests ran to speech and performing arts rather than academics. She argued with passion and persuasiveness on the Central High debate team, where people noticed that her politics had strayed far from her fathers. She acted charmingly in school plays and sang in a smooth contralto in school operettas and as a mainstay of the choir. Her performance as the sweetly harebrained lead in Our Hearts Were Young and Gay so sparkled that her teachers recalled it for years afterward.22 Indeed, her charm and strength of personality made her Most Popular, a lady in waiting to the school sweetheart, Miss Central, and led her classmates to elect her senior class president. Susies first boyfriend was John Gillmore, a quiet, bland boy whom she openly adored. By the time he became her steady at Central High, Gillmore towered over her by almost a foot, but despite her kittenish demeanor, she dominated him.23 During those years, she also began dating a friendly, intelligent boy she had met at a freshman debate competition. A student at Thomas Jefferson High School in Council Bluffs, Iowa, across the Missouri River from Omaha, Milton Brown was a tall, dark-haired young man with a warm, wide smile. They saw each other several times a week throughout high school.24 While her close friends were aware of Milt, it was Gillmore who continued to be her steady date for parties and school events. Susies father did not approve of Brown, who was the son of an unschooled Russian-Jewish immigrant worker on the Union Pacific Railroad. The three or four times that she dared to bring him to the house, he was made to feel unwelcome by Doc Thompson, who lectured him about FDR and Truman. Susies father made no secret of his determination to pry his daughter loose from dating a Jew.25 Like the Buffetts, Doc Thompson had all the prejudices typical of Omaha, where different ethnic and religious groups kept to themselves, and life for a couple of mixed religion would be taxing at best. Yet Susie dared to cross these social lineswhile at the same time managing to maintain another life as a conventional, popular high school girl. Susie navigated these choppy waters until she went to college, when she and Milt headed off to freedom togetherat Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. There she roomed with Bertie Buffett, and both pledged sororities. Bertie coasted through her classes, and was immediately crowned as the Phi Delt Pajama Queen.26 Susie, a journalism major, had arranged her schedule so that she could see Milt nearly every day. The two joined the Wildcat Council together and met at the library after he got off one of the several jobs he held after school to pay his tuition.27 Susies unconventional choice to openly date a Jewish boy clashed with her life as a typical coed, and members of her sorority forbade her to bring Brown to a dance because he had pledged a Jewish fraternity. Susie, although hurt, did not depledge.28 But she and Milt began to study Zen Buddhism, looking for a faith that could reflect their common spiritual beliefs.29 Knowing nothing of this, Warren made his futile Thanksgiving trip to Evanston, then visited Susie in Omaha over the winter holidays. By then he had made up his mind to pursue her seriously. She had the qualities hed always looked for in a woman. She described herself as one of those few fortunate people who grew up with the feeling that I was unconditionally loved. Thats the most wonderful gift you can give anyone.30 But the person she wanted to give her unconditional love to was Milt Brown. That spring of 1951, Milt was elected sophomore class president and Bertie its vice president. Susie cried every time she opened a letter from home demanding that she break off her relationship with Brown. Bertie could see what was going on, but Susie never confided in her, even though they had grown to be friends.31 She seemed to have a way of never letting anyone get inside her head. Then, one day as the semester neared an end, the two were sitting in their dorm room when the phone rang. It was Doc Thompson. Come home now, he commanded. He wanted her away from Milt and he let her know she would not be going back to Northwestern in the fall. Susie collapsed, sobbing, but there was never any appeal of her fathers decisions. After graduating from Columbia that spring, Warren, too, returned to Omaha. He would be living in his parents home since they were away in Washington, but he would have to spend part of that first summer after his return fulfilling his obligation to the National Guard. Though he wasnt particularly well suited to the Guard, it was better than the alternativegoing off to fight in Korea. The Guard required him to attend training camp in La Crosse, Wisconsin, for several weeks every year, however. Training camp did nothing to help him mature. In the National Guard, at first, the guys were very suspicious of me because my dad was in Congress. They thought I was going to be some kind of prima donna or something. But that didnt last long. Its a very democratic organization. I mean, what you do outside doesnt mean much. To fit in, all you had to do was be willing to read comic books. About an hour after I got there, I was reading comic books. Everybody else was reading comic books, why shouldnt I? My vocabulary shrank to about four words, and you can guess what they were. I learned that it pays to hang around with people better than you are, because you will float upward a little bit. And if you hang around with people that behave worse than you, pretty soon youll start sliding down the pole. It just works that way. The experience gave Warren incentive to make good on another vow just as soon as he got back from National Guard camp. I was terrified of public speaking. You cant believe what I was like if I had to give a talk. I was so terrified that I just couldnt do it. I would throw up. In fact, I arranged my life so that I never had to get up in front of anybody. When I came out here to Omaha after graduating, I saw another ad. And I knew I was going to have to speak in public sometimes. The agony was such that just to get rid of the pain I signed up for the course again. That was not his only mission: To win the heart of Susan Thompson, he knew he would have to be able to converse with her as well. The odds against succeeding with Susie were long, but he would do anything to improve them, and this summer might be his last chance. The Dale Carnegie class met down at the Rome Hotel, a favorite of the cattlemen. I took a hundred bucks in cash and gave it to Wally Keenan, the instructor, and said, Take it before I change my mind. There were about twenty-five or thirty of us in there. We were all just terrified. We couldnt say our own names. We all stood there and wouldnt talk to each other. Meanwhile, one thing that impressed me was that, after meeting all those people once, Wally could rattle off all our names from memory. He was a good teacher, and he tried to teach us the memory association trick, but I never learned that part. They gave us this book of speecheskeynote speech, election speech, lieutenant governors speechand we were supposed to deliver these things every week. The way it works is that you learn to get out of yourself. I mean, why should you be able to talk alone with somebody five minutes before and then freeze in front of a group? So they teach you the psychological tricks to overcome this. Some of it is just practicejust doing it and practicing. We really helped each other through. And it worked. Thats the most important degree that I have. Yet Warren could not try out his new skills on Susie, who made herself scarce. Mindful of Doc Thompsons influence over his daughter, Warren showed up every night, ukulele in tow, to romance her father in her stead. She would go out with other guys, says Buffett, and I didnt have anything to do when I would go over there. So I would flirt with him instead, and he and I would talk about things. Doc Thompson, who loved the summer heat, sat outside on the screened porch on the boiling July nights, dressed in his three-piece pastel wool suit, while Susie was secretly out with Milt. Doc Thompson played the mandolin while Warren sweated and sang, accompanying him on the ukulele. Warren felt comfortable with Doc Thompson, whose style reminded him of his fathers way of holding forth on how the world was going to hell because of the Democrats. Whittaker Chamberss autobiography, Witness, describing his conversion from Communist spy to ardent Cold War anti-Communist, had just been released. Warren had read this book with great interest, in part because of its description of the Alger Hiss case. Chambers had accused Hiss of being a Communist spy, an accusation that had been pooh-poohed by people the Buffetts considered political enemies, the Truman crowd. Only Richard Nixon, a young senator on the House Un-American Activities Committee, had pursued Hiss, leading to Hisss conviction for perjury in January 1950. This was the kind of fodder that Doc Thompson could chew on endlessly. Unlike Howard, however, he also talked about sports. He had no sons, and he thought Warren was the best thing since bubble gum.32 Warren was smart, Warren was Protestant, Warren was Republican, and, above all, Warren was not Milt Brown. The support of Bill Thompson was not as much of a plus as it might have seemed. Warren was up against stiff odds in winning Susies heart. She could overlook his baggy socks and cheap suits; it was the rest that worked against him. He came across to her as a Congressmans son, somebody considered special, a boy who had every advantagea graduate degree and a good bit of moneyand who was obviously headed for success. He talked about stocks all the time, a subject she cared nothing about. His way of entertaining a date was telling rehearsed jokes, riddles, and brainteasers. That her father liked Warren so much made her think of Warren as an extension of her fathers control. Doc Thompson practically threw Susie at Warren.33 It was two against one, says Buffett. Milt, who needed her, suffered the injustice of being a Jew from literally the wrong side of the tracks. He was all the more attractive because he was the guy her father couldnt stand. That summer, Brown was working in Council Bluffs. When he got a letter from Northwestern notifying him of a tuition increase, he realized he couldnt afford to go back to Evanston, so he went over to the Buffett house and handed Bertie, his class vice president, a letter saying that he was transferring to the University of Iowa.34 Susie was enrolling that fall at the University of Omaha, and by then, she and Milt had to acknowledge that, because of her father, they were off and on. She spent the summer in tears. Meanwhile, despite her initial lack of interest in Warren, Susie could never spend time with anyone without wanting to learn all about him. She soon started to realize that her first impression had been wrong. He was not the privileged, cocky, self-confident guy she thought. I was a wreck, he recalls; he was jittering on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I felt odd, I was socially inept, but beyond that, I hadnt found a cruising speed in life. Even her friends noticed the vulnerability that lay beneath his veneer of self-assurance. Susie gradually recognized how worthless he felt inside.35 All that confident chatter about stocks, the aura of a prodigy, the tinny twang of the ukulele, were wrapped around a fragile, needy core: a boy who was stumbling through his days in a shroud of desolation. I was a mess, he says. It was incredible the way Susie saw through to some of that. Indeed, somebody who felt like a wreck and a mess was catnip to Susie. Warren would later say of her need to turn him into a cause that he was Jewish enough for Susie, but not too Jewish for her dad. And so she started coming around. Warren, who was nearly blind to the way others dressedeven womenwas so in love with Susie by now that he actually noticed her clothes. He would never forget the blue dress she wore on their dates or the black-and-white print outfit he called the newspaper dress.36 Amid the summer fireflies at the Peony Park pavilion, they stumbled around the dance floor to the sounds of a Glenn Miller tune. Warren had still never learned to dance and tried as hard as he could. He was about as cozy on the dance floor as a sixth grader at a sorority social. But I would have done anything she asked, he says. I would have let her put worms down the back of my shirt. By Labor Day, when Warren took her to the state fair, they were a couple. Susie registered at the university as a sophomore majoring in journalism, signed up for the debate team,37 and enrolled in the Association for the Study of Group Dynamics, a psychology group.38 Warren wrote his aunt Dorothy Stahl in October 1951 in his best smart-alecky style: Things in the girl department are at an all-time peakthe hooks have been sunk pretty deep into me by one of the local gals. As soon as I get the go-ahead from [my uncle] Fred and you, I may proceed further. This girl has only one drawback; she knows nothing about stocks. Otherwise she is unbeatable and I guess I can overlook her Achilles heel.39 Cautiously proceeding further was putting it right. Warren worked up his nerve. Instead of proposing marriage, he just sort of assumed it, and kept talking. Susie, for her part, realized she had been chosen, although she wasnt sure how.40 Triumphant, Warren went to his Dale Carnegie class on schedule. Thats the week I won the pencil. They gave a pencil award for doing something difficult and doing the most with the training. The week I won the pencil was the week that I proposed. Afterward, Susie wrote a long, sad letter to Milton Brown, telling him the news. He was shocked. He knew she had been out on some dates with Warren but had no idea it was anything serious.41 Warren went to talk to Susies father to get his blessing. This, he already knew, would be easily had. But Doc Thompson took a whilequite a whileto get to the point. He started by explaining that Harry Truman and the Democrats were sending the country straight to hell. Pouring money into Europe after the war through the Marshall Plan and the Berlin airlift42 was just proof that the policies of that devil Roosevelt were still in place, and that Truman was sending the country straight into bankruptcy. Look at how the Soviets got hold of the atomic bomb right after Truman had dismantled part of the military. Senator Joe McCarthys House Un-American Activities Committee was proving what Doc Thompson had known all along, that the government was riddled with Communists. HUAC was finding Commies everywhere. The government was downright ineffectualor worsewhen it came to dealing with Communism. Truman had lost China for democracy. He would never be forgiven for firing the heroic General Douglas MacArthur for insubordination after he made repeated efforts to go around Truman and get approval to attack the Chinese Commies in Manchuria. But it was probably too late for even MacArthur to save the country now. The Communists were taking over the world, and stocks were going to be nothing but valueless bits of paper. So Warrens plan to work in the stock market was going to fail. But Doc Thompson would never blame Warren when his daughter starved. He was a smart young man. If not for the Democrats ruining the country, he would probably do all right. The miserable future that awaited Susie wouldnt be Warrens fault. Long used to this kind of talk, from both his own father and Susies, Warren waited patiently for the crucial word yes. Three hours later, Doc Thompson wound his way to a conclusion and gave his consent.43 By Thanksgiving, Susie and Warren were planning their April wedding. 19 Stage Fright Omaha Summer 1951Spring 1952 Warren understood Doc Thompsons concern about how he would support a family, even though he had no such doubts himself. Since he couldnt work for Graham-Newman, he had decided to become a stockbroker, and to do it in Omaha, far from the canyons of Wall Street. If you wanted to make money in the stock market, went the common wisdom, the place to do it was New York, so his decision was an unusual one. But he felt free from the conventions of Wall Street; he wanted to work with his father; Susie was in Omaha; and he was never happy far from home. At almost twenty-one, Warren was supremely confident in his own investing abilities. By the end of 1951, he had already boosted his capital from $9,804 to $19,738. He had earned seventy-five percent in a single year.1 As a matter of course, however, he consulted his father and Ben Graham. To his surprise, both said, Maybe you should wait a few years. Grahamas alwaysthought the market was too high. Howard, pessimistic, favored mining stocks and gold stocks and other investments designed to protect against inflation. He didnt think any other kind of business would be a good investment, and he worried about his sons future. That didnt make sense to Warren. Since 1929, the value of businesses had grown substantially. It was absolutely the reverse effect of what you saw in other times, when the market was staggeringly overvalued. I had looked at companies. I just couldnt see why you wouldnt want to own them. It was on a micro level, not an assessment of the growth of the economy or anything like that, and I was working with micro money. But it just seemed to me that it was crazy not to own them. On the other hand, heres Ben, with his two hundred IQ and all experienced, telling me to wait. And my dad, who, if he told me to walk out a window, I would have done it. Still, to make this decision to defy the advice of his two great authoritieshis father and Ben Grahamwas an enormous step for him. It required him to consider the possibility that his judgment might be superior to theirs, and that the two men whom he most deeply respected were not thinking rationally. Yet he was certain he was right. He might have walked out a window if his father told him tobut not if it meant leaving a Moodys Manual full of cheap stocks behind. In fact, the opportunities he saw were so plentiful that they justified borrowing money for the first time. He was willing to take on debt equal to a quarter of his net worth. I was already running short of money to invest. If I was enthused about a stock I would have to sell something else to buy it. I had an aversion to borrowing money, but I got a loan for five thousand dollars or so from the Omaha National Bank. I was under twenty-one and my dad had to cosign the loan. Mr. Davis, the banker, conducted it as a rite of passage. He said something like, Youre going into manhood now, and referred to this five thousand dollars, saying, Its a solemn obligation, and we know youve got the kind of character to pay it back. This went on for half an hour while I was sitting there next to this big desk. Howard probably felt both proud and a little silly cosigning a loan for his son, who had been a full-fledged businessman for at least a dozen years. Since Warren had made up his mind, Howard was also willing to take him on at his own firm, Buffett-Falkthough only after suggesting that he interview at a prominent local firm, Kirkpatrick Pettis Co., to see what the best of Omaha stockbroking had to offer. I went to see Stewart Kirkpatrick and said during the interview that I wanted intelligent customers. I was going to try to look for people who could understand things. And Kirkpatrick said, in effect, dont worry about whether theyre intelligent, worry about whether theyre rich. Which is okay, you cant knock him for that. But I wouldnt have wanted to work anyplace but at my dads firm. At Buffett-Falk, Warren was installed in one of its four private unair-conditioned offices, next to the cage, a glassed-in area where a clerk handled the money and securities. He started out selling his favorite stock to the safest people he knew, his aunt and his college friends, including his first roommate at Wharton, Chuck Peterson, who was now in the real estate business in Omaha and with whom hed reconnected. My aunt Alice was the first call I made, and I sold her a hundred shares of GEICO. She made me feel good about myself. She was interested in me. And after that Fred Stanback, Chuck Peterson, and anybody I could get to buy it. But mostly I got myself to buy it, because when other people didnt buy it, Id just figure out a way to buy five more shares myself. I had this big ambition. I was going to own one-tenth of one percent of the company. It had 175,000 shares outstanding, and I figured if the company would become worth one billion dollars someday and I owned that much, I would be worth a million dollars. So I needed 175 shares.2 Yet in the meantime, his job was to sell on commission, and beyond this narrow circle, Warren found that almost insurmountably difficult. He got a taste of the obstacles his father had faced to build his brokerage business back when the grand old families of Omahathe owners of the banks, stockyards, breweries, the big department storespeered down their noses at the grandson of a grocer. Alone in Omaha now, with his parents back in Washington, Warren felt that he got no respect. These were the days when all stocks were sold by full-service stockbrokers, and most people bought individual stocks rather than mutual funds. Everybody paid fixed commissions of six cents a share. Transactions took place in person or over the telephone, as part of a relationship. Every trade was preceded by a few minutes of chat with your broker, part salesman, part adviser, part friend. Your broker might live in your neighborhood, and you saw him at parties, you golfed with him at your country club, and he came to your daughters wedding. General Motors brought out new models of its cars every year, and a businessman might trade his car more often than his stocks. That is, if he owned any stocks. Important accounts didnt take Warren seriously. Nebraska Consolidated Mills, a client of his fathers, once scheduled him to come out at five-thirty a.m.3 I was twenty-one. And Id go around to all these people to sell them stocks, and when Id get all through theyd say, What does your dad think? I got that all the time. Warren, who looked like a dork, struggled to make sales.4 He didnt know how to read people, couldnt make small talk, and certainly wasnt a good listener. His mode of conversation was to broadcast rather than receive. When nervous, he sprayed forth information about his favorite stocks like a fire hose. Some potential clients listened to his pitch, checked with other sources, and used his ideas, but bought the stocks through other brokers, so he didnt get the commission. He was shocked at this perfidy from people hed spoken to face-to-face and would be seeing again around town. He felt cheated. Other times he was simply baffled. Once he walked in on a guy who was in his seventies sitting with a pile of dollar bills on his desk and a secretary in his lap. Every time she kissed him, the man gave her a dollar bill. My dad hadnt taught me what to do in that sort of circumstance. Generally speaking, I was not getting reinforcement. When I first started selling GEICO to people, Buffett-Falk had this little office downtown, and the stock certificates would come in and Jerome Newmans name would be on those certificates. He was the seller I was buying from. And the guys at Buffett-Falk said, What the hell. If you think youre smarter than Jerry Newman In fact, Graham-Newman was forming a new partnership, and some of the investors had given the firm GEICO shares to fund money into the partnership. So in effect, it was they who were selling, not GrahamNewman. Warren didnt know that.5 But when it came to GEICO, he didnt care who was selling. It did not occur to him to ask anyone at the firm why they were selling. He was unshakeably certain of his own opinion. Nor did he hide that fact. I was sort of a wise guy, with this graduate degree, among people who hadnt gone to college. One time an insurance agent, Ralph Campbell, came in to see Mr. Falk and said, Whats this kid doing going around promoting this company? GEICO was a company that didnt use insurance agents. And I said, like a wise guy, Mr. Campbell, you better buy this stock for unemployment insurance. The full import of Dale Carnegies first rule, dont criticize, hadnt sunk in. Warren used what would later become the trademark Buffett wit to show that he knew more than everybody else, but why would anyone have been willing to believe that of a twenty-one-year-old? And yet he did. It must have stunned people at Buffett-Falk to watch him, morning through night, ripping through the manuals, adding to his file cabinets of knowledge. I went through the Moodys Manuals page by page. Ten thousand pages in the Moodys Industrial, Transportation, Banks and Finance Manualstwice. I actually looked at every businessalthough I didnt look very hard at some. Even though endlessly fascinated by the game of finding stocks, Warren wanted to be more than an investor, more than a salesman. He wanted to be a teacher, to emulate Ben Graham. He signed up to teach a night course at the University of Omaha. At first he partnered with his stockbroker friend Bob Soener, who taught the first four weeks of Profitable Investing in Stocks. While Soener explained to the class basics such as how to read the Wall Street Journal, Warren stood in the hallway listening for any good investment ideas. Then he took over for the next six weeks.6 Eventually he taught the whole course and gave it the more cautious name of Sound Investing in Stocks. In front of his classroom, he lit up, pacing the floor as if he couldnt get the words out fast enough, even though the students had to struggle not to drown in the flood of information he threw at them. But despite his deep vein of knowledge, he never promised the class they would get rich or that taking his class would give them any particular result. Nor did he brag about his own success at investing. His students ranged from stock-market professionals to people who had no head for businesshousewives, doctors, retirees. They symbolized a subtle shift: Long-absent investors were starting to come back for the first time since the 1920spart of why Graham thought the market was overvalued. Warren adapted his teaching to the range of their knowledge and skills. He modeled his teaching style after Grahams, using the Company A, Company B method and some of his mentors other little teaching tricks. He handed out grades with the strictest fairness. His aunt Alice took the course and sat in the classroom gazing at him with adoring eyes.7 He gave her a C. People were always throwing out the names of stocks, asking him whether to buy or sell. He could speak from memory for five or even ten minutes about any stock they named: its financial data, price/earnings ratio, the volume of shares that tradedand from all appearances, he could do this for hundreds of stocks, as if he were quoting baseball statistics.8 Sometimes a woman in the front row would say, My late mother gave me ABC stock, and now its up a little bit. What should I do? Then he would say, Well, I think I would sell that, and maybe buy, giving three or four options such as GEICO or one of a few stocks about which he was entirely confident (and already owned).9 The students remarked on his unusual conservatism when responding to their questions about how to invest. Meanwhile, Warren was working like a woodpecker in April to make money for himself. He was going to be taking care of a family soon, which would divide his income into two streams. Part of what he madehis streamwould go back into the mill and continue to grow. And part he would spend for him and Susie to live, a significant change in his circumstances. Until now, he had been able to pare his expenses by living in the maids room at Columbia, eating cheese sandwiches, and taking his dates to lectures or playing the ukulele for them instead of escorting them to the posh 21 Club. Now that he was back in Nebraska, he was able to cut his costs even further by living in his parents house, even though it meant occasional contact with Leila when they came back from Washington. He had never needed motivation to try to work his capital as hard as possible, and now he sat in the office at Buffett-Falk with his feet on his desk, searching systematically through the Graham and Dodd book for more ideas.10 He found a stock, Philadelphia and Reading Coal & Iron Company, a company that mined anthracite coal. It looked cheap because it was selling for $19 and a fraction, but had about $8 a share worth of culm banks.*14 Warren would happily spend hours figuring out how much coal mines and culm banks were worth in order to make a rational decision about a stock. He bought Philadelphia and Reading Coal & Iron shares himself and sold them to his aunt Alice and Chuck Peterson. When the stock immediately dropped to $9 a share, he saw that as a reason to buy even more. He bought a textile company called Cleveland Worsted Mills. It had current assets15 of $146 per share, and the stock was selling for less than that. He felt the price did not reflect the value of several well-equipped mills. Warren wrote a short report on the stock. He liked the fact that the company was paying out a lot of what it earned to shareholdersgiving them a bird in the hand. The $8 dividend provides a well-protected 7% yield on the current price of approximately $115, the report noted.11 He wrote well-protected because he thought Cleveland Worsted Mills had enough earnings to cover its dividend. That proved less than prescient. I called it Clevelands Worst Mill after they cut off paying the dividend. Warren was so mad that he decided to spend some money to find out what was wrong. I went to an annual meeting of Clevelands Worst Mill, and I flew all the way to Cleveland. I got there about five minutes late, and the meeting had been adjourned. And here I was, this kid from Omaha, twenty-two years old, with my own money in the stock. The chairman said, Sorry, too late. But then their sales agent, who was on the board of directors, actually took pity on me, and so he got me off on the side and talked to me and answered some questions. The answers, however, changed nothing. Warren felt awful; he had gotten other people to buy Clevelands Worst Mill too. There was nothing he hated more than selling people investments that lost them money. He couldnt stand disappointing people. This was what it had been like back in the sixth grade when the Cities Service Preferred stock hed gotten Doris to invest in was clobbered. She hadnt hesitated to remind him about it, and hed felt responsible. Now, he would do anything to avoid the feeling of letting someone down. Warren began looking for any way to make himself less dependent on the job he was starting to hate. He had always enjoyed owning businesses, and decided to buy a gas station with a friend from the National Guard, Jim Schaeffer. They bought a Sinclair station that was next to a Texaco station that consistently out-sold us, which drove us crazy. Warren and his brother-in-law Truman Wood, who had married Doris, even worked at the station themselves on weekends. They washed windshields with a smiledespite Warrens aversion to manual laborand did everything they could to attract new customers, but instead drivers continued to pull in to the Texaco station across the street. Its owner was very well established and very well liked. He beat us every month. Thats when I learned the power of customer loyalty. The guy had been in business forever and had a clientele. Nothing we could do was going to change that. My service station was the dumbest thingI lost two thousand dollars, and that was a lot of money for me at the time. Id never had real damage in a loss. It was painful. It seemed to Warren that nearly everything he did in Omaha reinforced his sense of youth and inexperience. He was no longer a precocious boy who was acting like a man, but a young manabout to get marriedwho looked and sometimes acted like a boy. Kaiser-Frazer, the stock he had shorted two years before in Bob Soeners office, still hung stubbornly around five dollars a share instead of going to zero as he had expected. Carl Falk was always giving him funny looks and questioning his judgment. And Warren felt more and more queasy about the very nature of his job. He started to think of himself as being like a prescriptionist. I had to explain to people who didnt know enough about whether they should take aspirin or Anacin, and people would do anything the guy in the white coatthe stockbrokertold them to do. The stockbroker got paid based on turnover instead of advice. In other words, hes getting paid based on how many pills he sells. He gets paid more for some pills than others. You wouldnt go to a doctor whose pay was totally contingent on how many pills you took. But thats how the business of being a stockbroker worked at the time. Warren felt there was a conflict of interest inherent in the business. Hed recommend a stock like GEICO to his friends and family, and tell them that the best thing to do was to hold it for twenty years. That meant he didnt get any more commissions from them. You cant make a living that way. The system pits your interests against your clients. Nevertheless, he had begun to develop a small clientele of his own through his network of graduate school friends. In the spring of 1952, he went to Salisbury, North Carolina, to spend Easter with Fred Stanback. He charmed and amused Freds parents and entertained the family by talking stocks, quoting Ben Graham, and asking for a Pepsi-Cola and a ham sandwich for breakfast.12 Soon afterward, back in Omaha, Fred Stanbacks father gave him an order to sell some stock in a washing-machine company, Thor Corporation. Warren found a customer through another broker, Harris Upham, who wanted to buy it. Then he got another call from Stanbacks bank about the sale and thought he had two orders. He sold the Thor Corporation stock twice, the second time unwittingly selling stock he didnt have. Now he had to find additional shares, and ended up buying them at a loss to cover the second sale. Mr. Stanback treated him graciously despite the mistake. He absorbed the entire loss even though it was Warrens fault. Warren was grateful and never forgot it. He had more reason for concern about the second buyer, a man known as Mad Dog Baxter, who was a remnant of Omahas days as a major gambling layoff center*16 and an associate in some of the citys many illegal betting parlors. Baxter had arrived at Buffett-Falk in person, strolled up to the cashiers cage, and pulled out a wad of $100 bills, waving it around ostentatiously. Once again, Carl Falk looked at me questioningly. Was Buffett-Falk being used to launder illegal gambling money? Situations like this reinforced Warrens dislike for his job. Even when he wasnt selling stocks, he felt conflicted. He had turned Buffett-Falk into a market maker, a firm that acted as a middleman, buying and selling stocks as a dealer.13 The firm made a profit by selling a stock to clients at a slightly higher price than it paid, and buying stock from clients at a lower price than it sold the stock for. The difference, or spread, was its profit. The spread was invisible to the customers. Acting as a market maker lifted a brokerage firm from being a mere order taker to being a player in the Wall Street game. While Warren was proud that he had the know-how to set Buffett-Falk up as a market maker, the conflict bothered him. I dont want to be on the other side of the table from the customer. I never was selling anything I didnt believe in myself or own myself. On the other hand, there was a markup that was undisclosed. If anybody asked me about it, I told them. But I dont like anything like that. I want to be on the same side of the table with the people who are my partners, everybody knowing whats going on. And a promoter, by his nature, doesnt do that. No matter how Warren thought about his job as a stockbroker, there was always a potential conflict of interest, and always the possibility that he would lose money for his clients and open himself up to disappointing them. He would much rather manage peoples money instead of selling them stocks, with his interest on the same side as the customers. The problem was, there were no such opportunities in Omaha. But in the spring of 1952, he wrote an article about GEICO that attracted the attention of a powerful man, and with that, his luck seemed about to change. The article, The Security I Like Best, which appeared in the Commercial and Financial Chronicle, was not just an advertisement for Warrens favorite stock, but an explanation of his ideas about investing. It caught the attention of Bill Rosenwald, who was a son of Julius Rosenwald, a philanthropist and the longtime chairman of Sears, Roebuck & Co. The younger Rosenwald ran American Securities, a money management firm launched with family stock in Sears14 that sought high returns while minimizing risk and preserving capital. After contacting Ben Graham, who gave Warren a strong recommendation, Rosenwald offered Warren a job. Few jobs in money management were as prestigious, and Warren was dying to accept it, even though that meant moving back to New York City. To do so, however, he had to get permission from the National Guard to leave Omaha. I asked my commanding officer whether it would be possible to transfer to New York to take this job. He said, Youll have to go down and see the commanding general. So I went down to Lincoln, sat there in the state capitol, waited awhile, went in to see General Henninger, and said, Corporal Buffett reporting. Id written him ahead of time explaining and asking permission. And right away he said, Permission denied. That was the end of it. That meant I was in Omaha as long as he wanted to keep me captive. Thus Warren was stuck at Buffett-Falk, writing prescriptions for a living. The main comfort he had during the challenges of his first year back in Omaha was his fiance. He had begun to lean on Susie. All the while, she was working at figuring Warren out. She began to understand the damage Leila Buffetts rages had done to her sons self-worth, and she started trying to repair it. She knew that the main thing he needed was to feel loved and never criticized. He also needed to feel that he could succeed socially. People accepted me more when I was with her, he says. Even though she was still at the University of Omaha while he had been working, he was like a toddler gazing up at a parent when it came to his relationship with his future wife. Both were still living in their parents homes. Over time, Warren had developed a way of dealing with his mother, which was to avoid being alone with her, while making use of her dutiful nature when in her presence by besieging her with demands and requests. Yet the long stretches that he had spent away from her while attending college had lowered his tolerance for Leilas company instead of raising it. When she and Howard came back from Washington for Warren and Susies wedding, Susie noticed that her fianc avoided his mother as much as he could. When forced to be in her company, he would turn his face away from her and clench his teeth. It was time for Warren to move out. He called Chuck Peterson, saying Chas-o, I havent got a place for us to live, and Chas-o rented him a tiny apartment a couple of miles from downtown. When Warren gave Susie, who had a strong sense of self-expression, an allowance of $1,500 to furnish their first apartment, she and her future sister-in-law Doris took off for Chicago to shop for furniture in the colorful modern style she liked.15 As the wedding date, April 19, 1952, approached, the question arose whether the ceremony would take place at all. The week before, the Missouri River flooded upstream of Omaha. With the waters heading south, officials predicted they would crest above the riverbank and flood the city during the weekend. This made it likely that the National Guard would be called out. The whole town turned out with sandbags. I had all these buddies coming in for the weddingFred Stanback was going to be best man, and various ushers and guests. They were all kidding me because I was in the National Guard. They said, Well, dont worry about it, because well substitute for you on the honeymoon. Jokes like that. This was going on all week. A few days beforehand, Howard drove Warren and Fred down to the river. Thousands of volunteers were building double walls of sandbags, six feet high and four feet deep. The earth sank under the wheels of the huge trucks hauling sand and dirt, as if they were driving over rubber.16 Warren held his breath, hoping that he would not be called for duty to sandbag and that the temporary levee would hold. Saturday came, and we were getting married about three in the afternoon. Around noon, the phone rang. My mother said, Its for you. I picked up the phone. The guy at the other end said, C-C-C-Corporal Buffett? I had a commanding officer who had a really distinctive stutter. This is C-C-C-Captain Murphy, he said. If he hadnt stuttered, Id have said something thatd probably have gotten me court-martialed, because I would have thought it was the guys pulling a trick on me. But as it was, he said, Weve been activated. What time c-c-c-can you show up at the Armory? Warren almost had a heart attack.17 And I said, Well, Im getting married at three oclock. I said, I could probably be there by five. He said, Report for d-d-d-duty. Were going to be p-p-p-patrolling East Omaha d-d-down by the river. I said, Yes, sir. I got off the phone totally depressed. Then I get a call an hour later. And this guy had a perfectly normal voice. He says, Corporal Buffett? I said, Yes, sir. He said, This is General Wood.18 That was the commanding general of the Thirty-fourth Division, who lived way out in west Nebraska. General Wood said, Im countermanding Captain Murphys order. Have a good time. He had two hours left before the biggest event of his life. Warren showed up at the soaring Gothic sanctuary of Dundee Presbyterian Church well before three oclock. The wedding of a Congressmans son and Doc Thompsons daughter was a major event in Omaha. Several hundred guests, including many of Omahas top-drawer people, were expected.19 Doc Thompson was so proud, he was popping buttons all over the place. I was so nervous that I just figuredwell, I didnt wear my glasses so that I wouldnt be able to see all those people out there. Warren also asked the normally reserved Stanback to distract him by talking so he wouldnt have to focus on what was happening.20 Bertie stood up for Susie as maid of honor, Susies sister Dottie as matron of honor. After the photographs, the guests drank nonalcoholic punch and ate wedding cake downstairs in the linoleum-floored church basement. That was the normal thing to do; the Thompsons and the Buffetts werent club people. Susie smiled wide as an ivory fan. Warren glowed, incandescent, and wrapped his arm around her waist as if trying to keep them both from sailing off into the air. After more photographs, they changed into their going-away clothes and ran through the crowd of cheering guests to duck into Alice Buffetts car, which she had lent them for the honeymoon. Warren had already loaded the backseat with Moodys Manuals and ledgers. All of a sudden, Susie saw the writing on the wall.21 And from Omaha, the newlyweds set off on their honeymoona cross-country automobile trip. On my wedding night, I had chicken fried steak at the Wigwam Caf in Wahoo, Nebraska, Buffett says.22 The Wigwam was a tiny hole-in-the-wall less than an hour from Omaha, with a few booths and cowboy decor. From there, Warren and Susie drove thirty miles to the Cornhusker Hotel in Lincoln to spend the night, and thats all Ill say on that subject, Buffett says. The next day I bought a copy of the Omaha World-Herald and it had run an article that said, Only love can stop the Guard. 23 The 1952 flood was the worst in modern times in Omaha, the effort spent to avert it Herculean. The other guys were sandbagging for days, patrolling in the flood, with the snakes and rats. I was the only guy that didnt get called out. The newlyweds traveled all over the western and southwestern United States. Warren had never been there, but Susie knew the West Coast well. They visited her family, took in the sights, went to the Grand Canyon, and had a wonderful time. We did not stop to visit companies and look at investments, as has been reported, Buffett insists. On the way back they stopped in Las Vegas, which was full of ex-Omaha people. The layoff bookies Eddie Barrick and Sam Ziegman had moved there shortly before and bought into the Flamingo Hotel.24 They were soon followed by another associate, Jackie Gaughan, who had invested in casinos from the Flamingo to the Barbary Coast. All these characters had shopped at the Buffett grocery store, and Fred Buffett got along well with them, even though he wasnt a gambler. For Warren, Vegas felt almost homey, carrying echoes of the racetrack and full of people who knew his family. So he was not afraid of the house. Susie won a jackpot on the slot machine. She was only nineteen. They wouldnt pay her because she was underage. I said, Lookit, you took her nickels. And they paid her. After Vegas, the Buffetts headed back to Omaha. Warren could not stop chortling over his luckless colleagues in the Guard. Oh, the honeymoon was great. It was great. Three weeks. And all the time, these guys in the Guard were sloshing it up. PART THREE The Racetrack 20 Graham-Newman Omaha and New York City 19521955 A few months after the wedding, Susie went to Chicago with her parents and new in-laws for the Republican convention in July of 1952. The Thompsons and the Buffetts descended on Chicago, not as delegates but as part of an army. Politically speaking at least, they were now one united family, and this election year they were on a crusade to reclaim the White House for the Republicans after twenty agonizing years under the Democrats.1 Doris would be working behind the scenes alongside her father, while the much younger Bertie and Susie, innocents at the spectacle, spent their time gawking at celebrities like John Wayne, who had shown up for the Grand Old Party.2 Warren, of course, stayed in Omaha, grinding away. Politics fascinated him, but not like money. He still hated working as a prescriptionist, and kept toiling at it while trying to find a way out. His old teacher David Dodd tried to help him by referring him to the Value Line Investment Survey, an investment adviser and research publisher, which was looking for new men. The job would have paid wellat least $7,000 a year.3 But Warren did not plan to be an anonymous researcher. So he carried on trying to sell GEICO to uninterested clients while reading the convention news that was being reported under inch-high headlines in the newspapers. For the first time in history, a convention was also being covered on television, and Warren watched eagerly, struck by the power of this medium to magnify and influence events. The front-runner going into the convention was Senator Robert Taft of Ohio.4 Known as Mr. Integrity, Taft headed a minority wing of the Republican Partycentered around isolationist Midwesternersthat wanted the government to be small, to stay out of everybodys business, and above all to go after Communism more aggressively than Truman had done.5 Taft made his friend Howard Buffett head of his Nebraska presidential campaign and also head of his speakers bureau. To oppose Taft, the so-called Eastern Liberal Establishment6 that Howard so despised had drafted retired General Dwight D. Eisenhowera moderate who had served as the Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Europe during World War II and was the first Supreme Commander of NATO forces. Eisenhower, a politically adroit diplomat with excellent leadership skills, was a popular figure viewed by many as a war hero. As the convention approached, Ike began to catch up in the polls. What would prove to be the most controversial Republican convention in history unfolded in Chicago as Eisenhower backers pushed through an amendment to the convention rules, passed on a contentious vote, that handed him the delegates to win the nomination on the first ballot. Tafts outraged supporters felt robbed. But Eisenhower soon made peace with them by promising to combat creeping socialism, and Taft insisted that his followers swallow their outrage and vote for Eisenhower for the sake of regaining the White House. The Republicans united behind him and his running mate, Richard Nixon; I Like Ike buttons sprouted everywhere.7 Everywhere, that is, except on Howard Buffetts chest. He broke with the party by refusing to endorse Eisenhower.8 This was an act of political suicide. His support within the party evaporated overnight. He was left standing on principlealone. Warren recognized that his father had painted himself into a corner.9 From his earliest childhood, Warren had always tried to avoid broken promises, burned bridges, and confrontation. Now Howards struggles branded three principles even deeper into his son: that allies are essential; that commitments are so sacred that by nature they should be rare; and that grandstanding rarely gets anything done. Eisenhower defeated Adlai Stevenson in the November election, and in January Warrens parents dragged themselves back to Washington to finish out the rest of Howards lame-duck term. Warren, who had for some time recognized obsessive qualities in Howard and Leila that disadvantaged them in various ways, had begun to absorb something of his in-laws style. Dorothy Thompson was easygoing, and her husband, though autocratic, was more personable and astute at human relations than the rigorously idealistic Howard Buffett. The more time he spent with Susie and her family, the more they influenced him. Warren, said Doc Thompson, who handed down advice with the authority of the Sermon on the Mount, always surround yourself with women. Theyre more loyal and they work harder.10 His son-in-law hardly needed to be told that. Indeed, Warren had always craved being taken care of by women, as long as they didnt try to order him around. Susie could see that he was eager for her to assume a motherly role. So she wrapped herself around her husband as she worked on fixing him, the wreck, the mess. Oh, my God, she said, he was a case.11 When they met, she recalled, I had never seen anyone in so much pain. Warren may not have been aware of the depths or dimensions of his pain, but describes the powerful role she played in his life. Susie was as big an influence on me as my dad, or bigger probably, in a different way. I had all these defense mechanisms that she could explain, but I cant. She probably saw things in me that other people couldnt see. But she knew it would take time and a lot of nourishment to bring it out. She made me feel that I had somebody with a little sprinkling can who was going to make sure that the flowers grew. Susie recognized Warrens vulnerability, how much he needed to be soothed and comforted and reassured. More and more, she could see the effect his mother had had on her children. Doris was the more badly damaged, but Leila had convinced both Warren and Doris that deep down they were worthless. In every area of life except business, Susie was discovering, her husband was riddled with self-doubt. He had never felt loved, and she saw that he did not feel lovable.12 I needed her like crazy, he says. I was happy in my work, but I wasnt happy with myself. She literally saved my life. She resurrected me.13 She put me together. It was the same kind of unconditional love you would get from a parent. Warren wanted a lot of things from his wife that you would ordinarily get from a parent. Not only that, he had grown up with a mother who did everything for him. Now Susie took over. Although their basic model of wedded life was typical of the timehe made the money, she took care of him and covered the domestic fronttheir arrangement was extreme. Everything in the Buffett household revolved around Warren and his business. Susie understood her husband was special; she willingly became the cocoon for his embryonic ambitions. He spent his days working and his nights hunched over the Moodys Manual. He also arranged his schedule to give himself leisure time to play golf and Ping-Pong, even signing up as a junior member of the Omaha Country Club. Susie, barely twenty years old, was no Betty Crocker, but she had taken up rudimentary cooking and basic housekeeping like any 1950s wifeat a time when Omaha women were auditioning to appear on the show Typical Housewife on local television station KTMV. She devoted herself to fulfilling her husbands few but specific requirements: Pepsi in the refrigerator, a lightbulb in his reading lamp, some indifferently cooked version of meat and potatoes for dinner, a shaker full of salt, popcorn in the cupboard, ice cream in the freezer. He also needed help getting dressed, assistance in dealing with people, tenderness, head rubs, cuddling, and hugs. She even cut his hair, because he claimed he was afraid to go to the barber.14 Warren was nuts about Susie, and she felt things that were inside him, he says. He describes her role as the giver, his as the receiver. She was absorbing more about me and sensing much more about me than I was sensing about her. They were always seen kissing and cuddling, Susie often in Warrens lap; she frequently said this reminded her of her father. Six months after the wedding, Susie was pregnant and had dropped out of the University of Omaha. Her sister, Dottie, was pregnant, too, with her second baby. She and Susie had remained particularly close. A dark-haired beauty, Dottie resembled her father in intelligence, and, according to family lore, she had possessed the highest IQ in the school when she attended Central High. But in both looks and domesticity, she was more like her mother.15 She had married Homer Rogers, a pilot and war hero with a big baritone voice whom everybody called Buck Rogers, although he was modest about his war exploits. Homer was a convivial, energetic cattleman, as beefy as the oversize steers he bought and sold. The Rogerses always had a crowd at their house, Dottie playing piano while Homer sang something like Katie, Katie, get off the table, the moneys for the beer. Susie and Warren did not take part in the Rogerses active social life, since they tended to be more serious-minded and they did not drink, but the sisters spent a lot of time together on their own. Dottie had always had difficulty making decisions, and since having her first son, Billy, she seemed dazed at the demands of motherhood. Susie, naturally, took charge and helped her. Susie had also become close to her sister-in-law Doris, who was working in Omaha as a schoolteacher now that she was married. Her husband, Truman Wood, was a handsome man with a pleasant personality who came from a prominent Omaha family, but Doris was starting to wonder if she was a racing filly hitched to a Clydesdale. A girl of action, Doris told Truman to giddyup. He ambled along a little faster, but not much. Susies protectiveness toward Warren and his sister ticked up a notch in January 1953 after Eisenhower was sworn in, when Howards final congressional term ended and he and Leila returned to Nebraska for good. Doris and Warren felt the strain of having Leila back in town. Warren could hardly bear to be in the same room with his mother, and she still turned on Doris periodically. Howard was at loose ends back in Omaha. Warren set up a partnership, Buffett & Buffett, that formalized the way they had occasionally bought stocks together. Howard contributed some capital, and Warrens contribution was a token amount of money, but mostly ideas and labor. But Howard looked at going back into the stockbroking business for the third time with dismay. Warren had been tending his old accounts while he served in Congress, but Howard knew that Warren hated it, had never stopped trying to get Ben Graham to hire him, and would leave in an instant if he could go to New York. For his part, Howard missed his true love, politics. He harbored a desire to enter the Senate, especially now that there was a Republican in the White House. Yet his ambitions conflicted with his extreme political views. On July 30, 1953Alice Buffetts birthdaySusie and Warrens first child, a daughter, was born. They named her Susan Alice and called her Little Susie, sometimes Little Sooz. And Susie became a passionate, playful, and devoted mother. Little Susie was Howard and Leilas first grandchild. A week later, Susies sister, Dottie, gave birth to her second son, Tommy. Within months, Doris became pregnant with her first child, a daughter, Robin Wood. By the spring of 1954, Susie was pregnant with her second child. Now the Buffetts and Thompsons had a new focusgrandchildren. *** A few months later, a moment came when it looked as though Howards time might have arrived. On the morning of July 1, 1954, news came from Washington that Nebraskas senior Senator, Hugh Butler, had been rushed to the hospital with a stroke and was not expected to live. The deadline for entering the primary election that would fill his Senate seat was that very night. Howards sense of propriety was such that he refused to file the papers to run until Butler had actually died, so the Buffetts waited anxiously all day for news. They knew that Howards name recognition in Douglas County meant that if he ran in a special election without having to go through the party nominating process, even though the party bigwigs were disenchanted with him, the odds were excellent that he could win. Word of Butlers death came in the early evening, after Secretary of State Frank Marshs office had closed at its usual five p.m. Howard threw his candidacy filing in the car and he and Leila drove to Lincoln, assuming that they had plenty of time because the deadline was midnight. They tried to file the papers at Marshs home, but he refused them, even though Howard had paid the filing fee earlier in the day. Infuriated, they returned to Omaha. The state Republican convention was in session at the time, and on the news of Butlers death, delegates on the floor elected a temporary successor to serve out his term.16 Anyone serving would more or less automatically be elected to Butlers job in November. As the ranking Republican in the state, Howard was an obvious choice. But he was seen as a zealot, as a guy who tilted at windmills, unyielding on trivial ethical matters and disloyal to his own party for not supporting Eisenhower. Instead, the convention elected Roman Hruska, the well-liked Congressman who had taken Howards seat when he retired. Howard and Leila sped back to Lincoln and quickly filed suit with the State Supreme Court to force the party to accept his nomination. But twenty-four hours later, they gave up the futile fight and dropped the lawsuit. Warren was furious when he heard the news about Hruska. They slit Daddys throat from ear to ear, he said. How dare the party repay Howards decades of loyalty this way? At fifty-one years of age, Howard had just seen his future disappear. As his anger ebbed, his depression grew. Until now, a retired senior party politician like him would have had a role to play, but he had been shut out of the arena that was the center of his life, that made him feel useful in the world. He tried to get a teaching position at the University of Omaha, which the family felt was reasonable given his business experience and tenure as a Congressman. But Howard was considered such an oddball locally that the school would not hire him, even though his own son taught there and Doc Thompson was dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. He ended up going back to work at Buffett-Falk. Eventually, he found a part-time teaching job as a lecturer at Midland Lutheran College, thirty miles from Omaha.17 The family harbored bitter feelings toward the local establishment, which it felt had essentially run Howard out of town. Leila dissolved in a pool of misery. Through the reflected glory it bestowed on her, Howards position in the world may have meant even more to her than it did to him. Her sister Edie was now living in Brazil, Bertie lived in Chicago, and her relationships with Doris and Warren were unsettled at best, so she had only twentytwo-year-old Susie to lean on. But Susie was a busy, pregnant young mother, who had her hands full caring for Warren as well. And soon, Susie would no longer be in Omaha. For two years, Warren had kept corresponding with Ben Graham. He suggested stock ideas like Greif Bros. Cooperage, a company he and his father had bought for their partnership. He traveled to New York periodically and dropped in on Graham-Newman. I would always try to see Mr. Graham. Surely it wasnt typical for former students to hang about at Graham-Newman. No, well, I was persistent. By the time the local Republican Party slammed the door to the Senate nomination in his fathers face, Warren was already on his way to New York. Ben wrote and said, Come on back. His partner, Jerry Newman, explained it by saying, You know, we just checked you out a little further. I felt Id struck the mother lode. Whether he would accept the position was never in question. And this time, the National Guard said yes. Warren was so excited about being hired that he arrived in New York on August 1, 1954, and showed up at his new job at Graham-Newman on August 2, a month before his official starting date. There, he discovered that a week earlier, tragedy had struck Ben Graham. Four weeks shy of his own twenty-fourth birthday, Warren wrote his father: Ben Grahams son Newton (26) who was in the Army in France committed suicide last week. He had always been a little unbalanced. However Graham didnt know it had been a suicide til he read it in the New York Times on an Army release, which of course is really tough.18 When he went to France to collect his sons remains, Ben met Newtons girlfriend, Marie Louise Amingues, known as Malou, who was several years older than Newton. He returned a few weeks later but was never quite the same afterward. He also began to correspond with Malou and made periodic visits back to France. But in those days Warren knew nothing of his idols personal life. Instead, he had to attend to his own, for one of his first tasks was to find his family a place to live. Susie and Little Susie had remained in Omaha during his first month in New York City. I tried to live at Peter Cooper Village first, one of two big projects built by Metropolitan Life immediately after World War Two. My friend Fred Kuhlken from Columbia lived in Peter Cooper. Walter Schloss lived in Peter Cooper. Everybody wanted to get into Peter Cooper. Under some kind of special section of the law, it was really reasonable, seventy or eighty bucks a month, and very nice. I applied before I went and got a postcard about two years later saying Id been accepted. If I had been accepted earlier I would have lived in the city. Instead, Warren searched far and wide for a cheap apartment. Discounting the impersonal location and long commute, he finally settled on a three-bedroom apartment in a white-brick building in the middle-class suburb of White Plains, about thirty miles away in Westchester County, New York. When Susie and Little Susie arrived a few weeks later, the apartment was still not ready, so the family moved into a room in a house in Westchester that was so cramped they had to devise a makeshift crib from a dresser drawer. The Buffetts stayed there only a day or two. But such were the tales that would later be told about Warrens frugal habits that this story grew arms and legs and scuttled into the legend that he was too cheap to buy Little Susie a crib, and she therefore slept in a drawer throughout much of her White Plains infancy.19 As the pregnant Susie unpacked and arranged her new household while taking care of their baby and getting to know the neighbors, Warren rose every morning and took the New York Central train to Grand Central. In that first month, he had parked himself in the file room at Graham-Newman and, eager to know everything about how the company worked, begun to read through every single piece of paper in every single drawer in an entire room filled with big wooden files. Only eight people worked there: Ben Graham; Jerry Newman; his son Mickey Newman; Bernie Warner, who was the treasurer; Walter Schloss; two women secretaries; and now Warren. The thin gray laboratory-style jacket Warren had coveted was at last his. It was a big moment when they gave me my jacket. We all wore them. Ben wore it, Jerry Newman wore it. We were all equal in our jackets. Well, not quite. Warren and Walter sat at desks in a windowless room that contained the ticker machine, the direct lines to the brokerage houses, some reference books and files. Walter sat next to the direct lines and made most of the calls to brokers. Ben, Mickey Newman, or, most commonly, Jerry Newman appeared periodically from their private offices to check a quote on the ticker machine. We would look up stuff and read. We would go through Standard & Poors or a Moodys Manual and look at companies selling below working capital. There were a lot then, recalls Schloss. These companies were what Graham called cigar butts: cheap and unloved stocks that had been cast aside like the sticky, mashed stub of a stogie one might find on the sidewalk. Graham specialized in spotting these unappetizing remnants that everyone else overlooked. He coaxed them alight and sucked out one last free puff. Graham knew that a certain number of cigar butts would turn out foul, and thought it futile to spend time examining any individual cigar butts quality. The law of averages said most of them were good for a puff. He was always thinking in terms of how much companies would be worth deadwhat their assets would be worth if liquidated. Buying at a discount to that value was his margin of safetyhis backstop against the percentage that presumably would go bankrupt. As a further backstop, he bought tiny positions in a huge number of stocksthe principle of diversification. Grahams idea of diversification was extreme; some of his positions were as small as $1,000. Warren, who had such confidence in his own judgment, saw no reason to hedge his bets this way and inwardly rolled his eyes at diversification. He and Walter collected numbers from the Moodys Manuals and filled out hundreds of the simple forms that Graham-Newman used to make decisions. Warren wanted to know all the basic information about every company. Once he had looked over the field, he narrowed it down to a handful of stocks worth even more careful study, then concentrated his money on what he considered the best bets. He was willing to put most of his eggs in one basket, as he had done with GEICO. By that time, however, he had sold his GEICO shares, because he never seemed to have enough money to invest. Every decision had an opportunity costhe had to compare each investing opportunity with the next best one. As much as he liked GEICO, he had made the wrenching decision to sell it after finding another stock that he coveted even more, called Western Insurance. This company was earning $29 a share, and its stock was selling for as little as three bucks. This was like finding a slot machine that would come up cherries every time you played. If you put in twenty-five cents and pulled the handle, the Western Insurance machine was virtually guaranteed to pay at least two bucks.20 Anyone sane would play that slot as long as she could stay awake. It was the cheapest stock with the highest margin of safety hed ever seen in his life. He bought as much of it as he could, and he cut his friends in on the deal.21 Warren was a bloodhound for anything free or cheap. With his prodigious ability to absorb numbers and to analyze them, he quickly became the fair-haired boy of Graham-Newman. It came so naturally to him; Ben Grahams cigar butts resembled his old hobby of stooping at the racetrack for cast-off winning tickets. He paid close attention to what was going on in the back where the partnersBen, Jerry, and Mickey worked. Ben Graham was on the board of Philadelphia and Reading Coal & Iron Company, and GrahamNewman controlled the company. Warren had discovered this stock on his own, and by the end of 1954 he had put $35,000 into it. His boss would have been appalled, but Warren was confidentand eavesdropped with fascination.22 Philadelphia and Readingwhich sold anthracite coal and owned the supposedly valuable culm banksactually wasnt worth much as a business. Over time, it was going nowhere. But it was throwing off extra cash, which it could use to transform itself into a better business by buying another company. I was just a peon sitting in the outer office. A guy named Jack Goldfarb came in to the office to see Graham-Newman. He negotiated with them and they bought the Union Underwear Company from him for Philadelphia and Reading Coal and Iron, creating what became Philadelphia and Reading Corporation.23 That was the beginning of the companys transformation into something more diversified. I was not in the inner circle, but I was terribly interested, knowing something was going on. What Warren was learning about by keeping his ears open was the art of capital allocationplacing money where it would earn the highest return. In this case, Graham-Newman was using money from one business to buy a more profitable business. Over time, it could mean the difference between bankruptcy and success. Transactions like this made Warren feel that he was sitting on the windowsill looking in at high finance as it was taking place. Yet, as he soon found, Graham did not behave like anyone else on Wall Street. He was always mentally reciting poetry or quoting Virgil and was apt to lose packages on the subway. Like Warren, he was indifferent to how he looked. When someone observed, Thats an interesting pair of shoes, Graham looked down at the brown oxford on one foot and the black one on the other and said, without blinking, Yes, as a matter of fact, Ive got another pair just like them at home.24 Unlike Warren, however, he cared nothing about money for its own sake, nor was he interested in trading as a competitive game. To him, stockpicking was an intellectual exercise. One time, we were waiting for an elevator. We were going to eat in the cafeteria down at the bottom of the Chanin Building at Forty-second and Lex. And Ben said to me, Remember one thing, Warren: Money isnt making that much difference in how you and I live. Were both going down to the cafeteria for lunch and working every day and having a good time. So dont worry too much about money, because it wont make much difference in how you live. Warren was in awe of Ben Graham, but nonetheless he was preoccupied with money. He wanted to amass a lot of it, and saw it as a competitive game. If asked to give up some of his money, Warren responded like a dog fiercely guarding its bone, or even as though he had been attacked. His struggle to let go of the smallest amounts of money was so apparent that it was as if the money possessed him, rather than the other way around. Susie had learned this only too well. Even within their apartment building, Warren had quickly earned a reputation for tightfistedness and eccentricity. It was only after he was embarrassed by the state of his shirts at workfor Susie never ironed more than the collar, front placket, and cuffsthat he allowed her to send the shirts to a laundry.25 He made a deal with a local newsstand to buy week-old magazines at a discount as they were about to be thrown away. He had no car, and when he borrowed that of a neighbor, he never filled up the tank. (When he finally got a car, he washed it only when it was raining, so the rain could do the manual labor of rinsing.)26 For Warren, holding on to every penny this way, since he had sold that first pack of chewing gum, was one of the two things that had made him comparatively rich at age twenty-five. The other was collecting more cash. Since Columbia, he had started making money at an accelerating rate. Now, much of his time Warren spent in a reverie, statistics about businesses and their stock prices swirling in his head. When he wasnt studying something, he was teaching it. To keep his Dale Carnegie skills limber so he would not freeze in front of an audience, he got a gig teaching investing for the Scarsdale Adult School at the high school in a nearby suburb. Meanwhile, the Buffetts social set consisted of couples whose breadwinners were mainly interested in stocks. Now and then he and Susie were invited to a country club or to dinner parties with other young Wall Street couples. Bill Ruane had introduced him to several new acquaintances like Henry Brandt, a stockbroker who looked like a disheveled Jerry Lewis and had graduated at the top of his class from Harvard Business School, and his wife, Roxanne. Among the Wall Street set, Warren struck people as the hickiest person you ever saw, as one of them put it. But when he started holding forth about stocks, the others sat transfixed at his feet, like Jesus and the apostles, said Roxanne Brandt.27 The wives sat by themselves and had their own conversations, and there Susie stood out as much as her husband did among the men. Warren wove his financial spells, and Susie charmed the wives with her engaging simplicity. She wanted to know all about their children, or their plans to have children. She knew how to get people to open up to her. She would ask about some big life decision, then, with a soulful look, say, Any regrets? Out would come pouring the other persons most intimate feelings. Soon someone she had met half an hour before felt she had a new best friend, even though Susie never confided intimacies in return. People loved her for being so interested in them. But mostly Susie was on her own as she waited for their second child to be born, her days filled with laundry, shopping, cleaning, and cooking, as well as feeding, changing, and playing with Little Susie. All this felt right and normal to both of them. As Ricky Ricardo had said in the first season of I Love Lucy three years before, I want a wife whos just a wife.28 Lucys ambitions and her fruitless efforts to fulfill them made the show comical. So, as Susie fed Warren dinner, she supported him at his work as if it were a daily sacrament; she recognized the reverence he felt for Mr. Graham. But she also observed from a distance. Warren didnt share the details of his job, which in any case didnt interest her. She continued the patient work of bolstering his confidence, and of putting him together by showering him with affection and teaching him about people. One thing she was firm about at home was the importance of his bonding with their daughter. Warren was not the type to play peekaboo or take over the diaper changing, but he would sing to Little Susie every night. I sang Over the Rainbow all the time. It got to be hypnotic, almost like Pavlovs dogs. I dont know whether it was too boring or whatbut shed fall asleep as soon as I started. Id put her up on my shoulder, and, basically, she would just sort of melt in my arms. Having hit on a reliable system, Warren never messed with it. While singing, he could easily be off rummaging around in his mental files. So Over the Rainbow it was, night after night. On her own, housekeeping, raising a baby, and taking care of Warren in a sterile suburb of New York, Susie may have welcomed anybody who showed up at the door. One day in late 1954, a salesman for Parents magazine dropped by the apartment. Whatever the salesman told Susie, when Warren got home he concluded that the paperwork shed signed committed them to less favorable terms than she had thought. He was incensed that his wife had been misled. He called several times and talked to the magazines representatives, but they apparently said nothing doing when he asked for his money back. Warren mounted a crusade. He wanted more than his $17 back; he wanted to right an injustice, to bring the reprobate Parents magazine to its knees. He went around the apartment building and found a number of others willing to join the cause. He sued the magazine in small-claims court in Manhattan and looked forward to testifying on behalf of all the allegedly swindled subscribers of Parents magazine. He clicked his heels with glee at the thought of the magazines lawyers running their meter. There was a bit of his father in this episode, but with a pecuniary slant and better odds of winning, so that his mother would have approved. But to his chagrin, before the trial took place he got a check in the mail. Parents magazine had settled. The crusade was foiled. On December 15, 1954, Warren had come home from work because Susies labor was beginning, and then came a ring at the door. Susie answered it and found a door-to-door missionary who had come to call. She politely invited him to sit down in the living room. And she listened. So did Warren, who was thinking to himself that only Susie would have let the man inside. Warren began to encourage the conversation to wind down. Agnostic for a number of years, he had no interest in being converted, and his wife was in labor. They needed to get to the hospital. Susie continued listening. Tell me more, she said. Now and then she pulsed and moaned slightly as the missionary kept talking.29 She ignored Warrens signals, obviously feeling it more important to be polite to the visitor and make him feel understood than to get to the hospital. The caller seemed oblivious to the fact that she was in labor. Warren sat there, helpless and increasingly agitated, until the preacher ran out of steam. I wanted to kill the guy, he says. But they made it to the hospital in ample time, and Howard Graham Buffett arrived early the next morning. 21 The Side to Play New York City 19541956 Howie was a difficult baby. Whereas Little Sooz had been quiet and placid, Howie was like an alarm clock you couldnt turn off. His parents kept waiting for the clamor to lessen, but it only increased. The apartment suddenly seemed full and noisy all the time. He had some kind of digestive problem. We experimented with all these different kinds of milk bottles. I dont know whether he was getting air in or not, but he was up all the time. Compared to Little Sooz, Howie was a trial. It was Big Susie who jumped to the sound of the alarm clock. Since Warren had grown up between a speechifying father and a mother who alternated grotesque rages with pitter-patter chatter, perhaps it was not surprising that he had learned to shut his ears to what was going on around him. Not even Howies howling nights distracted him much. In his little office in the apartments third bedroom, he could lose himself for hours in his thoughts. At work he had become absorbed in a complicated new project that would become a seminal event in his career. Shortly after Warren joined Graham-Newman, the price of cocoa suddenly spiked from a nickel to more than fifty cents a pound. Over in Brooklyn, Rockwood & Co., a chocolate maker of limited profitability,1 faced a dilemma. Its number one product was Rockwood chocolate bits, the kind of nuggets used in chocolate chip cookies, and the company couldnt raise its prices much on this grocery item, so it began running a huge loss. However, with cocoa-bean prices so high, Rockwood also had a chance to unload the cocoa beans it already owned to reap a windfall profit. Unfortunately, the ensuing tax bill would eat up more than half those profits.2 Rockwoods owners approached Graham-Newman as a possible buyer of the company, but GrahamNewman wouldnt pay the asking price. So they turned instead to the investor Jay Pritzker, who had spotted a way to avoid the huge tax bill.3 What he realized was that the 1954 U.S. Tax Code said that if a company was reducing the scope of its business, it could pay no tax on such a partial liquidation of its inventory. So Pritzker bought enough stock to take control of Rockwood, choosing to keep the company going as a maker of chocolate bits, and to get out of the cocoa-butter business. He attributed thirteen million pounds of cocoa beans to the cocoa-butter side of the business, the amount of beans that would be liquidated. Rather than sell the beans for cash, however, Pritzker offered them to the other shareholders in exchange for stock. He did so because he wanted their shares to increase his ownership of the company. So he offered them a good deal as an incentive$36 worth of beans4 for shares that were trading at $34.5 Graham spotted a way to make money from this offerGraham-Newman could buy Rockwood stock and swap it to Pritzker for cocoa beans it could sell to make a $2 profit on every share. This was arbitrage: two nearly identical things trading at a different price, which enabled a canny trader to simultaneously buy one and sell the other and profit on the difference, with virtually no risk. In Wall Street the old proverb has been reworded, as Buffett wrote later. Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to arbitrage and you feed him forever.6 P ritzker would give Graham-Newman a warehouse certificate, which is just what it sounds like: a piece of paper that says the holder owns so many cocoa beans. It could be traded like a stock. By selling the warehouse certificate, Graham-Newman would make its money. $34 (G-Ns cost for a share of Rockwoodwhich it turns in to Pritzker) $36 (Pritzker gives G-N a warehouse receiptwhich it sells at this price) $ 2 (Profit on each share of Rockwood stock) Virtually no risk, however, means there is at least some risk. What if the price of cocoa beans dropped, and the warehouse receipt was suddenly worth only $30? Instead of making two dollars, Graham-Newman would lose four bucks for every share of stock. To lock in its profit and eliminate that risk, Graham-Newman sold cocoa futures. It was a good thing, toofor cocoa prices were about to drop. The futures market lets buyers and sellers agree to exchange commodities like cocoa or gold or bananas in the future at a price agreed upon today. In exchange for a small fee, Graham-Newman could arrange to sell its cocoa beans at a known price for a specified period of time, thus eliminating the risk that the market price would drop. The person on the other side of the tradewho was acquiring the risk that the price would dropwas speculating.7 If cocoa beans got cheaper, Graham-Newman was protected, because the speculator would have to buy Graham-Newmans cocoa beans for more than they were worth.8 The speculators role, from Graham-Newmans perspective, was to sell what amounted to insurance against the risk of the price dropping. At the time, of course, neither knew which way cocoa prices would move. Thus, the goal of the arbitrage was to buy as many Rockwood shares as possible while at the same time selling an equivalent amount of futures. Graham-Newman assigned Warren to the Rockwood deal. He was made for it; he had been arbitraging stocks for several years, buying convertible preferred stock and shorting common stock issued by the same company.9 He had studied arbitrage returns over the preceding thirty years in detail and had discovered that these riskless deals typically returned twenty cents for every dollar investeda lot more than the seven or eight cents profit from the average stock. For several weeks, Warren spent his days shuttling back and forth to Brooklyn on the subway, exchanging stock for warehouse certificates at Schroder Trust. He spent his evenings studying the situation, sunk in thought while singing Over the Rainbow to Little Sooz and shutting out the screams as Big Susie struggled to give Howie a bottle. On the surface, Rockwood was a simple transaction for Graham-Newman: Its only cost was subway tokens, thought, and time. But Warren recognized the potential for even more financial fireworks than GrahamNewman had.10 Unlike Ben Graham, he did not do the arbitrage. Thus he did not need to sell cocoa futures either. Instead, he bought 222 shares of Rockwood stock for himself and simply kept it. Warren had thought through Pritzkers offer carefully. When he divided all the beans Rockwood ownednot just the beans attributed to the cocoa-butter businessby the number of Rockwood shares, it amounted to more than the eighty pounds per share that Pritzker was offering. So people who did not turn in their shares would end up with stock worth more cocoa beans per share. Not only thatall the extra beans left on the table by those who did turn in their stock would bump the number of beans per share even more. Those who kept their stock would also profit because they wound up with a share of the companys plant, its equipment, money due from customers, and the rest of the Rockwood business that was not being shut down. Warren had inverted the situation, thinking about it from Pritzkers point of view. If Jay Pritzker was buying, he wondered, why did it make sense to sell? And after doing the math, he could see that it didnt make sense. The side to play on was Jay Pritzkers. Warren had looked at the stock as a little slice of the business. With fewer shares outstanding, his slice was worth more. He was taking more risk than had he simply done the arbitragebut he was also making a calculated bet with odds heavily in his favor. The $2 profit from the arbitrage was easy to earn, however, and riskless. When the price of cocoa beans dropped, the futures contracts protected Graham-Newman. They, and a significant percentage of other shareholders, accepted Pritzkers offer and left a lot of cocoa beans on the table. Hanging on to the stock, however, turned out to be a brilliant call. Those who played the arbitrage, like Graham-Newman, made their $2 a share. But Rockwood stock, which had traded for $15 before Pritzkers offer, shot up to $85 after it was over. So instead of making $444 from his 222 shares, as he would have from the arbitrage, Warrens calculated bet earned him an extraordinary sumaround $13,000.11 In the process, he had also made a point of getting to know Jay Pritzker. He figured anybody smart enough to have figured out that deal was going to do more smart things later. He went to a shareholders meeting and asked some questions, and that was his introduction to Pritzker.12 Warren was then twenty-five, Pritzker thirty-two. Even working with a relatively small amount of capitalless than $100,000Warren saw that by using this kind of thinking he could open up a world of possibilities for himself. His only constraints were the money, energy, and time he had available. It was lumberjack labor, but he loved doing it. This was nothing like the way most people invested: sitting in an office and reading reports that described research performed by other people. Warren was a detective, and he naturally did his own research, just as he had collected bottle caps and thought about fingerprinting nuns. To do his detective work he used the Moodys ManualsIndustrial, Banks and Finance, and Public Utility. Often he went down in person to Moodys or Standard & Poors. I was the only one who ever showed up at those places. They never even asked if I was a customer. I would get these files that dated back forty or fifty years. They didnt have copy machines, so Id sit there and scribble all these little notes, this figure and that figure. They had a library, but you couldnt select from it yourself. You had to request things. So I would name all these companiesJersey Mortgage, Bankers Commercial, all these things that nobodyd ever requested, ever. Theyd bring them out, and Id sit there taking notes. If you wanted to look at SEC documents, as I often did, I went down to the SEC. That was the only way to get them. Then, if the company was nearby, I might very well go see the management. I didnt make appointments ahead of time. But I got a lot done. One of his favorite sources was the Pink Sheets, a weekly printed on pink paper, which gave information about the stocks of companies so small that they were not traded on a stock exchange. Another was the National Quotation book, which came out only every six months and described stocks of companies so minuscule that they never even made it into the Pink Sheets. No company was too small, no detail too obscure, to pass through his sieve. I would pore through volumes of businesses and Id find one or two that I could put ten or fifteen thousand dollars into that were just ridiculously cheap. Warren was not proud; he also felt honored to borrow ideas from Graham, Pritzker, or any useful source. He called that riding coattails and did not care whether the idea was glamorous or mundane. One day he followed up on a lead of Grahams, the Union Street Railway.13 This was a bus company in New Bedford, Massachusetts, selling at a big discount to its net assets. It had a hundred sixteen buses and a little amusement park at one time. I started buying the stock because they had eight hundred thousand dollars in treasury bonds, a couple of hundred thousand in cash, and outstanding bus tickets of ninety-six thousand dollars. Call it a million dollars, about sixty bucks a share. When I started buying it, the stock was selling around thirty or thirty-five bucks a share. The whole company was selling for half the value of its cash in the bank. Buying the stock was playing a fifty-cent slot machine that was virtually guaranteed to pay off a buck. Under the circumstances, the company was, naturally, trying to buy its own stock, running an ad in the local New Bedford paper inviting shareholders to sell it to them. Warren, facing competition, began running his own ad: Write to Warren Buffett at such-and-such address if you want to sell your stock. Then, because it was a regulated utility, I got the list from the public-utility commission in Massachusetts that showed the largest shareholders. And I worked that to find more stock. And I wanted to see Mark Duff, who ran the company. Visiting management was part of Warrens way of doing business. He used those meetings to learn as much as he could about a company. Getting personal access to management played to his ability to charm and impress powerful people with his knowledge and wit. And he also felt that by becoming friendly with the management of a company, he might be able to influence the company to do the right thing. Graham, on the other hand, did not visit managements, much less try to influence them. He called this self-help and thought it was cheating to get the inside dope, even though it was legal. He felt that by definition being an investor meant being an outsider, someone who confronted managements rather than rubbing shoulders with them. Graham wanted to be on a level playing field with the little guy, using only information that was available to everyone.14 Following his own instincts, however, Warren decided to visit the Union Street Railway on a weekend. I got up at about four a.m. and drove up to New Bedford. Mark Duff was very nice, polite. Just as I was about ready to leave, he said, By the way, weve been thinking of having a return of capital distribution to shareholders. That meant they were going to give back the extra money. And I said, Oh, thats nice. And then he said, Yes, and theres a provision you may not be aware of in the Massachusetts statutes on public utilities that you have to do it in multiples of the par value of the stock. The stock had a $25 par value, so that meant it would be paying out at least $25 per share.*17 And I said, Well. Thats a good start. Then he said, Bear in mind, were thinking of using two units. That meant they were going to declare a fifty-dollar dividend on a stock that was selling at thirty-five or forty dollars at that time. So if you bought a share you got all your money back right away, and then some. And afterward, you still owned the slice of the business represented by your share of stock. I got fifty bucks a share, and I still owned stock in the place. And there was still value in it. The bus companies hid assets in these so-called special reserves and land and buildings and car barns where they kept the old streetcars. And Ill never know whether my trip up there precipitated that or not. The conflict-wary Buffett by now had honed to a fine edge the skill of getting his way without asking for it out loud. Thus, while he thought he might have influenced Duff, he could not be certain what had prompted Duffs decision. What mattered to him was that he got the result he wanted without a fight. He had made about $20,000 on this trade. Who knew there was so much money in buses?15 Nobody in the history of the Buffett family had ever made $20,000 on one idea. In 1955, that was several times more than the average person earned for a whole years work. Doubling your money and then some for a few weeks work was spectacular. And yet, what was more important to him was doing it without taking any significant risk. *** Susie and Warren did not talk about the details of cocoa-bean arbitrage and bus-company stocks. She wasnt interested in money, except as something to be spent. And what she knew was that even though waves of money were rolling in to the little apartment in White Plains, Warren gave her only a small household allowance. She hadnt grown up keeping track of every tiny expense, so being married to a man who saved money by making deals with newsstands to buy week-old magazines meant a whole new way of life. She did her best to manage the household herself, but the disparity between what Warren was making and what he gave his wife had become stunning. One day she telephoned her neighbor Madeline OSullivan in a panic. Madeline, something terrible has happened, she said. Youve got to come down here! Madeline rushed down to the Buffett apartment and found Susie distraught. She had accidentally thrown a batch of dividend checks that had been sitting on Warrens desk into the apartments incinerator chute, which led straight down to the buildings furnace.16 Maybe the incinerator isnt running, Madeline said, so they called the building superintendent, who let them into the basement. Sure enough, the incinerator was cold. They rooted through the garbage looking for the checks, with Susie all the while wringing her hands and saying, I cant face Warren. When they found the checks, Madelines eyes grew wide. They were for as much as thousands of dollars, not $25 or $10 as she had assumed.17 The Buffetts, living in the little apartment in White Plains, were getting truly rich. As Howie screamed and their money grew, Warren became slightly more accommodating with the checkbook. Despite his thriftiness, he was so enthralled with Susie that he ultimately gave her what she wanted. That June, they returned to Omaha for his sister Berties wedding to Charlie Snorf. By then, Warren had agreed that Susie could have some help with homemaking. So while they were in Omaha they started searching in a hurry for an au pair to return to White Plains with them. By advertising in the newspaper, they hired a young woman from a small town who seemed a very proper typebut wasnt. Warren threw her on a bus back to Omaha; Susie looked for a replacement, because she needed the helpraising Howie was more than a two-person joband she knew they could afford it. *** Warrens brilliant performance at Graham-Newman had made him the golden boy of the firm. Ben Graham took a personal interest in Warren, and in his warmly outgoing and beleaguered wife. Graham had given them a movie camera and projector as a baby gift when Howie was born, and even showed up at their apartment with a teddy bear for the little boy.18 On one or two occasions when he and his wife, Estey, had the Buffetts over for dinner, he noticed that Warren gazed googly-eyed at Susie, and that the two of them held hands a lot. But he could also see that Warren did not woo his wife, and that Susie might have liked the occasional romantic gesture.19 When Susie mentioned with longing that Warren did not dance, Graham dropped by Warrens desk with a gift certificate to the Arthur Murray dance studio in White Plains, where Graham clumped around the dance floor during his own lessons. Graham checked with the studio a little later and found that his protg had never used the gift certificate. He mentioned this to Warren and encouraged him to go ahead. Now on the hook, Warren stumbled through three lessons with Susie, then dropped out. He never did learn to dance.20 This didnt get in the way of his rapid ascent at Graham-Newman. Within eighteen months of his starting there, both Ben Graham and Jerry Newman seemed to be treating Warren as a potential partner, which meant a certain amount of family socializing. In mid-1955, even the dyspeptic Jerry Newman extended an invitation to the Buffetts to what they thought was to be a picnic at Meadowpond, the Newmans mansion in Lewisboro, New York. Susie arrived wearing something suitable for a hayride, only to find the other women in dresses and pearls. Though they felt like a couple of hillbillies, the faux pas did nothing to hurt Warrens golden boy status. Walter Schloss was not invited to events like these. He had been pigeonholed as a journeyman employee who would never rise to partnership. Jerry Newman, who rarely bothered to be kind to anyone, treated Schloss with more than his usual contempt, so Schloss, married with two young children, decided to strike out on his own. It took him a while to get up the nerve to tell Graham,21 but by the end of 1955 he had started his own investment partnership, funded with $100,000 raised from a group of partners whose names, as Buffett later put it, were straight from a roll call at Ellis Island.22 Buffett was certain that Schloss could apply Grahams methods successfully and admired him for having the guts to set up his own firm. Though he worried that Big Walter was starting out with so little capital that he would not be able to feed his family,23 Buffett put not a dime of his own money into Schlosss partnership, just as he had not invested in Graham-Newman. It would be unthinkable for Warren Buffett to let someone else invest his money. He did find someone to replace Schloss, however. Buffett had met Tom Knapp at a luncheon at Blythe and Company down on Wall Street.24 Ten years older than Warren, tall, handsome, dark-haired, blessed with a wicked sense of humor, Knapp had taken one of David Dodds night courses and gotten hooked; he changed his major from chemistry to business on the spot. Graham hired Knapp as the second gentile in the firm. I told Jerry Newman, Its the old storyyou hire one gentile, they take over the place, Buffett says. By the time Knapp was sitting at Walter Schlosss old desk next to Buffett, Warren had begun to be aware of the private side of Grahams life. Knapp himself got initiated when Graham invited him to watch a speech at the New School for Social Research, where, he says, he found himself seated at a table with six women. As Ben spoke, Knapp says, I became aware that each one of those women was in love with him. And they didnt seem to be jealous of each other, and they all seemed to know him very, very well.25 Indeed, by early 1956, Graham was bored by investing: his outside interestswomen, the classics, and fine artstugged at him so strongly that he had a foot out the door. One day when Knapp was out, the receptionist directed a gangly young man into the windowless lair where Warren was filling out forms. Looming over him was Ed Anderson, who explained that he was a chemist, like Knapp, not a professional investor. He worked at the Livermore Laboratory of the Atomic Energy Commission in California, but followed the market in his spare time. He had read The Intelligent Investor, with its copious examples of cheap stocks like Easy Washing Machine, and was wildly impressed. My God! he thought. That cant be true. How could you buy these companies for less money than they had cash in the bank?26 Intrigued, Anderson had been riding Grahams coattails. After buying a single share of Graham-Newman, he used its quarterly statements to figure out what Graham was doing, then bought those stocks. Graham never discouraged this; he liked other people to learn from and emulate him. Anderson had come in because he was thinking about buying another share of Graham-Newman, but he had noticed an oddity and he wanted to ask about it. Graham had loaded up on shares of American Telephone & Telegraph. It was the least Graham-like stock imaginableowned, studied, and followed by all, valued fairly, with as little potential as it had risk. Was something going on? he asked Warren. Warren thought for a second. It was impressive that this man with no business backgrounda chemisthad the perception to see that AT&T was out of pattern. Too many people thought that business was some sort of priesthood practiced only by those with special training. He said to Anderson, This might not be the best time to buy another share.27 They chatted a bit longer and then parted in a friendly way, intending to keep up the acquaintance. Warren was very glad that his friend Schloss had gone out on his own. From watching the firms trading patterns and keeping his ears open, he had already figured out that Graham was going to shut down his partnership. Ben Grahams career was coming to an end. He was sixty-two years old, and the market had surpassed the peak of 1929.28 Its priciness made him nervous. He had beaten the market by 2.5 percent for more than twenty years.29 He wanted to retire and move out to California to enjoy life. Jerry Newman was also retiring, but Jerrys son, Mickey, would stay on. In the spring of 1956 Graham gave notice to his partners. But first he offered Warren the opportunity to become a general partner in the firm. That he would choose someone of Warrens age and experience shows how valuable he had made himself in such a short time. Nevertheless: If I had stayed I would have been sort of the Ben Graham of it, and Mickey would have been the Jerry Newman of itbut Mickey would have been the senior partner by miles. It would have been called Newman-Buffett. Even though Warren was flattered, he had gone to Graham-Newman to work for Ben. It wasnt worth it to him to stay, not even to be thought of as Grahams intellectual heir. Moreover, all the while that he was carrying out the bus bell-ringer and the cocoa-bean caper he was thinking, I dont like living in New York. Im on the train back and forth all the time. Above all, he was not cut out to work with a partnerleast of all as someones junior partner. He turned the offer down. 22 Hidden Splendor Omaha 19561958 I had about $174,000, and I was going to retire. I rented a house at 5202 Underwood in Omaha for $175 a month. Wed live on $12,000 a year. My capital would grow. In retrospect, it would strike people as odd that at the age of twenty-six, Warren used the term retire. Maybe it was a way to downplay expectations. Or maybe it referred to his notion of capital as money that worked as a sort of servant to make you rich. The overseer of capital was not an employee. Mathematically speaking, Warren could theoretically retire on his own money and still reach his goal of being a millionaire by age thirty-five.*18 Since entering Columbia with $9,800, he had grown his money by more than sixty-one percent a year. But he was in a hurry, and it would require a very aggressive compounding rate to meet his goal.1 Therefore he had decided to start a partnership like Graham-Newmans sister hedge fund, Newman & Graham.2 It was possible that he did not think of this as having a job. In fact it was a near-perfect way of not having a job. He would have no boss, could invest from his house, and could put friends and relatives into the same stocks that he would have bought for himself. If he took a quarter of every dollar he earned for these partners as a fee and then reinvested that in the partnership, he could be a millionaire much faster. Armed with Ben Grahams method of buying stocks and a Graham-like hedge fund, he had every reason to think of himself as a rich man. There was only one problem with his idea. He couldnt tolerate it if his partners criticized him because the stocks went down. But Warren had figured out a solution. He planned to invite only his family and friends people he was sure trusted himinto the partnership. On May 1, 1956, he started Buffett Associates, Ltd., a partnership based on the Newman & Graham model,3 with seven partners. Doc Thompson invested $25,000. Doc Thompson was the kind of guy, he gave me every penny he had, basically. I was his boy. Warrens sister Doris, with her husband, Truman Wood, put in $10,000. His aunt Alice Buffett put in $35,000. I had sold securities to other people before that, but now I became a fiduciary, and for people who were enormously important to me. These were the people who believed in me. Theres no way in the world I would have taken my aunt Alices or my sisters or my father-in-laws money if I had thought that Id lose it. At that point I didnt think I could lose money over time. He already had a separate partnership with his father, and his sister Bertie and her husband had no money they could part with. So his Wharton roommate Chuck Peterson, who put in $5,000, became his fourth partner. Al Jolson aside, he knew all about Warrens brains and financial maturity from having been his roommate. Chuck had been one of the first to let Warren dispense him scrips as a prescriptionist, buying stocks from him before he went to New York City. I learned real fast how bright he is and how honest he is and how capable, he says. I would trust him until proven otherwise.4 Warrens fifth partner was Petersons mother, Elizabeth, who invested $25,000 of the money she had inherited when her husband died the year before. The sixth partner, Dan Monen, was a quiet, stocky, dark-haired young man who used to play with Warren as a child, digging up dandelions in Ernest Buffetts backyard. Now Warrens lawyer, he didnt have much money but put in what he could: $5,000. Warren was the seventh. He put in only $100. The rest of his share would come from future fees he earned by managing the partnership. In effect, I got my leverage from managing the partnership. I was brimming with ideas, but I was not brimming with capital. Actually, by most of the countrys standards, Warren was brimming with capital. But he viewed the partnership as a compounding machineonce money went into it, he did not intend to make withdrawals. So he needed to earn the $12,000 a year his family would live on from the rest of his funds. He invested that money separately. He devised a formula to charge his new partners. I got half the upside above a four percent threshold, and I took a quarter of the downside myself. So if I broke even, I lost money. And my obligation to pay back losses was not limited to my capital. It was unlimited.5 At the time, Warren was already managing money for Anne Gottschaldt and Catherine Elberfeld, the mother and aunt of Fred Kuhlken, a friend from Columbia. When Fred left for Europe the year before, he had asked Warren to look after part of his aunts and mothers money.6 Ever since, Warren had been investing it with utmost caution in government bonds under a different, more modest fee arrangement. He could have invited Gottschaldt and Elberfeld into the partnership, but he felt that it was unfair to charge them a higher fee than they were already paying. Of course, if the partnership was the sure thing he thought it was, that meant he was depriving them of a golden opportunity. If something went wrong with the investments, however, his aunt and his sister and Doc Thompson would never condemn him. He wasnt so sure about anybody else. Acting as a fiduciary meant to Warren that any responsibility he took on would be unlimited. To lay out the ground rules for his partners, he called the first official meeting of Buffett Associates on the very day he founded the partnership. Chuck got them a reservation for dinner at the Omaha Club, the best place in town if you wanted a private room. Warren meant to carefully define and limit his responsibilities; one responsibility he was not assuming was picking up the check for dinner. He told Chuck to pass the word that everyone was going dutch.7 He then used the dinner as an opportunity to talk not just about the partnerships ground rules, but about the stock market. Already he viewed the partnership as a teaching exercise. The partners quickly split into two camps: the teetotalers and the rest. From his end of the table, Doc Thompson suggested, in a paternal way, that the other faction was going to hell. It was Warren, however, who was the preacher that night; they were there for him to hold forth. I started with an agreement with the investors, which has not needed to be changed much as weve evolved. All kinds of good things have flowed out of that, you know. It is the least complicated thing I can imagine. I gave them a little summary of the ground rules: Heres what I can do. Heres what I cant do. And here are some things I dont know whether I can do or not. Heres how Ill judge myself. It was fairly short. If you dont feel this way you shouldnt join, because I dont want you unhappy while Im happy or vice versa.8 After Warren launched the partnership, the Buffetts returned to New York for their final summer. Warren would be helping Ben Graham and Jerry Newman as the partnership wound down. Mickey Newman was now the CEO of Philadelphia & Reading, a full-time job. With neither he nor Warren available to serve as general partner, Graham had decided to shut down the firm.9 Warren had rented a rustic seaside cottage on Long Island for his family from his friend Tom Knapp. The house, part of a group built for people fleeing an influenza epidemic many years before, sat on West Meadow Beach, near Stony Brook on Long Islands North Shore, and faced Connecticut, across Long Island Sound. During the week, Warren saved money by bunking in the city with his stockbroker friend Henry Brandt, whose wife and children were also summering on Long Island. On the weekends he joined his family at the shore and worked in a tiny bedroom in the house. The neighbors told the Knapps they never saw him.10 While Warren worked, Susie, who was afraid of the water and never swam, beachcombed with the kids along the bluffs near the waters edge. Since the cottage had minimal plumbing facilities, the Buffetts fetched drinking water from a spring across the street, and Susie bathed Little Susie, now almost three, Howie, eighteen months old, and herself in the unheated outdoor shower. That summer brought them two pieces of shocking news. The father of Warrens boyhood friend Bob Russell had committed suicide. And Anne Gottschaldt and Catherine Elberfeld, the mother and aunt of Fred Kuhlken, Warrens friend from Columbia, called to say that Fred had been killed in Portugal after his car skidded eighty feet and rammed into a cork tree.11 *** As the summer ended, the Buffetts made their plans to return to Omaha. The extreme caution Warren displayed in trying never to disappoint anyone stood in sharp contrast with his risky decision to pursue an investing career working on his own outside of New York City. The market was composed of relationships, people who lunched together at the Stock Exchange or played poker once a week. It hummed along on tips and rumors, gossip passed on by personal contacts and connections made at investor luncheons, in bars, on squash courts, at chance meetings at university-club coat checks. While every small regional city had its little brokerage firm or twolike Buffett-Falkthese were not important players. The hinterlands were staffed by stockbrokersprescriptionists who survived or prospered by filling the scrips written by the Manhattan money doctors. At that time, no serious American money man worked anywhere but New York City. To leave all this, to go it alone, to think of getting really rich anywhere farther than a limo ride from Wall and Broad was a truly bold and venturesome stroke. Indeed, for a college graduate to become self-employed, to work at home, to work alone, was strikingly unusual in the 1950s. The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit was the guy who got ahead.12 Businessmen joined a big organizationthe bigger the betterthen competed with polished ferocity for the best-paying job on the steady climb up the ladder of success, trying not to break a sweat or a golf club along the way. They competed to amass not riches but poweror at the very least to buy the right kind of house in a good suburban neighborhood, to get a new-model car every year, and to pave the way for a lifetime of security. In his choice of occupation, therefore, Warren was as rare as a Buffett who voted for Democrats. Well aware of her husbands unusual qualitiesif not of the apparent riskiness of the course he was chartingSusie arranged for the movers to come, said good-bye to the neighbors, sent out the change-of-address cards, had the telephone service turned off, and packed up their belongings. She flew to Omaha with Little Susie and Howie and moved them all into the house Warren had rented from Chuck Peterson on Underwood Avenue. He had chosen an inviting gray two-story Tudor with picturesque half-beams, a big stone chimney, and a cathedral ceiling. Even the decision to rent a home had been unconventional; owning a home was the quintessence of what most young Americans aspired to in the mid-1950s. The hopelessness of the Depression and the dreary wartime days of making do were fading into memory. Americans stocked their new houses with all the exciting new features and appliances that were suddenly available: washer-dryers, freezers, dishwashers, electric mixers. The Buffetts had plenty of money to buy all these things. But Warren had other plans for his capital, so they rented. And the house they were renting, while attractive, was just barely big enough for them. Howie at almost two would have to sleep in a largish closet. As Susie began to settle her family in Omaha, Warren closed out his own affairs in New York. He packed up his own desk and files, and sent out his own notices to the companies whose stocks he owned to ensure that the dividend checks followed him to Omaha. Then he got in his car and started driving back to Nebraska, visiting companies along the way. I did this zigzag across the country. I just thought it was a great time to hit these companies. I drove through Hazleton, Pennsylvania, and visited the Jeddo-Highland Coal Company. I went through Kalamazoo, and saw the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Company. This little odyssey went through Delaware, Ohio, and I visited Greif Bros. Cooperage. That was a company selling at a ridiculously cheap pricea company he had first discovered in 1951 by flipping through the Moodys Manuals. He and his father had each bought two hundred shares and put them in their little partnership. Warren arrived in Omaha toward the end of the summer and found that he was needed at home. Little Sooz, calm and timid, sat watching while her brothers inexhaustible demands vacuumed up her mothers energies.13 But in the evenings she wanted her father; she was now afraid to go to bed. When they arrived at the house on Underwood, a moving-company man wearing glasses had spoken to her, and though she did not remember his saying anything untoward, she had frozen in terror and was now convinced that the glasses man lurked just outside her bedroom, next to a wrought-iron balcony that overlooked the living room. Warren had to inspect the balcony every night and reassure her that it was safe to go to sleep. After he had taken care of the glasses man, he went down the hall to the tiny sunporch off his and Susies bedroom and got down to business, either partnership work or preparing his lessonsfor the first thing he had done when he returned to Omaha, besides forming a partnership, was to take on two classes for the fall semester at the University of Omaha: Investment Analysis for Men Only, and Intelligent Investing. Before long he would add a third course, Investing for Women. The terrified boy who so recently couldnt even strike up a conversation in a Dale Carnegie class had vanished. In his place was a still-awkward young man who nonetheless made a striking impression as he moved restlessly around the room, exhorting the students and spouting an inexhaustible series of facts and figures. Dressed as usual in a cheap suit that looked a couple of sizes too large, he seemed more like a youngish preacher from some missionary sect than a college lecturer. Despite his brilliance, Warren was still very immature. For Susie, his helplessness at home meant that he was like having a third child to care for. His personality and interests also shaped their social life. In Omaha, a midsize Midwestern city with relatively few important cultural institutions, weekends were filled with weddings, parties, teas, and charity events. The Buffetts lived a much quieter life than most young married couples of their class and era. Although Susie began to climb the ladder of the Junior League and they joined a gourmet groupwhere Warren politely asked each months hostess to make him a hamburgerthey socialized with friends less in crowds than in ones and twos. Most of their social life took place at dinner with other couples, in small groups, or at occasional dinner parties where Warren could talk about stocks. It was always the same: Warren entertained, either holding forth to an audience on stocks or playing the ukulele. Under Susies tutelage, he could now exchange remarks about other subjects more easily than before, but his mind remained fixated on making money. During meals and parties at home, he often fled small talk by leaving the table to go upstairs. But unlike Ben Graham, he was not upstairs reading Proust; he was working. As for Susie, she knew little and cared less about what Warren did. I used to write security analyst for his job, and people thought he checked burglar alarms, she said.14 All Warrens recreations remained repetitive, competitive, or, better yet, both. He found playing bridge with Susie unendurable because she wanted the other side to win, and soon sought other partners.15 His mind was like a restless monkey; to relax, he needed an active form of concentration that could keep the monkey occupied. Ping-Pong, bridge, poker, golf all absorbed him and took his mind off money temporarily. But he never hosted backyard barbecues, lazed around a swimming pool, stargazed, or simply went for a walk in the woods. A stargazing Warren would have looked at the Big Dipper and seen a dollar sign. All of this, plus his nonconformist streak, meant that Warren was not a joiner, sitting through committee and board meetings. Still, family loyalty did lead him to say yes when his uncle Fred Buffett came over to the house and asked him to join the Rotary Club. He was fond of Fred, proprietor of the Buffett grocery; he and Fred went bowling at the Rotary (repetitive, competitive)and besides, his grandfather had been president of the Rotary. On the other hand, when asked to join the Knights of Ak-Sar-Ben, a more important group of civic leaders that combined philanthropy, business, boosterism, and social activities, he said no. For a budding money manager who needed to raise funds for his business, that was like thumbing his nose in the faces of the men who ran Omahaan act of cocky self-assurance, even arrogance, which set him apart from much of his social set. His sister Doris had made her debut as a Princess of Ak-Sar-Ben. The sister of his brother-in-law and former roommate, Truman Wood, had been Queen of Ak-Sar-Ben. Friends like Chuck Peterson were regulars on its social circuit. As a Congressman, Howard had been obligated to join. But Warren found social hierarchy repugnant and he disdained the smoke-filled backroom clubbiness and conformity of the Ak-Sar-Ben crowd. These were the people who had looked down on his father as the son of a grocer man. Warren reveled in the chance to spurn Ak-Sar-Ben, and disparaged it with withering comments. Susie had her own gentler brand of nonconformity. She began to bring Warren into her unusually diverse network of friends. Since high school, she had prided herself on her openness and her commitment to inclusiveness at a time when most people chose friends who were religious, cultural, ethnic, and economic clones. Unlike her own family, Susie did not think this way, and many of her friendsand by this time many of Warrenswere Jewish. In segregated Omahanot to mention within the Buffett and Thompson families choosing to cross these social lines was a bold, even defiant act. Susie was aware of this, just as she had been aware in high school and college that dating a Jew was considered shocking. Although she came from a prominent family, social status had value to her mostly as a way to make her friends feel more included. Warren, the anti-elitist, found this aspect of Susie highly attractive. And the Jewish friends hed made at Columbia and while working for Graham-Newman had opened his eyes to anti-Semitism. In contrast to Susie, Warrens mother had always been obsessed with fitting in. Leila had researched her ancestry and joined the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Huguenot Society, perhaps searching the past for a stability that she could not find in the present, and certainly not in her immediate family. She had recently received word from Norfolk State Hospital that her sister Bernice had thrown herself into the river in an apparent suicide attempt. Leila, now responsible for Bernice and their mother, handled their affairs in businesslike fashion, striving to be a dutiful daughter while keeping some distance from the familys problems. She and her sister Edie went to visit Bernice and their mother periodically, Leila with less enthusiasm. The Stahl familys history of mental illness was a threatening and shameful topic in the Buffett family, just as it was in society as a whole at the time. Ozzie and Harriet Nelson, Ward and June Cleaver, the prototypical white Anglo-Saxon Protestant American families so ubiquitous on television that they seemed to define an idyllic sort of normality, did not have mentally ill or suicidal family members. The Buffetts perception of the family history was further muddied by uncertainty over Stellas and Bernices diagnoses. The doctors could give only vague descriptions of what were clearly serious problems. Obviously, however, the mental illness was inherited, and it manifested in adulthood. Warren and Doris, who were close to their aunt Edie, knew that their mother had grown apart from her as Edie, too, had become more impulsive and moody. They had some suspicions that Leilas own behavior and personality might be at least partly related to the family lineage. The ticking clock hung over them, and they examined themselves for any signs of abnormality. Warren, who desperately wanted to be but had never felt normal, assuaged his anxiety with statistics, reasoning that the mysterious disorder seemed to affect only the familys women. He never dwelled on the unpleasant. He would later come to think of his memory as functioning like a bathtub. The tub filled with ideas and experiences and matters that interested him. When he had no more use for information, whooshthe plug popped up, and the memory drained away. If new information about a subject appeared, it would replace the old version. If he didnt want to think about something at all, down the drain it went. Certain events, facts, memories, and even people appeared to vanish. Painful memories were the first to be flushed. The water went somewhere, and along with it might go context, nuance, and perspective, but what mattered was that it was gone. The bathtub memorys efficiency freed up enormous amounts of space for the new and the productive. At times, however, disturbing thoughts did bubble up from somewhere, as when he expressed concern for other people: for example, several friends who cared for mentally ill wives. Buffett thought of the bathtub memory as a helper that allowed him to look forward, rather than looking backward all the time like his mother. And it allowed him, at the age of twenty-six, to ruminate in depth on business to the exclusion of almost everything elsein pursuit of his goal of becoming a millionaire. The fastest way to that goal was to raise more money to manage. In August, he went back to New York to attend the final shareholders meeting of the Graham-Newman Corporation. Everyone important on Wall Street seemed to be present at Graham-Newmans wake. Investor Lou Green, his head wreathed in clouds of foul-smelling smoke from an enormous stogie, towered over them from his six-foot-four height.16 He accused Graham of making a big mistake. Why had Graham and Newman not developed talent? he asked. Theyd been working here for thirty years building up this business, he declared to everyone standing nearby. And all they would have had to run it was this kid named Warren Buffett. Hes the best they could come up with. And whod want to ride with him?17 Warrens long-ago mistake of telling Lou Green that he bought Marshall-Wells because Ben Graham bought it had now come back to dilute Grahams endorsement of him in front of an important audience, with unknowable consequences. Yet Grahams imprimatur had already paid him one important dividend. Homer Dodge, a Harvard-educated physics professor who was the president of Norwich University in Northfield, Vermont, until 1951, and a long-time investor in Graham-Newman, had gone to Graham and asked him what he should do with his money now that Graham-Newman was shutting down. And Ben said, Well, Ive got this fellow who used to work with us that might be a possibility. So one hot Midwestern day that July, Dodge had stopped in Omaha on his way to a vacation out west, a blue canoe strapped to the roof of his woody wagon. He talked to me for a while and said, Would you handle my money? And I set up a separate partnership for him. Dodge gave him $120,000 to manage in the Buffett Fund, Ltd., on September 1, 1956.18 That was more money than the original Buffett Associates partnershipan enormous step*19 that made Warren a professional money manager, not just a former stockbroker running a little money for his family and friends. Now he had invested for someone recommended by Ben Graham.19 Later in the year, a friend of mine, John Cleary, who used to be my dads secretary in Congress, saw in a legal notice that Id formed this partnership and asked me what it was. I told him about it, and he said, Well, how about doing it with me? So we formed something called B-C, Ltd. That was the third partnership. He put in fifty-five thousand dollars.20 With the formation of the B-C partnership on October 1, 1956, Warren was now managing more than half a million dollars, including his own money, which was not in any of the partnerships. He operated out of a tiny study at home that could be entered only by passing through the bedroom. He worked odd hours, a night owl like Susie, reading annual reports in his pajamas, drinking Pepsi-Cola and eating Kitty Clover potato chips, enjoying the freedom and solitude. He pored over the Moodys Manuals looking for ideas, absorbing statistics on company after company. During the day, he went to the library and read newspapers and industry trade magazines. As with his boyhood paper route, he took care to handle everything of value personally, a pleasure in and of itself. He typed his own letters on an IBM typewriter, carefully lining up his letterhead sheet on the carriage. To make copies he slid sheets of blue carbon paper and tissue-thin onionskin behind the first page. He did all his own filing. He did the bookkeeping himself and prepared his own tax returns. With its numbers, accuracy, and the measuring of results, the recordkeeping aspect of the job pleased him. Every stock certificate was delivered directly to him, made out in the partnerships names, rather than left on deposit with a broker as was the usual practice. When they arrived, he carried themsmooth cream-colored diplomas in investing, engraved with finely etched drawings of railroads and bald eagles, sea beasts and toga-clad womendown to the Omaha National Bank in his own hands and placed them in a safety deposit box. Whenever he sold a stock, he went to the bank, riffled through the collection of certificates, and mailed off the correct ones from the post office on 38th Street. The bank would call to let him know when a dividend check came in to be deposited, and he would go there, examine the check, and endorse it personally. He tied up the familys single telephone line with his daily calls to the handful of brokers he used. His expenses were as close to zero as he could get. He listed them by hand on a lined sheet of yellow paper: 31 for postage, $15.32 for a Moodys Manual, $4.00 for the Oil & Gas Journal, $3.08 for telephone calls.21 Except for more meticulous accounting and a great deal more thought, he ran the business much as though he were just anybody trading stocks through a broker for a personal account. At the end of 1956, Warren wrote a letter to the partners outlining the partnerships results at year-end. He reported that it had earned a total income of slightly more than $4,500, beating the market by about four percent.22 By then, Dan Monen, his lawyer, had withdrawn from the first partnership, with Doc Thompson buying out his share. Monen had joined Warren on a personal side project that he had been pursuing for some time: buying the stock of an Omaha-based insurer, National American Fire Insurance. This companys worthless stock had been sold to farmers all over Nebraska in 1919 by unscrupulous promoters in exchange for the Liberty Bonds issued during World War I.23 Since then, its certificates had lain crumbling in drawers, while their owners gradually lost hope of ever seeing their money again. Warren had discovered National American while working at Buffett-Falk, flipping through the Moodys Manual.24 The company was headquartered only a block away from his fathers office. William Ahmanson, a prominent Omaha insurance agent, had originally been sucked into it unawares, set up as a local front man for what had started out as a fraud. But the Ahmanson family had gradually turned it into a legitimate company. Now, Howard Ahmanson, Williams son, was feeding top-drawer insurance business into National American through Home Savings of America, a company he had founded in California, which was becoming one of the largest and most successful savings-and-loan companies in the United States.25 The defrauded farmers had no idea that their moldering paper was now worth something. Howard had been quietly buying the stock back from them on the cheap for years through his younger brother Hayden, who ran National American. By now the Ahmansons owned seventy percent of the company. Warren admired Howard Ahmanson. Nobody else was quite as audacious at managing capital as Howard Ahmanson. He was very shrewd in a lot of ways. Formerly, a lot of people came in to Home Savings and paid their mortgages in person. Howard put the mortgage at the farthest branch away from where you lived so that you paid by mail and didnt spend half an hour of one of his guys time telling them about your kids. Everybody else had been to see Its a Wonderful Life and felt that you should do this Jimmy Stewart stuff, but Howard didnt want to see his customers. His operating costs were way under anybody elses. National American was earning $29 per share, and Howards brother Hayden was buying its stock for around $30 per share. Thus, as with the rarest and most attractive of the cheap stocks that Warren stalked, the Ahmansons could pay virtually the entire cost of buying a share of stock out of one years profits from that single share. National American was the cheapest stock Warren had ever seenexcept for Western Insurance. And it was a nice little company, too, not a soggy cigar butt. I tried to buy the stock for a long time. But none of it was getting to me, because there was a security dealer in town and Hayden had given this guy the shareholders list. This stockbrokerhe regarded me as a punk kid. But he had the list. And I didnt have the list. So he was buying the stock at thirty for Haydens account. Cash on the barrel from Hayden Ahmanson sounded good to some of the farmers compared to their worthless certificates. Though they had paid around $100 per share many years before and were only receiving $30, many of them had gradually convinced themselves that they were better off without the stock. Warren was determined. I looked it up in some insurance book or something. If you went back to the twenties you could see who were the directors. They made some of these bigger stockholders the directors from the towns they worked the hardest for sales. There was a town called Ewing, Nebraska, which has got no population at all. But somebody sold a lot of stock out there. And thats how they probably got the local banker on the board thirty-five years earlier. So Dan Monen, Warrens partner and proxy, went off to the countryside carrying wads of Warrens money and some of his own. He cruised around the state in a red-and-white Chevrolet, showing up in rural county courthouses and banks, casually asking who might own shares of National American.26 He sat on front porches, drinking iced tea, eating pie with farmers and their wives, and offering cash for their stock certificates.27 I didnt want Howard to know because I was topping his price. He had been picking it off at thirty bucks, and Id had to raise the price some. The shareholders had been listening for probably ten years at thirty bucks, so it was the first time the price moved. The first year Warren paid $35 each for five shares of the stock. The farmers ears pricked up. Now they realized that buyers were competing for the stock; they began to think maybe they werent better off without it. The price had to keep moving up. Finally, toward the end, I paid a hundred. That was the magic number, because it was what theyd paid in the first place. A hundred bucks, I knew, would bring out all the stock. And sure enough, one guy came in when Dan Monen was doing this and he said, We bought this like sheep, and were selling it like sheep.28 That they were. Many had sold at less than three times the $29 a year the company was earning. Monen eventually accumulated two thousand shares, ten percent of National Americans stock. Warren kept it in the original shareholders names, with a power of attorney attached that gave him control, rather than transferring it into his name. That would have tipped Howard off to the fact that I was out there competing with him. He didnt know. Or, if he did, he had insufficient information. I just kept collecting shares. Then, the day I walked into Haydens office, I plopped them all down and said I wanted to transfer them to my name. And he said, My brothers going to kill me. But in the end, he transferred the stock.29 The brainstorm behind Warrens National American coup had been more than just the price. He had learned the value of gathering as much as possible of something scarce. From license plates to nuns fingerprints to coins and stamps, to the Union Street Railway, and National American, he had always thought this way, a born collector.30 Alas, this voracious instinct could steer him awry on occasion. Tom Knapp, who had gone to work for a small broker, Tweedy, Browne and Reilly, after helping Jerry Newman close down the remnants of GrahamNewman, came out to visit Warren and to go hear Ben Graham give a speech in Beloit, Wisconsin. Driving through the Iowa cornfields on the way, Knapp mentioned that the U.S. government was about to take the four-cent Blue Eagle stamp out of circulation. The cash register dinged! in Warrens head. Lets stop at a few post offices and see if they have any four-cent stamps, he said on the way back. Knapp went into the first post office and returned to say that it had twenty-eight stamps. Go buy them, said Buffett. They talked about it some more and decided to write to post offices after they returned home, to offer to buy their stamp inventory. The stamps started coming in a few thousand at a time. Then Denver replied and said they had twenty pads. A pad is a hundred sheets of a hundred stamps. That meant Denver had two hundred thousand stamps. We might as well control the issue, Warren said. They spent $8,000 and bought the pads. And that was our mistake, says Knapp. We should have let the Denver post office send them back to Washington to reduce the supply. Through expending enormous effort to become virtual post offices themselveswith most of the work done by Knappthey gathered more than six hundred thousand Blue Eagle stamps, collectively spending roughly $25,000. For Warren that was a lot, considering his attitude about money and his net worth. They stored the piles of stamps in their basements. And then they realized what they had done. They had laboriously acquired basements full of stamps that would never be worth more than four cents apiece. When you have so many stamps, Knapp explains, there are not many collectors. So the next task became disposing of the stamps. Warren expertly delegated the problem of getting rid of $25,000 worth of four-cent stamps to Tom. Then he simply put it out of his mind, except for the funny story, and instead turned back to what was actually important: raising money for the partnerships. In June 1957, another one of the original partners, Elizabeth Peterson, Chucks mother, asked Warren to set up a fourth partnership, to be called Underwood, investing another $85,000.31 A few months later, in the summer of 1957, I got a call from Mrs. Edwin Davis. They used to be customers of the Buffett grocery store. Her husband, Dr. Davis, was a very prominent urologist in town. They lived just a few blocks from here. She said, I understand you manage money. Would you come down and explain it to us? Dr. Edwin Davis was nationally known. One of his patients, Arthur Wiesenberger of New York City, was one of the most famous money managers of the era. He had at some point come to Omaha to be treated for prostate problems, and Davis became his client. Wiesenberger published Investment Companies, an annual bible on closed-end investment funds. These were like publicly traded mutual funds, except that they did not accept new investors. They nearly always sold at a discount to the value of their assets, which made Wiesenberger a proponent of buying them.32 In short, they were like mutual-fund cigar butts. The summer before graduate school, Warren had sat in a chair at Buffett-Falks office, reading Wiesenbergers bible while Howard worked. Before I went to Columbia, he says, I used to spend hours and hours reading that book from cover to cover, religiously. He bought two of Wiesenbergers cigar butts, United States & International Securities and Selected Industries, which in 1950 had made up more than two-thirds of his assets.33 While at Graham-Newman, he also managed to meet Wiesenberger and had impressed him, even though I wasnt very impressive in those days. In 1957, Wiesenberger called Dr. Davis out of the blue and explained that, although it was not necessarily in his own interest to do so, he was recommending a young man to him. I tried to hire him myself, said Wiesenberger, but he was forming a partnership and so I couldnt.34 He urged Davis to consider investing with Buffett. Shortly afterward, Warren scheduled a meeting with the Davis family on a Sunday afternoon. I went down to their place and sat in their living room and talked to them for about an hour. I said, Heres how I manage money and the arrangement I have. I was probably twenty-six. I looked about twenty years old at the time. Actually, he looked more like eighteen, according to Eddie Davis: His collar was open; his coat was too big. He talked so very fast. At the time, Warren went around Omaha wearing a mangy sweater which one person observed probably should have been given to Goodwillan old pair of pants, and scuffed shoes. I acted immature for my age, Buffett recalls. The kind of things I talked about were what you would expect from a much younger person. In fact, there was still more than a trace of the hand-drumming, Mammy-singing boy from Penn. You had to overlook a lot back then. Yet not when he was talking about the partnerships. Warren was not there to sell the Davises. He laid out his ground rules. He wanted absolute control over the money and would tell his partners nothing about how it was invested. That was the sticking point. Not for him was Ben Grahams handicap of people riding on his coattails. And his solution to the problem of people being disappointed was that he wasnt going to give them the score after every hole, only once a year after playing eighteen holes. They would get an annual summary of his performance, and they could put money in or withdraw it only on December 31. The rest of the year, their money would be locked into the partnership. All the while, Eddie paid no attention to me. Dorothy Davis listened very intently, asking good questions. Eddie was over in the corner doing nothing. He seemed like a very old guy to me, but he was not yet seventy. When we got all the way through, Dorothy turned to Eddie and said, What do you think? Eddie said, Lets give him a hundred thousand dollars. In a much more polite way, I said, Dr. Davis, you know, Im delighted to get this money. But you werent really paying a lot of attention to me while I was talking. How come youre doing it? And he said, Well, you remind me of Charlie Munger.35 I said, Well, I dont know who Charlie Munger is, but I really like him. But the other reason the Davises were so willing to invest with Warren was because, to their surprise, he knew more about Arthur Wiesenberger than they did.36 They also liked the way he laid out his termsclear and transparent, so they knew whose side he was on. He would win or lose along with them. As Dorothy Davis put it, Hes smart, hes bright, and I can tell hes honest. I like everything about this young man. On August 5, 1957, the money from the Davises and their three children seeded the fifth partnership with $100,000. It was called Dacee.37 With Dacee, Warrens business jumped another leg upward. He could now land bigger positions in larger stocks. In his personal portfolio, he still played with things like the penny uranium stocks that had been in vogue a few years earlier when the government was buying uranium. These were now fantastically cheap.38 Warren bought companies like Hidden Splendor, Stanrock, Northspan. There were some attractive issuesit was shooting fish in a barrel. They werent huge fish, but you were shooting them in a barrel. You knew you were going to make good money. It was minor. The bigger stuff I was putting in the partnerships. Having new partners meant more money, of course, but it also meant that the number of stock certificates and amount of paperwork managing the five partnerships plus Buffett & Buffett increased substantially. He had to hustle, but it felt good. The shortfall, as always, was moneyhe never seemed to have enough. The kind of companies he was researching often had market values of one to ten million dollars, so he wanted as much as $100,000 to get a significant position in their stocks. Getting more money to manage was key. By this time Dan Monen was ready to get back into the partnership, and he and his wife, Mary Ellen, formed the nucleus of Warrens sixth partnership, Mo-Buff, on May 5, 1958. Thanks mostly to National American, the Monens, who had had only $5,000 to invest two years earlier, were now able to put in $70,000.39 At the time, Warren Buffett probably understood the potential of money management to beget more money better than anyone on Wall Street. Every dollar added to a partnership would net him a share of what he earned for his partners.40 Each of those dollars, reinvested, would generate earnings of its own.41 Those earnings, reinvested, would beget still more earnings. The better his performance, the more he would earn, and the larger his share of the partnerships would grow, enabling him to earn even more. His talent for investing could exploit that potential of managing money to the hilt. And despite Warrens apparent awkwardness, he was indisputably successful at merchandising himself. Even though he was nearly invisible in the investing world, the snowball was starting to roll. With momentum behind him, Warren realized it was time to leave a house where there was barely room for a family with two young childrenone an unusually energetic three-and-a-half-year-oldand a third on the way. The Buffetts bought their first house. It stood on Farnam Street, a Dutch Cape set back on a large corner lot overlooked by evergreens, next to one of Omahas busiest thoroughfares. While the largest house on the block, it had an unpretentious and charming air, with dormers set into the sloping shingled roof and an eyebrow window.42 Warren paid $31,500 to Sam Reynolds, a local businessman, and promptly named it Buffetts Folly.43 In his mind $31,500 was a million dollars after compounding for a dozen years or so, because he could invest it at such an impressive rate of return. Thus, he felt as though he were spending an outrageous million dollars on the house. Just before the moving van left the house on Underwood Avenue, Warren took five-year-old Little Susie back up the stairs to the wrought-iron balcony. The glasses man is staying here, he said. You need to say good-bye to him. Susie Jr. said good-bye, and, indeed, the glasses man remained behind.44 Big Susies job was to oversee the move, get them settled into the house, and lasso Howie while more than eight months pregnant with her third child. As longtime friends observed, Howie was a hell-raiser. The inexhaustible Buffett energy poured from him in such a whirlwind that he was nicknamed the Tornado, a cousin to Warrens childhood nickname, Fireboltbut with a very different connotation. As soon as Howie could walk, says Buffett, he became peripatetic. He dug up the garden with his Tonka toys, and Susie took them away, then he tore the house apart to find them. Once he did, he dug the garden up again. Susie snatched away the front-loader, and the battle repeated itself.45 A week after arriving at Farnam Street and just a day before the Mo-Buff partnership was born, the Buffetts second son, Peter, arrived. From the start he was a quiet, easy baby. But shortly after his birth, Susie came down with a kidney infection.46 Since her rheumatic fever and ear infections as a child, she had always considered herself healthy. The kidney infection did not concern her as much as shielding Warren from dealing with it; his discomfort around illness was so great that she had trained the family to pay attention to him whenever somebody got sick, as if he, too, were ill and required care. Her real focus was on having a home of her own at last. Even illness and the demands of caring for a new baby and two small children could not suppress her urge to decorate. As it sprang to life, she redid the house in cheery contemporary style, with chrome-and-leather furniture and huge, bright modern paintings covering the white walls. The $15,000 decorating bill totaled almost half of what the house itself had cost, which just about killed Warren, according to Bob Billig, a golfing pal.47 He didnt notice colors or respond to visual aesthetics and so was indifferent to the result, seeing only the outrageous bill. Do I really want to spend $300,000 for this haircut? was his attitude. If Susie wanted to spend some trifling sum of money, he would say, Im not sure I want to blow $500,000 that way.48 But since Susie wanted to spend money that he wanted to withhold, and since he wanted Susie to be happy and she wanted to please him, their personalities were gradually meshing into a system of bargaining and trades. The outrageous bill included the cost of a device that became an object of wonderment among their friends and neighborsone of the first color television sets in Omaha.49 Susie liked having her house as the hub of the neighborhood, so before long, on Saturday mornings, all the kids from the block would pile onto the black leather sofa in the little TV room and watch cartoons.50 Willa Johnson, a large, capable black housekeeper who quietly became Susies extra set of hands, eyes, and ears, joined the household, freeing Susie to find an outlet for her creativity. She and a friend, Thama Friedman, decided to set up a contemporary art gallery. As with everything involving money, the decision had to be cleared with Warren. Before forking over Susies share, he interviewed them in his sitting room and asked, Do you expect to make money? Friedman answered, No, whereupon Buffett replied, Okay, Susie can come in as an investor.51 He liked the idea of her doing something of her own and, according to Friedman, wanted them to step back and think about the gallery in a businesslike way while being realistic that it was a hobby. Warren always thought of money in terms of the return on capital laid out, and since the gallery wasnt going to make a profit, he wanted them to limit their spending. Susies involvement in the gallery was truly a hobby, says Friedman, who managed it day to day. Susie was considered a flexible, easygoing, but attentive mother by her friends and relatives. Now that the Buffetts lived closer to both their parents, the children spent more time with their grandparents. The atmosphere at the Thompsons, a block and a half away, was relaxed and enjoyable; they didnt care if Howie broke a window or the kids made a mess. Dorothy Thompson got into the spirit of things, playing games, organizing Easter egg hunts, and making elaborate multilayered ice-cream cones. The children loved Doc Thompson, despite his sober self-importance and the way he pontificated. Once he sat Howie on his knee. Dont drink alcohol, he said, over and over. It will kill your brain cells, and you dont have any to waste.52 On Sundays, Doc Thompson sometimes came over and preached in a jelly-bean-colored suit right in Warren and Susies living room. Otherwise, Howie and Susie Jr. went to the Buffetts, where Leila towed them off to church. Compared to the Thompsons, she and Howard seemed stiff and straitlaced. Howard remained such a Victorian throwback that when he called Doris and Warren with news about their sister Bertie, he could only choke out, All hells broken loose! They finally managed to discover, from someone else, that she had lost her baby. Howard couldnt bring himself to say the word miscarriage. With their large new house, Warren and Susie began to play host for the families. At her first family Thanksgiving dinner, Susie prepared the turkey herself, thinking the easy way would be to cook it overnight at 100 degrees. After the turkey fell apart, she called on Mrs. Hegman, a cook inherited from Leila, to come and help. Someone other than Warren had to carve, however, since he was useless with a knife. And at family gatherings when his mother was present, as soon as he could get away with it, he disappeared upstairs to work. Susie had covered Warrens new little office off the master bedroom with greenback-patterned wallpaper. Comfortably surrounded by money, he now set about buying cheap stocks as fast as his fingers could fly through the Moodys Manuals: businesses that sold basic items or commodities that could be easily valued, like Davenport Hosiery, Meadow River Coal & Land, Westpan Hydrocarbon, and Maracaibo Oil Exploration. For the partnership, for himself, for Susie, or for all of these whenever he had money, he put it to work as fast as he could bring it through the door. Often he needed secrecy to execute his ideas and he used intelligent, willing people like Dan Monen to act as his proxies. Another of these proxies was Daniel Cowin, a value hunter who worked for the small brokerage firm Hettleman & Co. in New York. Warren had met Dan through their late friend from Columbia, Fred Kuhlken.53 Hettleman made investments in little stocks with capitalizations of a few million, often the kind of obscure bargains that Warren liked. Fred had written and described Dan as a young star on Wall Street and said we were made for each other. I immediately decided that Fred was one hundred percent right on both counts. In the next few years, Dan and I were constantly together whenever I visited New York.54 Cowin was nine years older, with deep-set eyes and a penetrating gaze. When the two of them were together, it seemed, on the surface, like a grown man hobnobbing with a college boy, but they had much in common. Cowin had grown up poor during the Depression after his father lost the familys money, and as a teenager he had supported his family. He put the money he got for a thirteenth-birthday gift into stocks.55 He gravitated toward a career in investing after his Navy service, working independently even at an investment house, keeping his ideas to himself. Unlike Buffett, however, he had a strong appreciation for cutting-edge art, was creative around the housespraying pinecones silver for the Christmas dinner tableand collected photography and antiques. What attracted Buffett to him was that Cowin traded well and worked his own ideas.56 Cowin had also endeared himself to Warren early on, when he was at Graham-Newman, by lending him $50,000 for a week so that Warren could buy some mutual-fund shares to achieve a thousand-dollar tax saving.57 Over time, they collaborated, with Dan the balding senior partner: more experienced and with more money to invest, but sharing information and ideas. Buffett and Cowin used to call each other weekly when the Pink Sheets that listed small stocks came out, and compare notes. Did you get that one? Yes! I bought that, thats mine!both feeling like winners when they had picked the same ones. It was like picking a horse, says Dans wife, Joyce.58 They thought about taking over the National Casket Company, code-naming it the Container Company. Dan was a digger, Buffett says, which I guess makes sense. Once, Buffett says, they had even tried to buy a Maryland town that the Federal Housing Authority was auctioning off for peanuts: it consisted of the post office, the town hall, and a large number of rental properties that were charging below-market rents. The town had been built during the Depression. Buffett recalls that the ad for the town made them salivate with Snidely Whiplash dreams of quickly raising the rents to a market rate. But even for peanuts, the town was expensive and they couldnt get together enough cash.59 Warren could never get enough cash. He was always trying to raise money. The Graham connection was about to pay off again. Bernie Sarnata pioneer in plastic and reconstructive surgerywent to have a chat one day with Ben Graham, his wifes first cousin. Ben had moved across the street from the Sarnats when he and Estey retired to California. Sarnat says he asked Graham what he should do with his money now, what little money he had in his partnership. Well, recalls Sarnat, he said, Oh, buy AT&T, and he handed me shares in three closed-end funds and some stock. And then he very casually mentioned, One of my former students is doing some investing. Warren Buffett. And that was it. So casually that I didnt even pick it up. Hardly anybody knew Warren Buffett. He might as well have been a patch of moss hidden under a rock in Omaha. Sarnats wife, Rhoda, a social worker, took a walk every day with her cousin-in-law Estey. One day not long after, she recalls, Estey said to me, Listen, Rhoda, people are always approaching us to invest in their partnerships, because if they can tell people that Ben Graham invests in them, they have it made. We say no to everybody. But that Warren Buffetthe has potential. Were investing with him, and youd better do it too. My only question was, says Rhoda, Estey, I know you think hes bright, but Im more interested in whether hes honest. Estey said, Absolutely. Totally. I trust him a hundred percent. The Sarnats and Estey Graham put $10,000 and $15,000, respectively, into Mo-Buff. By then, the Monens investment had grown to $100,000. Some of the students in Warrens investing classes had also joined the partnerships, as had Wally Keenan, his former Dale Carnegie instructor. In fact, by 1959, he was getting somewhat of a name around town, in part through his teaching. No longer hidden, his qualitiesgood and badhad begun to be recognized in Omaha. The side of him that had taken the counterposition in the teenage radio show American School of the Air came across in Omaha as brash, a know-it-all. I used to love to take the opposite side of any argument, he says, no matter what. I could turn in a second. People thought it was nervy of him to ask for money to invest without telling them what he would be buying. There were people in Omaha who thought what I was doing was some sort of Ponzi scheme, he recalls. It had repercussions. When Warren had reapplied for full membership in the Omaha Country Club, he was blackballed. To be blackballed from the country club was a serious matter; someone disliked him enough to show it in a tangible and embarrassing way. It was one thing to identify with outsiders, but he also wanted to belong. Besides, Warren liked to play golf, and the club had a good course. Through connections, he worked at it until he got off the blacklist. But his talents shone through to many more people now, and brought him partners of increasing prominence. In February 1959, Casper Offutt and his son, Cap Jr., members of one of Omahas most prominent families, approached him about a partnership of their own. When Warren explained that they would not know what he was buying, Cap Sr. said, Well, Im not going to put any money in if I dont know what it is, if youve got complete control and I dont have any voice in it.60 But Cap Jr., together with his brother John and William Glenn, a businessman for whom Chuck Peterson managed real estate properties, invested anyway. They put $50,000 into Glenoff, the seventh partnership. And all the while that Warren was investing during these early years of the partnerships, he never deviated from the principles of Ben Graham. Everything he bought was extraordinarily cheap, cigar butts all, soggy stogies containing one free puff. But that was before he met Charlie Munger. 23 The Omaha Club Omaha 1959 Like a steel bank vault door, the arched portals of the Omaha Club swung closed behind the bankers and insurance men and railroad executives of the city as George, the black doorman, welcomed them inside. Come from playing squash in the basement or from their offices downtown, the men loitered by the tiled fireplace in the front hall, chatting until the women entered through a separate side door in the buildings Italian Renaissance facade to join them. The assembled parties ascended the curving mahogany staircase to the second floor, passing on the way the life-size painting of a Scotsman catching a trout in a stream. The Omaha Club was where the town came to dance, to raise money, to get married, and to celebrate anniversaries. But above all, it was where the town came to do business, for at its tables you were left to talk in peace. One summer Friday in 1959, Buffett strode through the clubs entrance to have lunch with two of his partners, Neal Davis and his brother-in-law Lee Seeman, who had arranged for him to meet Daviss best friend since childhood. It was Neals father, Dr. Eddie Davis, who had said to Warren, You remind me of Charlie Munger when the Davises had joined the partnership. Now Munger was in town to settle his fathers estate.1 Munger knew only a few facts about the crew-cut Buffett kid, six years his junior. But, consistent with his expectations of life in general, his expectations of this meeting were not high.2 He had developed the habit of expecting little so as never to be disappointed. And rarely did Charles T. Munger meet anyone to whom he enjoyed listening as much as himself. The Mungers had started in poverty, but by the latter part of the nineteenth century, T. C. Munger, Charlies grandfather, a federal judge, had brought the family to prominence, welcome in every drawing room in Omaharather than only at the back door, delivering groceries, like the Buffetts. Judge Munger, an iron disciplinarian, had forced the whole family to read Robinson Crusoe to absorb the books portrayal of the conquest of nature through discipline. He was known for giving longer jury instructions than any judge in the middle west.3 He liked to lecture his relatives on the virtue of saving and the vices of gambling and saloons. Charlies straitlaced aunt Ufie, who listened, had kept hard at two separate careers until past eighty, dominated her church, saved her money, and, duty-ridden, attended as a matter of course her beloved husbands autopsy.4 Judge Mungers son Al followed his father into the law, becoming a respectable but not rich attorney who counted among his clients the Omaha World-Herald and other important local institutions. Lighthearted, unlike his father, he was often seen enjoying a pipe, hunting, or catching a fish. His son later said of him that Al Munger achieved exactly what he wished to achieve, no more or lesswith less fuss than either his father or his son, each of whom spent considerable time foreseeing troubles that never happened.5 Als wife, the beautiful, witty Florence Toody Russell, came from another clan raised on duty and moral rectitude, an enterprising family of New England intellectuals known for what Charlie referred to as plenty of plain living and high thinking. When she announced she was marrying Al Munger, her elderly grandmother observed his thick spectacles and five-foot, five-and-a-half-inch frame and was flabbergasted. Whoever would have thought she had the sense? she supposedly exclaimed. Al and Toody Munger had three children: Charles, Carol, and Mary. A photograph of Charlie as an infant shows him already wearing the petulant expression so typical of him later in life. At Dundee Elementary School, his most prominent features were a pair of huge elfin ears and, when he chose to reveal it, a broad smile. He was recognized as intelligent, lively, and too independent-minded to bow down to meet certain teachers expectations, according to his sister Carol Estabrook.6 Smart, and a smarty, is how the Mungers neighbor Dorothy Davis recalls Charlie from his earliest childhood.7 Mrs. Davis tried to control Charlies influence on her son, Neal, but nothing tamed Charlies mouth, not even the sight of her with a switch in her hand, coming after the boys to lash their bare calves. Warren had borne the indignities of childhood with only brief rebellion before learning to hide his misery and adopt artful strategies to cope. Too proud to submit, Charlie suffered through the woes of youth by employing his talent for wounding sarcasm. Matched as a dance partner every single Friday at Addie Foggs dance class with Mary McArthur, the only girl shorter than he, Charlie made no secret of his irritation at the routine that emphasized his status as the second-shortest child in the class.8 At Central High School, he gained the nickname Brains and a reputation for hyperactivenessand for being aloof.9 From a family that treasured learning, he grew up intellectually ambitious and enrolled in the University of Michigan at seventeen, majoring in mathematics. He enlisted in the Army a year after Pearl Harbor, halfway through his sophomore year. While in the service he attended the University of New Mexico and California Institute of Technology for credits in meteorology, though he never actually graduated. After more coursework he worked in Nome, Alaska, as an Army meteorologist. Later, Munger would make a point of saying that he never saw active duty and would emphasize his luck in having been stationed out of harms way. The main risk that he took was financial: He augmented his army pay by playing poker. He found he was good at it. It turned out to be his version of the racetrack. He said he learned to fold fast when odds were bad and bet heavily when they were good, lessons he would use to advantage later in life. With the help of well-oiled family connections, he brazened his way into Harvard Law School after the war without ever having finished his undergraduate degree.10 By then he was married to Nancy Huggins, an impulsive match entered into when he was twenty-one and she nineteen. He had sprouted into a mediumheight, well-dressed young man whose close-cut dark hair and alert eyes gave him a polished look. But his most prominent featureapart from his ears, now only slightly winged from his skullwas a hallmark skeptical expression. He wore it often while racing through Harvardwithout learning anything, he says.11 Then, he later told his friends, he looked at a map and asked himself, What city is growing and full of opportunity, so that I could make a lot of money, but not so big and well developed that it would be hard to rise into the ranks of the citys prominent men? He chose Los Angeles.12 P asadenathe gracious old Spanish-flavored Los Angeles suburb where he had attended Caltechhad impressed him. It was there that he had met his wife, the daughter of a locally prominent family. Nancy was willful, indulged, says her daughter Molly, not exactly ideal traits given her new husbands temperament.13 Within a few years their marriage was in trouble. Nonetheless, after Harvard they hightailed it back to her hometown, with their son, Teddy, and settled in Pasadena, where Charlie became a successful lawyer. By 1953, after three children and eight years of incompatibility, fighting, and misery, Munger found himself divorcing at a time when divorce was a disgrace. Despite their problems, he and Nancy worked out a civilized arrangement regarding their son and two daughters. Munger moved into a room at the University Club, bought a dented yellow Pontiac with a bad paint job to discourage gold diggers, and became a devoted Saturday father.14 Then, within a year of the separation, Teddy, now eight years old, was diagnosed with leukemia. Munger and his ex-wife scoured the medical community but quickly discovered the disease was incurable. They sat in the leukemia ward with the other parents and grandparents in different stages of watching their children waste away.15 Teddy was in and out of the hospital often. Charlie would visit, hold him in his arms, then walk the streets of Pasadena, crying for his son. He found the combination of his failed marriage and his sons terminal illness almost unbearable. The loneliness of living as a divorced single father in the 1950s also chafed at him. He felt a failure without an intact family, and wanted to live surrounded by children. When things went wrong, Munger would set out toward new goals rather than let himself dwell on the negative.16 That could come across as pragmatic, or even callous, but he viewed it as keeping the horizon in sight. You should never, when facing some unbelievable tragedy, let one tragedy increase into two or three through your failure of will, he would later say.17 So even as he cared for his dying son, Munger decided to marry again. His method of analyzing the odds of a successful match made him pessimistic, however. Charlie was despairing over whether he would ever meet anyone else. How can I find somebody? Out of twenty million people in California, half are women. Of these ten million, only two million are of an appropriate age. From that group, a million and a half would be married, leaving five hundred thousand. Three hundred thousand of them are too dumb, fifty thousand are too smart, and of the remaining hundred fifty thousand, the number I would want to marry would fit on a basketball court. Ive got to find one of those. And then Ive got to be on her basketball court. Mungers mental habit of setting low expectations was well established. He equated this with the route to happiness, since he felt that high expectations led to fault-finding. Low expectations made it harder to be disappointed. Paradoxically, however, they could also confound success. Out of desperation, Munger started reviewing divorce and death notices to find newly single women. That got his friends attention. Thinking this pathetic, they began to intervene. One of his law partners came up with another Nancy, a divorce with two young boys. Nancy Barry Borthwick, a petite brunette, played tennis avidly, skied, and golfed. She was also a Phi Beta Kappa economics graduate of Stanford. On their first date he warned her, Im didactic. The thought of a man infected by the urge to preach failed to put Nancy off, which augured well for their relationship. They started taking their children on outings. At first Teddy went along with them, but he soon became too ill. Later, thirty-one-year-old Charlie spent much of his sons final weeks sitting by Teddys bedside. By the time Teddy died in 1955 at age nine, Charlie had lost between ten and fifteen pounds. I cant imagine any experience in life worse than losing a child inch by inch, he said later.18 Charlie married Nancy Borthwick in January 1956. She quickly became his ballast. He desperately needed someone to arrange his life. Nancy had moxie, pricking Charlies balloon without hesitation when it inflated with too much hot air. She was an excellent manager, observant, calm, reasonable, and practical. Nancy curbed his caprices when Charlie took off on occasional bolts of impulsiveness. In time, they added three sons and a daughter to his two girls and her two boys. She set about raising eight children while keeping house and taking care of Charlie.19 He became known to his children as a book with legs, constantly studying science and the achievements of great men. Meanwhile, he continued seeking his fortune at the law firm of Musick, Peeler & Garrett, but realized that the law would not make him rich. He began to develop some profitable sidelines. Charlie, as a very young lawyer, was probably getting $20 an hour. He thought to himself, Whos my most valuable client? And he decided it was himself. So he decided to sell himself an hour each day. He did it early in the morning, working on these construction projects and real estate deals. Everybody should do this, be the client, and then work for other people, too, and sell yourself an hour a day. I had a considerable passion to get rich, Munger said. Not because I wanted FerrarisI wanted the independence. I desperately wanted it. I thought it was undignified to have to send invoices to other people. I dont know where I got that notion from, but I had it.20 He saw himself as the gentleman squire. Money wasnt a competition to him. He wanted to join the right clubs but he didnt care whether the other members were richer than him. Beneath the surface arrogance, his deep respect for authentic achievement gave him a genuine humility that would be crucial in forming a relationship with the man he was about to meet. That man who sat across from him in a private room of the Omaha Club and started to talk was dressed like a youngish salesman come to sell insurance to the gentleman squire. The worldly Munger by now was well ensconced in Los Angeles business and society, and looked the part. As soon as the Davises and Seemans had made the introductions, however, the two fell into a tte--tte. Charlie allowed that he had actually slaved a short stint at the Buffett grocery store, where you were just goddamn busy from the first hour of morning until night.21 Ernest had let the sons of favored customers like Toody Munger loaf, however, at least compared to the rest of the beleaguered clerks.22 After the pleasantries, the conversation picked up speed and the rest of the party listened, rapt, as Warren began to talk about investing and Ben Graham. Charlie grasped the concepts right away. He had spent plenty of time thinking about investing and business by then, Buffett says. He told Charlie the story of National American insurance. Munger had gone to Central High with Howard and Hayden Ahmanson. He was amazed that someone like Buffett, who was not from California, could know so much about the Ahmansons and their savings and loan. Before long, the two men were talking simultaneously, yet they seemed to understand each other perfectly.23 After a while, Charlie asked, Warren, what do you do specifically? Well, Ive got these partnerships, Buffett explained, and I do this, and this, and that. In 1957, he said, his partnerships had earned over ten percent in a year when the market had declined over eight percent. The next year the partnerships investments had risen more than forty percent in value.24 Buffetts fees so far from managing the partnerships, reinvested, came to $83,085. These fees had mushroomed his initial contribution of only $700$100 contributed to each of the seven partnerships25into a stake worth 9.5 percent of the combined value of all the partnerships. Moreover, his performance was well on its way to beating the Dow again in 1959, which would make him richer still and raise his stake again. Meanwhile, his investors were thrilled; new partners kept joining. Charlie listened. Eventually he asked, Do you think that I could do something like that out in California? Warren paused for a moment and looked at him. This was an unconventional question coming from a successful Los Angeles lawyer. Yeah, he said, Im quite sure you could do it.26 As the luncheon wound its way to an end, the Seemans and the Davises decided it was time to go. When they got on the elevator, their last sight was of Buffett and Munger, still sitting at the table, engrossed.27 A few nights later, the two men took their wives to Johnnys Caf, a red-velvet steak joint, where Munger became so self-intoxicated at one of his own jokes that he slipped out of the booth and began rolling on the floor with laughter. When the Mungers returned to Los Angeles, the conversation continued in installments, the two men talking on the phone for an hour or two with increasing frequency. Buffett, once obsessed with Ping-Pong, had found something f ar more interesting. Why are you paying so much attention to him? Nancy asked her husband. You dont understand, said Charlie. That is no ordinary human being.28 24 The Locomotive New York City and Omaha 19581962 Warren and Susie seemed like ordinary people. They kept a low profile. Their house was large but not ostentatious. It had a log cabin in the backyard for the kids. The back door was never locked; neighborhood children wandered in and out. Inside the house, the Buffetts clickety-clacked on their different tracks at gathering speed. As Susie added stop after stop to her local schedule, Warren headed out on a nonstop trip to Dollar Mountain. Until 1958, his straightforward route was to buy a stock and wait for the cigar butt to light. Then he usually sold the stock, sometimes with regret, to buy another he wanted more, his ambitions limited by his partnerships capital. Now, however, he was managing more than $1 million in seven partnerships plus Buffett & Buffett and his personal money,1 which let him operate on a different scale. His network of business pals like Stanback, Knapp, Brandt, Cowin, Schloss, and Ruane had grown by the addition of Munger; the two of them ran up outrageousby their standardsphone bills every month. Munger had introduced him to his friend Roy Tolles, a lanky former Marine fighter pilot who wore a constant placid smile and kept the thoughts inside his quick mind to himselfexcept for the occasional barbed zingers he had a way of throwing out, which made people want to keep a few Band-Aids around, as one friend put it. Buffett, like Munger, could parry and riposte with the best, and added Tolles to his collection. This knack for signing up volunteers to his cause had created a large, if loosely organized, support structure. Warren more or less automatically Tom-Sawyered these supporters, hived off into several cells, into helping his interests, which had grown so fast that he could no longer carry out every detail of them by himself. The days when Warren simply sat in his study at home, picking stocks out of Security Analysis or the Moodys Manuals, were gone. Increasingly, he began to work on large-scale, lucrative projects that required time and planning to executeeven more so than buying up the shares of National American insurance. These projects would sometimes evolve into complicated, even dramatic episodes that would absorb his attention for months, or occasionally years, at a stretch. Sometimes several of these investing projects operated simultaneously. Already preoccupied to the point that he was barely present to his family much of the time, this expansion of scale would exacerbate that tendency, while binding him more tightly to his friends. The first of these complicated episodes involved a company called Sanborn Map. It published minutely detailed maps of power lines, water mains, driveways, building engineering, roof composition, and emergency stairwells for all the cities of the United States, maps that were mainly bought by insurance companies.2 The business was no winner, its customer base slowly shrinking as insurers merged. But its stock was cheap at $45 per share, since Sanborns investment portfolio alone was worth $65 per share. To get hold of that investment portfolio, however, Warren needed not just money from his partnerships but also help from other people. Beginning in November 1958, he put more than one-third of the partnerships assets into Sanborn. He bought the stock for himself and for Susie. He had his aunt Alice, his father, his mother, his sisters, all buy it. He passed the Sanborn idea along to Cowin, to Stanback, to Knapp, and to Schloss. Some people got in on it as a favor from him. He took an overridea percentage of the profitsfrom others as a way of leveraging his capital. To get more shares under his control, he added Don Danly, his pinball-and-pilferage pal from high school; his fathers best friend, Vic Spittler; Dotties husband, Homer Rogers; and Howard Browne, the head of Tweedy, Browne and Reilly, the brokerage firm where Tom Knapp worked. He also put Catherine Elberfeld and Anne Gottschaldt, the aunt and mother of his friend Fred Kuhlken, into the stock. Since he had still not brought Gottschaldt and Elberfeld into a partnership, this strongly suggested that he thought Sanborn was a sure thing. Eventually he controlled enough of Sanborns shares to be elected to the board. In March 1959, Warren took one of his regular trips to New York, staying out on Long Island at Anne Gottschaldts little white colonial house. By now she and her sister had adopted him as a sort of surrogate son, as if to replace the long-dead Fred. Warren kept spare sets of underwear and pajamas at her house, and Gottschaldt made him hamburgers for breakfast. On these journeys, he always set out with a list of between ten and thirty things he wanted to accomplish. He would go to the Standard & Poors library to look up some information. He would visit some companies, visit some brokers, and always spend time with Brandt, Cowin, Schloss, Knapp, and Ruane, his New York City network. This particular trip was lengthy, about ten days. He had sit-downs with prospects for the partnership and another important appointment: his first meeting as a board member at Sanborn Map. Sanborns board consisted almost entirely of insurance-company representativesits biggest customersso it operated more like a club than a business, except that the board meeting wasnt followed by a round of golf. None of the board members owned more than token amounts of stock.3 At the meeting, Warren proposed that the company distribute the investments to the shareholders. But since the Depression and World War II, American businesses treated money as a scarce commodity to be hoarded and husbanded. This way of thinking had become automatic, its underlying premise unexamined, even though the economic justification for it had long disappeared. The board responded to the idea of separating the investment portfolio from the map business as preposterous. Then, toward the end of the meeting, the board broke out the humidor and passed around cigars. While they smoked, Warren sat fuming. Thats my money paying for those cigars, he thought. On the way back to the airport, he took pictures of his children out of his wallet and looked at them to bring his blood pressure down. Frustrated, Warren decided that he would take the company away from Sanborns undeserving board on behalf of the other shareholders. They deserved it more. Therefore, Buffetts groupFred Stanback, Walter Schloss, Alice Buffett, Dan Cowin, Henry Brandt, Catherine Elberfeld, Anne Gottschaldt, and some of the otherskept buying. Warren also used new money coming into the partnerships. He had Howard put a number of his brokerage clients into Sanborn. Warren was probably doing his father a financial favor, even as he tightened his grip on the company. Before long, people friendly to Warren, including the famous money manager Phil Carret, who had bought Greif Bros. and Clevelands Worst Mill after hearing of these stocks through Warren, had corralled about 24,000 shares. Once they had effective control, Warren decided it was time to act. The stock market was high, and he wanted Sanborn to unload its investments at an opportune time. Booz Allen Hamilton, the companys strategic consultants, had already submitted a plan to do this,4 but the sticking point was taxes. If Sanborn sold the investments, it would have to pay a tax bill of about $2 million. Warren offered a solution similar to the Rockwood & Co. tax trick of swapping the investments, tax-free, for stock. Another board meeting took place at which nothing happened except for more of the investors money going up in cigar smoke. For a second time Buffett rode back to the airport looking at pictures of his kids to calm himself down. Three days later, he threatened to call a special meeting and take control of the company unless the directors took action by October 31.5 His patience had run out. Now the board had no choice. It agreed to split the two businesses. Even so, the issue remained of how to deal with the tax. One of the insurance men said, Lets just swallow the tax. And I said, Wait a minute. LetsLets is a contraction. It means let us. Who is this us? If everyone around the table wants to do it per capita, thats fine, but if you want to do it in a ratio of shares owned, and you get ten shares worth of tax and I get twenty-four thousand shares worth, forget it. He was talking about swallowing two million dollars worth of tax just because he didnt want to go to the trouble of doing the share buyback.6 I remember the cigars getting passed around. I was paying for thirty percent of every one of those cigars. I was the only guy not smoking cigars. They should have paid for a third of my bubble gum. In the end, however, the board capitulated. Thus, through force of energy, organization, and will, early in 1960 Warren won the fight. Sanborn made a Rockwood-type offer to shareholders, exchanging a portion of the investment portfolio for stock.7 The Sanborn deal set a new high-water mark: Buffett could use his brains and his partnerships money to alter the course of even a stubborn and unwilling company. *** During this episode, as Buffett traveled back and forth to New York and worked on the Sanborn project, figuring out where to get the stock he needed for control, how to make the board fall in line, and how not to swallow the tax, all the while looking for other investment ideas, his mind whirled with the thousands of numbers that clicked and spun inside his head. At home, he would disappear upstairs to do his reading and thinking. Susie understood his work as a sort of holy mission. Still, she tried to get him out of his study and into the familys world: scheduled outings, vacations, dinners in restaurants. She had a saying: Anyone can be a father, but you have to be a daddy too.8 Yet she was talking to someone whod never had the kind of daddy to which she was referring. Lets go to Broncos, she would say, and stuff a gang of neighborhood kids into the car for a burger run. At the table, Warren would laugh when something funny happened and would appear engaged, but he rarely spoke. His mind could have been anywhere.9 On vacation once in California, he took a bunch of kids to Disneyland one night and sat on a bench reading while the kids ran wild and had a grand time.10 Peter was now almost two, Howie five, and Little Soozwho occupied her own pink checked-gingham kingdom with a canopy bed up a separate flight of stairssix and a half. Howie tested his parents with destruction to see how much it took to get a reaction from them. He picked on Peter, who was slow to start talking, prodding him as if he were a science experiment to see how he would respond.11 Little Susie policed them both to keep things under control. She started figuring out ways to get back at Howie, once telling him to stick holes with a fork around the bottom of a milk carton. While Howie was enjoying the sight of milk spurting all over the kitchen table, she ran upstairs, crying, Mommmmmm, Howies being bad again!12 Warren simply turned to Susie to cope with their sons explosive energy. And Howie remembers that his mother almost never got angry, and was always supportive.13 Susie juggled all this while playing the part of the standard-issue upper-middle-class wife circa 1960: appearing every day in her trademark look, a tailored dress or pantsuit, often in sunshine yellow, and a lacquered bouffant wig; taking perfect care of her husband and family; becoming a community leader; and gracefully entertaining her husbands business associates as if this required no more effort than tossing a Swanson TV Dinner into the oven. Warren let her hire help, and soon a series of au pairs took up residence in an airy, light-filled room with its own bath on the second floor. Letha Clark, the new housekeeper, assumed some of the burden. Susie often started her day around noon by hosting a charity luncheon. After school, she shuttled Little Susie to Blue Birds. She would always describe herself as a simple person, but she steadily added layers of complexity to her life. She was setting up a group called the Volunteer Bureau14 to do office work and teach swimming at the University of Omaha. You, too, can be a Paul Revere was its motto, invoking an image of one individual saving an entire nation through his (or her) daring and self-sacrificing deeds. Susielike Paul Reverewas impatient to mount and ride;15 she dashed back and forth between family obligations and the growing number of people who wanted her attention. Many of these were disadvantaged or traumatized in some way. Her closest friend, Bella Eisenberg, was an Auschwitz survivor who had made her way to America and Omaha after the camp was liberated. She thought of Susie as someone you could call at four oclock in the morning when the demons got hold of you.16 Another, Eunice Denenberg, was only a child when she found her father after he hanged himself. Rarest of all among well-off white families, the Buffetts had black friends, including the most intimidating pitcher in baseball, Bob Gibson, and his wife, Charlene. Being a star athlete meant little in 1960 if you were black. Those were the days when white people wouldnt be seen with black people in Omaha, says Buffetts childhood friend Byron Swanson.17 Susie reached out to everyone; in fact, the more troubled the person, the more willingly she helped. She took a deep interest in the personal lives of people she barely knew. Warren recalls an incident when he left her on line at a concession stand during a football game. By the time he returned from the mens room a few minutes later, the woman standing on line next to Susie was saying to her, Now, Ive never told anybody this before in my life as Susie listened, appearing fascinated. Almost everyone she met glowed under this kind of attention and felt touched by the encounter. But even with her closest friends, Susie nearly always took care not to share her own problems. She played the same role of ministering angel with her own family, above all with her sister. Dottie, who was musical like Susie, had founded the Opera Guild, and remained the beauty of the family, but seemed vacant and, as one person put it, valiantly unhappy. She maintained a pleasant surface but told Susie that she never cried because if she ever started, she would never stop. Homer, her husband, appeared frustrated that he could not penetrate his wifes cocoon. Still, the Rogerses kept up their vigorous social schedule, and at night, amid the drinks and merriment, their two young sons roamed underfoot. At times, Homer punished them harshly or Dottie teased Billy cruellyso Susie mothered her nephews along with her own children. She also helped the senior Buffetts, who were saddled with both Howards health issues and his ideology. Just as the rest of America had caught up to his level of paranoia about Communism, Howard leapfrogged ahead. By the late Eisenhower years, Americans felt their country, grown soft and fat in its prosperity, was losing the arms race and were haunted by the frightening image of Premier Nikita Khrushchev banging his shoe on a table at the United Nations and thundering We will bury you. All 180 million Americans duckedand-covered in air-raid drills, the youngest crouched under their elementary-school desks. More than one billion people were now living under Communism in almost twenty countries around the globe. The rapid advance of Communism over such a broad swath of the world stunned much of the nation. Howard joined a newly formed group, the John Birch Society, which combined paranoia about Communism with what he described as concern for the moral and spiritual problem of America, which would be with us even if Communism were stopped tomorrow.18 He covered his office walls with maps showing the menacing red advance of Communism. He and Doris helped bring the Christian Anti-Communist Crusade to Omaha19 and threw themselves behind a movement of ideological conservatives that was coalescing around Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater. Howard was respected as a philosophical purist among the libertarian-leaning wing of the Republican Party, but anyone associated with the Birchers attracted both alarm and ridicule. After he went to the local press to defend his Birch membership, people increasingly wrote him off as an eccentric. That Omaha snickered at his revered father was painful to Warren. But his anxiety on Howards behalf had even more to do with eighteen months of mysterious symptoms that doctors could not seem to diagnose despite a trip to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.20 Finally, in May of 1958, Howard had been told he had colon cancer that required immediate surgery.21 Warren had been upset by the diagnosis, but angered by what he considered its inexcusable tardiness. Since then, Susie had shielded him from the details of his fathers illness.22 She gave him head rubs and kept up the household schedule. She also devoted herself to propping up Leila during Howards surgery and long recuperation. She did all of this cheerfully; not only that, she seemed to thrive as the calm, soothing presence on whom everyone could depend in this crisis. She helped her older children understand the illness and saw that all of them, including little Peter, visited their grandfather regularly. Howie watched college football in the afternoons with Howard, who would sit in his recliner and switch sides repeatedly during games, cheering for whichever team was losing. When Howie asked him why, he said, Theyre the underdogs now. 23 Throughout his fathers ordeal, Warren used business as a distraction. He kept his head buried in American Banker or the Oil & Gas Journal except for brief interludes when he wandered into the kitchen for some popcorn or a Pepsi from the wooden crates that only he was allowed to touch. Yet somehow, despite Howards distress and illness, the quiet, withdrawn man who was the Warren Buffett his family saw became a presence in public no matter what was going on at home. He displayed an authority, an almost electric charge of energy, that radiated to an audience. He just used to ooze that stuff wherever he went, says Chuck Peterson.24 The man who had so impressed Charlie Munger talked constantly and convincingly about investing and the partnerships; he raised money as fast as he could talkbut not as fast as he could invest. Munger listened to Buffetts investing and money-raising exploits on their almost-daily phone calls, wondering at the natural salesmanship that enabled Buffett to promote himself so well. His trips to New York became more frequent now that Henry Brandt prospected for him. Cash poured into the partnerships coffers, 1960 a watershed year. Warrens aunt Katie and uncle Fred put nearly $8,000 into Buffett Associates early in the year. Another $51,000 came into Underwood, partly through Chuck Petersons connections. Then, Chuck said to me, Id like you and Susie to come to dinner and meet the Angles. Well, I didnt know them. He said theyre both doctors, and real smart people. Carol and Bill Angle lived across the street from Peterson. Bill Angle, a cardiologist, was a whimsical man who would stay up all night in the winter, spraying water around his front yard and making impeccably glazed snowmen, frosty replicas of his chubby self, standing next to frozen ponds. His wife specialized in pediatric research. We picked them up and there were six of us in the car. We headed over to the Omaha Country Club. Carol Angle was a very good-looking woman, and smart. All during dinner, she couldnt take her eyes off me. I mean, she was just fascinated. I was going crazy, talking about everything in the world and trying desperately to impress her. And she was just taking in every word. After the presentation, which Peterson recalls as typically persuasive, we left the country club and drove back. All the way in the car she still couldnt take her eyes off me. We dropped the Angles off. And I said to Chuck, I made quite an impression tonight. He said, No, dummy. Shes deaf. Shes reading your lips. Since I couldnt stop talking, she couldnt stop looking at me.25 But he certainly had made an impression, for afterward the Angles hosted a dinner at the Hilltop House for a dozen doctors they knew, at which Bill Angle suggested that they form a partnership and each chip in $10,000. One doctor asked, What happens if we lose all our money? Bill Angle gave him this disgusted look. And he said, Well, then we form another partnership. The Emdee partnership, Buffetts eighth, was launched on August 15, 1960, with $110,000. The twelfth doctor, the one who worried about losing all his money, did not join. There were other skeptics. Not everyone in Omaha liked what they heard about Warren Buffett. His secretiveness put people off. Some thought the young hotshot wouldnt amount to anything, and believed the authority he radiated was unearned arrogance. Some resisted the idea of a nobody succeeding without kowtowing his way to the top. One member of a prominent Omaha family was lunching with half a dozen people at the Blackstone Hotel when Buffetts name came up. Hell be broke in a year, the man said. Just give him a year and hes gone.26 A partner at Kirkpatrick Pettis, which Howards firm had merged with in 1957, said time after time, The jurys still out on him.27 That fall, the already frothy stock market took off on a tear. The economy had been slogging along in a mild recession, and the countrys mood was dark because the Soviets seemed to be winning the arms and space races. But when John F. Kennedy won the presidency in a squeaker of an election, the pending change in administrations to a man from a vigorous young generation uplifted the nation. In one of his early speeches, Kennedy set out a goal: sending a man to the moon and back. The market shot up, and once again comparisons were made to 1929. Warren had never ridden out a speculative market, yet he remained unruffled. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment. Instead of pulling back, as Graham might have done, he did something remarkable. He went into overdrive raising money for the partnerships. He put Bertie and her husband, his uncle George from Albuquerque, and his cousin Bill into Buffett Associates, the original partnership. Wayne Eves, his friend John Clearys partner, got on board too. And he finally put Fred Kulhkens mother and aunt, Anne Gottschaldt and Catherine Elberfeld, into the partnership. Their presence suggested that he felt the timing was not just highly propitious but also safe. Three more people went into Underwood. Waiting for a cab in the rain after attending one of Ben Grahams lectures in New York, Warren met Frank Matthews Jr., son of the former Secretary of the Navy before whom Vanita Mae Brown had once claimed to be married to WarrenMatthews became a partner.28 Warren set up Ann Investments, his ninth partnership, for a member of another prominent Omaha family, Elizabeth Storz. He put Mattie Topp, who owned the fanciest dress shop in town, along with her two daughters and sons-in-law and $250,000, into the tenth, Buffett-TD. Legally, he could take on only a hundred partners without having to register with the SEC as an investment adviser. As the partnerships burgeoned, he started encouraging people to team up informally and come in as a single partner. Eventually he would put people into pools, combining their money himself.29 He later described the tactic as questionablebut it worked. His compulsion to get more money, to make more money, drove him on. Warren was on fire, shuttling back and forth to New York at a frantic pace. He began to suffer from stress-related back pain. It often worsened when he was on an airplane, and he tried all sorts of things to alleviate iteverything but staying home. By now his name was passed along like a secret. Invest with Warren Buffett to get rich. But the routine had changed. By 1960 it took at least $8,000 to get in the door. And he no longer asked people to invest with him. They had to bring it up. It had to be their idea. People not only would have no inkling what he was doing, they had to put themselves in this position.*20 It converted them into enthusiasts for Buffett, and reduced the odds of their complaining about anything he did. Instead of asking a favor, he was granting one; people felt indebted to him for taking their money. Making people ask put him psychologically in charge. He would come to use this technique often, in many contexts, for the rest of his life. Along with getting him what he wanted, it seemed to soothe his persisting fears of being responsible for other peoples fates. Though his insecurity was rampant as ever, his success and Susies care and tutoring had given him a bit of polish and flair. He was starting to appear powerful, not vulnerable. Plenty of people were happy to ask him to invest for them. Buffett formed the eleventh and last of his partnerships, Buffett-Holland, on May 16, 1961, for Dick and Mary Holland, friends he had met through his lawyer and partner Dan Monen. When Dick Holland decided to invest in the partnership, members of his family pressured him not to do it. Buffetts abilities were apparent to him, Holland says, even though in Omaha people were still laughing up their sleeves at Warrens ambitions.30 Yet in 1959 the partnerships had outperformed the market by six percent. In 1960 they leaped to nearly $1.9 million in assets by beating the market by twenty-nine percent. Even more impressive than any single years profits was the compounding power of repeated growth. A thousand dollars invested in Buffett Fund, the second partnership, was now worth $2,407 four years later. Invested in the Dow Jones Industrial Average, it would have been worth just $1,426.31 More important, he accomplished this higher return while taking less risk than the market as a whole. And Buffetts fees, reinvested, had by the end of 1960 earned him $243,494. More than thirteen percent of the partnerships assets now belonged to him alone. Yet even as his share of the partnerships increased, he had made the partners so much money that they were no longer simply happy; many regarded him with awe. Bill Angle, his partner in Emdee, was foremost among them. He Tom-Sawyered himself into becoming Warrens partner in building a gigantic model train set with an HO gauge track on the third floor of the Buffetts house, which had been a ballroom in a former life and was now the family attic. Warreny, the boy who had lingered at the Brandeis store every Christmas, longing for the huge, magical model train that he couldnt have, awoke inside the grown man. He supervised as Angle did all the work to create Warrens childhood fantasy. Warren also tried to Tom-Sawyer Chuck Peterson into investing in it. Warren, you must be out of your mind, Peterson said. Why would I want to go fifty-fifty with you on a train that you possess? But Warren didnt get this, so carried away was he by enthusiasm for the train and its accoutrements. You can come over and use it, he said. 32 The train filled much of the former ballrooms space. It stood on pilings, with passageways underneath so that the diorama could be viewed from inside. Three locomotives carrying long chains of cars raced along an enormous spiraling track. They rocketed past villages and dove through forests, disappeared into tunnels, climbed mountains and dipped through valleys, stopping and starting at signals, and derailing just often enough to add a thrill when Buffett switched on the engines.33 Shining with the reflected glow of a delayed childhood, burnished with the patina of Omahas railroading history, the train was Warrens totem. His children were forbidden to go near it. By now, his relentless obsession with money and obliviousness to his family were a running joke among his friends. Warren, those are your childrenyou recognize them, dont you? people said.34 When he was not traveling, he could be found wandering through the house, nose buried in an annual report. The family swirled around him and his holy pursuitthe disengaged, silent presence, feet up in his stringy bathrobe, eyes fixed on the Wall Street Journal at the breakfast table. The bookkeeping and banking and safety-depositing and post-officing required for his complicated empire, which had grown to almost four million dollars, eleven partnerships, and well over a hundred investors, now became almost overwhelming. Amazingly, Warren was still handling all the money and doing all the clerical work himself: filing the tax returns, typing the letters, depositing the dividend and capital checks, stopping for a meal at the Spare Time Caf along the way, stuffing the stock certificates in the safety deposit box. On January 1, 1962, Buffett dissolved all of the partnerships into a single entity, Buffett Partnership, Ltd.or BPL. The partnerships had produced a stellar forty-six percent return in 1961, compared with the Dows twenty-two percent. After the partners invested more money that January 1, the new Buffett Partnership, Ltd., started the year with net assets of $7.2 million. In just six years, his partnerships had grown bigger than Graham-Newman. Yet when Peat, Marwick, Mitchell audited it, the auditor, Verne McKenzie, pored over the BPL files not in a conference room on Wall Street but in the alcove off Warrens bedroom upstairs, where the two of them worked side by side. Even Buffett realized by now that his growing collection of files, phone bills, and stock trades had reached the limits of what he could handle working in a home office. He disliked taking on overhead, but he could afford it. Including his outside investmentswhich totaled well over half a million dollars by nowWarren had become a millionaire at age thirty.35 So he rented office space in Kiewit Plaza, a new white granite building a straight shot down Farnam Street about twenty blocks from his house and less than two miles from downtown. He and his father now shared space, a longtime goal of Warrens, as well as a secretary. But Howard was clearly very ill. He soldiered gamely into the office with a stiff gait, making the effort. Warrens face would shadow when he learned some new piece of ominous news about his fathers health, but mostly he tried to avoid knowing the details. The new secretary tried to tell Warren what to do. She thought she was a little motherly, he says, in the sense of trying to steer me. Nobody steered Warren Buffett. He fired her on the spot. But he did need help. Just before moving into Kiewit Plaza he had also hired Bill Scott, a trust officer from the U.S. National Bank who had read an article in the Commercial & Financial Chronicle that Warren had written about an obscure insurance company. Scott signed up for Buffetts investing course, and then, he says, I set out to suck up to him until I got a job. Buffett started going over to the Scotts house on Sunday mornings after he dropped his kids off at church to talk about stocks, and eventually offered him a job.36 Scott began to help Buffett as he herded money into the partnership as fast as the two of them could open the mail. Buffett had his mother join for the first time, along with Scott, Don Danly, and Marge Loring, the widow of Warrens bridge partner Russ Loring, and even Fred Stanback, who had a family business and heretofore had worked with Warren only on specific ideas.37 And for the first time, Warren put his own moneyall of it, almost $450,000into the partnership.38 With that, his and Susies share of the partnership rose to more than a million dollars after his six years of work; together they owned fourteen percent of BPL. The timing was stupendous. In mid-March 1962, the market finally broke. It continued its slide until the end of June. Stocks were suddenly cheaper than they had been in many years. Buffett was now sitting on a single partnership with a huge pile of cash to invest. Its portfolio was relatively unscathed in the downturn Compared to more conventional (often termed conservative, which is not synonymous) methods of common stock investing, it would appear that our method involved considerably less risk, he wrote in a letter to his partners.39 He went racing through the stock tables. He often paraphrased Graham, saying: Be fearful when others are greedy, and greedy when others are fearful. This was the time to be greedy.40 25 The Windmill War Omaha and Beatrice, Nebraska 19601963 In the late 1950s and the early 1960s, while Buffett wrestled with Sanborn, consolidated the partnerships, and moved into the office with his father, he embarked on another project, again some distance from Omaha. The second major orchestration of his supporting group, this was the first in which he actually took control of a company. And it would consume far more of his time and energy than had Sanborn Map. Dempster Mill Manufacturing, a family-run company in the worst sense of the word, made windmills and water irrigation systems in Beatrice,*21 Nebraska. This episode of Buffetts career had started like putting a quarter in yet another slot machine to get a dollar backor so it seemed. The stock sold for $18 a share and the company had a steadily growing book value of $72 a share. (Book value is the stated value of a companys assets less what it oweslike a house less the mortgage, or cash in the bank less a credit card balance.) In the case of Dempster, the assets were windmills, irrigation equipment, and its own manufacturing plant. In 1958, Warren had driven out to Beatrice, a windswept prairie town that depended on Dempster as its sole important employer. He was armed with a list of nineteen questions, such as: How many dealers does the company have? and During the Depression, how bad did the bad debt experience ever get?1 After the visit he decided that the company was well-heeled financially but not making dough.2 Its president, Clyde Dempster, was running it into the ground.3 Since Dempster was just another cigar butt, Warren applied his cigar-butt technique, which was to keep buying a stock as long as it continued to sell below book value. If the price rose for any reason, he could sell out at a profit. If it didnt, and he ended up buying until he owned so much stock that he controlled the company, he could sell offthat is, liquidateits assets at a profit.4 As with Sanborn, Buffett couldnt afford as much of Dempster as he wanted. He called Walter Schloss and Tom Knapp, and said, I want you to go thirds with me.5 Over several years, the trio got hold of eleven percent of the stocksecond only to the Dempster familyand Warren joined the board. In early 1960, the board hired Lee Dimon, formerly purchasing manager of Minneapolis Molding Co., as Dempsters general manager, over Buffetts reservations.6 Buffett maneuvered Clyde Dempster into a figurehead role and continued buying stock.7 He wanted every share that he could lay his hands on. He rang up Schloss in New York and said, Walter, I want to buy your stock. Gee, I dont want to sell it to you, said Schloss. You know, its a nice little company. Look, Im doing all the work on this idea. Id like your stock, said Buffett. Warren, youre a friend of mine. If you want ittake it, said Schloss.8 In the adult version of absconding with Doriss bicycle, Buffett took it. He had a weakness: If he felt he needed something, he needed it, and that need must be satisfied. He did this, however, without any apparent malice or arrogance. If anything, it was the opposite; he was just so terribly needy. People like Schloss generally gave in to him because they liked him, and besides, whatever it was he wanted, he obviously seemed to feel he needed it more than they did. As he gained more stock, Buffett also bought out the Dempster family. With that transaction, he achieved control, eased out Clyde Dempster, and made an offer to all other shareholders on the same terms.9 Here Buffett was treading on tricky ground. As chairman, he felt he could not rightly urge other investors to sell when he was buying. He even bent over backward to warn them that he thought Dempster stock would do well. Nevertheless, money and human nature could be counted on to do their job. People convinced themselves that they would rather have the cash than a thinly traded stock of dubious value. Soon, therefore, Dempster made up twenty-one percent of the partnerships assets. In July 1961, Warren wrote his partners that the partnership had invested in a nameless company that might prove to be a deterrent to short-range performance, but it gives strong promise of superior results over a several-year period.10 He named Dempster, which the partnership now controlled, and wrote a little sermon about it in his January 1962 letter, explaining Ben Grahams philosophy of cigar butts.11 The deterrent to short-range performance part would prove more prescient than he expected. During 1962, Buffett coached Lee Dimon and tried to explain to him how to manage inventory. But Dimon seemed to think he could just keep buying windmill parts no matter how many windmills Dempster sold. As a former purchasing manager, he knew how to purchaseso he did. The warehouse bulged with windmill parts12 as Dempster sucked up cash. By early 1962, the companys bank prepared to seize the inventory as security for its loan, then grew alarmed enough to make noises about shutting Dempster down. Buffett was looking at only a few months before it all caved in and he would have to report to the partners that a business into which he had sunk a million dollars of their money was broke. He tried to recruit his old Columbia friend Bob Dunn to leave his job at U.S. Steel, move to Beatrice, and run Dempster. Dunn actually made a trip out to Beatrice but in the end wasnt interested. Buffett rarely asked advice, but finally that April he took the situation up with his friend Munger while he and Susie were visiting Los Angeles. We were going to dinner with the Grahams and the Mungers, Susie and I. We met them at the Captains Table on El Segundo in L.A. During the dinner, Im telling Charlie, Im in this mess with this company; Ive got this jerk running Dempster, and the inventories keep going up and up. Munger, who dissected his law clients businesses and thought like a manager, said immediately, Well, I know this guy that used to bring around tough situations out here. Harry Bottle. He knew of Bottle through an acquaintance who specialized in business turnarounds. Six days later, lured by a $50,000 sign-on bonus, Harry Bottle was in Beatrice. This meant that for the second timecounting the motherly secretaryBuffett had to fire someone. He already knew from that experience that he hated firing people. Not only that, Dempster was the only major business in town, and he had heard through the board that, upon Dimons appointment to general manager, his wife had crowned herself queen of Beatrice. Buffett dreaded confrontation. His first instinct was to avoid it, and he ran like a singed cat if anyone threatened to explode at him the way his mother had. But he had also learned to shut down emotionally in the face of a possible eruption. The trick, he felt, was to create a shell around yourself with respect to that, without creating a shell that extends beyond the situation, to keep from becoming a hardened person. Whatever happened when he fired Lee Dimon, Harriett Dimon afterward wrote Warren a letter in which she accused him of being abrupt and unethical, and, through his coldness, of destroying her husbands confidence. Buffett, at almost thirty-two, had not yet learned to fire people with empathy. Within days he sent his new employee Bill Scott over to Beatrice to help Harry Bottle rummage around the parts department and decide what to toss out and what to reprice.13 They swept through the place like a swarm of boll weevils and slashed inventory, sold off equipment, closed five branches, raised prices for repair parts, and shut down unprofitable product lines. They laid off a hundred people. This extensive shrinkage of the business by its new out-of-town management on the heels of the firing prompted the townspeople of Beatrice to eye Buffett with increasing distrust, suspecting that he was a ruthless liquidator. By year-end 1962, Bottle had pulled Dempster into the black. In his January 1963 letter to partners, Buffett called Dempster the high point of the year, and named Harry Bottle the man of the year.14 He estimated the value of the company, worth $35 per share a year earlier, at $51 per share. The bank was happy. As the assets were sold and the inventory whittled, Dempster piled up about $2 million in cash, worth $15 per share. Meanwhile, Buffett had borrowedanother $20 against each share to have funds to invest. With that, Dempsters investment portfolio was as large as the rest of the partnerships. Now Buffett was faced with a Sanborn-type problem. Ironically, he had become one of those executives with a cash hoard. The market had rebounded smartly from its lows of June 1962. Trying to use Dempsters extra money, he sent Bottle and Scott to upstate New York to see a manufacturing plant of the Oval Wood Dish Company, which made Popsicle sticks, wooden spoons, and the like, but didnt buy it.15 Buffett tried to sell Dempster privately but found no takers at his price, so in August he notified the shareholders that the company was for sale, and ran an ad in the Wall Street Journal: Profitable Manufacturing Company for Sale Company is a leading farm equipment, fertilizer applicating equipment and water systems manufacturer. [Dempster] will be sold as a going concern at a public sale on September 30, 1963, subject to a negotiated sale until Sept. 13, 1963. Contact, Mr. Harry T. Bottle, President. He gave buyers a month to get their bids in before the public auction. He had already been talking to most of the obvious candidates. Beatrice went berserk at the thought of another new owner that might impose layoffs or a plant closing on its biggest and virtually only employer. In the postwar boom, plants opened, they didnt close. Less than a quarter century after the end of the Great Depression, the prospect of mass unemployment brought back haunting memories of gray-faced men in soup lines, drifters wearing patched coats, a quarter of the nation unemployed, hunger and malnutrition, demeaning government make-work jobs. The people of Beatrice pulled out the pitchforks.16 Buffett was shocked. He had saved a dying company. Didnt they understand that? Without him, Dempster would have gone under.17 He had not expected the ferocity, the personal vitriol. He had no idea that they would hate him. The townspeople launched a crusade to foil Buffett by raising nearly $3 million to keep the ownership in Beatrice.18 Day by day the Beatrice Daily Sun breathlessly counted down to the deadline as the town fought to save its only factory. The day of the deadline, fire sirens sounded and bells rang out as the mayor stepped to a microphone and announced that Buffett had been defeated; Charles B. Dempster, grandson of the companys founder, headed an investor group that pledged to keep the plant open.19 Cash in hand, Buffett handed out more than $2 million to his shareholders.20 But the experience scarred him. Instead of becoming toughened against animosity, he vowed never to let it happen again. He couldnt take a whole town hating him. One day not long after, Buffett called Walter Schloss, saying, You know, Walter, I have these small positions in five different companies, and Ill sell them to you. These were Jeddo-Highland Coal, Merchants National Property, Vermont Marble, Genesee & Wyoming Railroad, and another whose name is lost in time. Well, what price would you want, Warren? Schloss asked. Ill sell them to you at the price that Im carrying them at, Buffett said. Okay, Ill buy them from you, said Schloss immediately. I didnt say, Well, you know, you have to look up each one and check what its worth, Schloss says. I trusted Warren. If I had said, Well, I can buy it for ninety percent of what youre carrying it at, Warren would have saidForget it! I did him a favor, so he wanted to do me one too. If he had also made a profit, then that was fine. And they all worked out brilliantly. I felt that it was his way of saying thank you for selling me your Dempster stock. I dont say thats the reason, but thats what I mean by being an honest guy. 26 Haystacks of Gold Omaha and California 19631964 Warren may have said he wanted to become a millionaire, but he never said that he would stop there. Later he would describe himself during this period as a lousy sport at doing anything I didnt want to do. What he wanted to do was invest. His children now ranged from five to ten years old, and one friend described Susie as sort of a single mother. Warren would show up at school events or toss around a football if asked, but he never initiated a game. He seemed too preoccupied to notice his childrens longing for attention. Susie taught the children that his special mission must be respected; she told them, He can only be so much, so dont expect any more from him. That applied to her, too; Warren was obviously devoted to his wife, and showed that in public, caressing Susan-o affectionately and recounting tender, funny variations of how she, the gentle angel, had stooped to marry him, the ukulele-playing financial prodigy who was a secret wreck. At the same time he was so used to her attention and remained so undomesticated that once, when she was nauseous and asked him to bring her a basin, he came back with a colander. She pointed out the holes; he rattled around in the kitchen and returned triumphantly bearing the colander on a cookie sheet. After that, she knew it was hopeless. Yet the predictability of Warrens habits gave a certain stability to the Buffett household, as Susies come-on-in, take-a-number atmosphere unfolded around them. In the evenings he reenacted his own fathers routine, arriving at the same time every night, slamming the door from the garage, and yelling, Im home! before heading to the living room to read the newspaper. He wasnt uncaring, and he was often available. But in conversation his words often had a subtly prepared, even rehearsed quality. He was always one step ahead. Whatever went on inside his mind took place between the lines; it came through in the silences, the flashes of wit, the tremulous flight from certain topics of conversation. His feelings danced behind so many veils that even he seemed unaware of them most of the time. Susie herself was less available these days. Like her father, she stayed busy and surrounded by people; she avoided being alone and unoccupied. She was vice president of the theater guild and involved with United Community Services. She shopped and dined with her large group of women friends, spending far more time with those in the Jewish and black communities than among white socialites. Susie was becoming prominent among a group of Omaha women who were passionate civil-rights supporters. The battle to end segregation in employment and public facilities, and to remove obstacles to voting rights, was accelerating around the country. She helped organize the Omaha branch of the Panel of Americans, a speakers bureau that sent one Jew, one Catholic, one white Protestant, and one black Protestant to talk to civic groups, churches, and other organizations about their experiences. The panel was a way of trying to bring people together; one of Susies friends satirized her role on it as to apologize for being a WASP. The panel members answered audience questions such as: Why would a Negro want to move to a different part of town? Are any of you prejudiced against one another? Do Jews believe that Christ has been or that He is still coming? Dont you think that sit-ins are just stirring up trouble? At a time when Negroes could not use public white only restrooms throughout much of the South, the sight of a black woman sitting as an equal on the same stage as white women stirred the audiences.1 In the afternoons, often with Susie Jr. in tow, Susie shot back and forth to meetings and committees on the north side of town, trying to tackle the citys worst problem: dilapidated housing and abysmal living conditions in the ghetto.2 The police stopped her several times. Why are you in this neighborhood? theyd ask. Honey, the fretful Doc Thompson told Susie Jr., your mother is going to get killed. He made her carry a police whistle when she rode with her mother. Honey, youre going to get kidnapped, he said.3 Susies role as problem-solver and emotional carpet-sweeper meant that people thought of calling her whenever there was trouble, of any kind. She had referred to Warren as her first patient,4 and there were others. She stepped in more often now to manage Dotties life as her sisters ability to cope declined and her drinking increased. She counseled Doris through her divorce from Truman and gave her a copy of a book, Viktor Frankls Mans Search for Meaning, that Doris turned to again and again looking for hope amid misery.5 For several days, Susie housed an Ethiopian student whom her friend Sue Brownlee was sponsoring in Omaha because Brownlees father was visiting, and he would have been horrified at a black woman sleeping in his bed.6 As a cultural experience for the family, Susie arranged for an Egyptian exchange student who was attending the University of Omaha to move in with them for a semester.7 Outside of Warrens study, the Buffetts home was never a refuge from the world, and opportunities for solitude were rare. Yet despite the freewheeling atmosphere, the children were growing up with a balance of freedom and discipline, strong ethical principles instilled by both parents, an excellent education, and an emphasis on enriching experiences. Warren and Susie had many long conversations about how to bring up children in a rich family so that they became self-sufficient rather than feeling entitled. What the children lacked was attention. Their father was almost exclusively focused on work. Their mother was like a gardener with too many tomato plants, running with her watering can toward whoever was neediest at any given time. The children responded to this upbringing in their different ways. The older Little Susie got, the fewer overtures she made for her mothers attention and the more authority she assumed over her brothers. She also worked as a crossing guard on the busy street outside their house, and spent much of her time with her own friends.8 Howie, the tornado, tunneled through the backyard, leaped off the banisters, hung from the curtains, and tore through the house. Every day was April Fools Day. He dumped a bucket of water from the roof onto Phyllis the babysitter. Everybody knew it wasnt safe to drink a glass of anything he handed them. But he was also easily wounded, tenderhearted like his mother, and burdened by a need for attention that outstripped her supply. When Susie reached her limit, she sometimes locked Howie in his room.9 Peter, who was naturally quiet, felt rewarded for staying in the background as his siblings ruled through squabbles, with bossy Little Susie striving to contain Howies whirlwind.10 P lacid by nature, Peter retreated inside his head when the energy around him grew too intense. He played Yankee Doodle on the piano in a minor key whenever he was unhappy, rather than express his feelings in words.11 *** Warren approved of his wifes sprawling interests, was proud of her generosity and her leadership role in Omaha, and appreciated her attentiveness to the children, which freed him to focus on his work. He, too, was always adding one more thing to his list, but unlike her he never overextended himself. When something new came into his life, something else went out. The two exceptions were money and friends. Thanks to both, by 1963 a number of professional investors had figured out that this Buffett fellow out in Omaha knew what he was doing. Even some who normally would never have heard of Warren Buffett were starting to seek him out. He no longer had to charm, much less prospect; he simply laid down the terms on which he would take peoples money. Those outside Omaha often knew more about him than his own neighbors. A friend of Little Susies was in the family car on the way to the 1964 New York Worlds Fair when her parents stopped for gas. They struck up a conversation with the woman at the next pump, who turned out to be the mothers former high school teacher. The woman was traveling from Elmira, New York, to Omaha, carrying with her $10,000 to invest with Warren Buffett. Do you know him? she asked. Should I invest with him? Hes our neighbor, the family said. Yes, you should. They got back in the car and headed onward to the Worlds Fair, thinking no more of it. With five kids and a new house, it didnt occur to them to invest for themselves.12 Another would-be partner, Laurence Tisch, one of two brothers who were building a New York hotel empire, sent in a check for $30,000 made out to Charlie Munger. Buffett called him and said he was glad to have Tisch join the partnership, but next time, make the check out to me. Munger could have used the money. Whatever Laurence Tisch may have thought, in 1963 he and Buffett were not partners. Munger had just opened a partnership of his own after waiting until he had accumulated a fair amount of moneyaround $300,000by investing in real estate. But this was peanuts by Buffetts standards, a fraction of Warren and Susies wealth. Charlie had a lot of children early on. That hindered him a lot in getting independent. Starting early with no encumbrances is a big advantage. Even when I came back from Graham-Newman, I mean, I had my 174,000 bucks, I felt like I could do what I wanted to do. I could take courses with my father-in-law the psychologist. I could go out there to the university and sit in the library and read all day. In fact, Buffett had been encouraging Munger to think seriously about investing as a career ever since they first met. He would say to him, Its nice to be a lawyer and to do real estate on the side, but if you want to make some real money, you ought to start something like my partnerships.13 In 1962, Munger had gone into partnership with his poker buddy Jack Wheeler. Wheeler was a trader on the Pacific Coast Stock Exchange, the Wild West version in miniature of what was going on back east: a floor full of screaming traders, aggressive men looking to make a killing the fastest way they could. He owned an investing partnership, Wheeler, Cruttenden & Company, which included two specialist posts on the exchange, where traders took orders from brokers to trade stocks on the floor. They renamed the business Wheeler, Munger & Co., and sold the trading operation. Munger continued his law practice but bolted from his old firm together with several other lawyers, among them Roy Tolles and Rod Hills. They founded a new firm, Munger, Tolles, Hills & Wood, that suited their ideals of how a law firm should be managed.14 All along, Munger had naturally resisted following the rules of a law firm run by anyone but himself. Its no coincidence that the year he started his partnership was the same year he started his new law firm. The partners at the old firm found it abhorrent that a young lawyer in their firm would want to be a member of that gambling den, the Pacific Coast Stock Exchange. When Charlie and Roy left the firm, they sat down with the senior partners and said that they wanted these senior partners to understand that the day would come when every first-rate law firm had a member of the Pacific Coast Stock Exchange. This is probably apocryphal, but you can easily picture Charlie delivering that message to them as a parting shot. At their new firm, Munger and Hills imposed an elitist, Darwinian ethos designed to attract the brightest and most ambitious. The partners all voted on one anothers pay, which was circulated for everyone to know. Even as the firm launched, however, Munger was already spending a significant amount of time at the Pacific Coast Stock Exchange. Within three years, when he was forty-one, he abandoned the law altogether to work full-time at investing. But he still consulted to the firm and kept an office there, where he remained an important, almost spiritual presence. Tolles, too, shifted most of his attention to investing. Hills, by far the most ambitious and dedicated to law of the three, ran the firm and kept it going. In his new role as a money manager, Munger had to raise money to manage. Buffett had always hustled for investors in an understated way, often using others as his promoterspeople like Bill Angle and Henry Brandt, who found and prepared prospectsso that he could show off his impressive track record with a pleasing modesty. But however gracefully hed hustled, hed still done it. Munger felt this was demeaning. I didnt really like raising money, he says. I always felt that a gentleman should have his money. Now, however, he managed to parlay his law practice into an investing partnership by raising funds from his powerful Los Angeles business connections. While his partnership was of course much smaller than Buffetts, the money would be enough. Jack Wheeler had explained to him that, as a member of the exchange, under its rules he could borrow an additional ninety-five cents for every dollar invested.15 Thus, if he put up $500, he could borrow another $475 and invest a total of $975. If the investment earned a profit of twenty-five percent, the profit on Mungers $500 of capital would be nearly double that.16 While having the potential to nearly double his returns, this borrowing likewise nearly doubled his risk. If he lost twenty-five percent, he would lose nearly half his capital. But Munger, more than Buffettfar more than Buffettwas willing to take on some debt if he was positive the odds were right. He and Wheeler set themselves up at the exchange in a crude, cheap office festooned with radiator pipes and stuck their secretary, Vivian, in the tiny private back office overlooking an alley.17 Wheeler, a big spender who liked to live large, had just had a hip replacement and soon started showing up for work on the golf course most mornings.18 Munger fell into a routine, arriving at five a.m., before the market opened on the East Coast, and checking the quotation board.19 Buffett had connected him with Ed Anderson, the Graham-Newman investor who had worked for the Atomic Energy Commission and seemed so smart; Munger hired him as his assistant. Most of the traders at the stock exchange had ignored Mungers arrival on the scene, but one of them, J. Patrick Guerin, took note. Guerin had bought the trading part of Wheelers partnership when Wheeler had spun it off and gone into business with Munger. A rough-and-tumble guy who was scrambling like mad to better himself, Guerin had grown up with a divorced father, says Munger, and his mother was a drunk, so he raised himself on the streets. He was high IQ, rebellious, and maladjusted.20 After a stint in the Air Force, Guerin had worked as a salesman for IBM, then became a stockbroker at a couple of small firms that peddled third-class stocks because they carried the highest profit, or spread, for the firm. This was a part of stockbroking Buffett had detested; Guerin, too, found it a relief to escape life as a prescriptionist. By the time Munger met him, the lean, handsome Guerin had learned to roll his crisp shirt cuff down over his tanned forearm to cover his tattoo. He seemed to have a great number of friends as well as a tinge of Hollywood in his blood; one day he brought his friend, the actor Charlton Heston, down to the exchange for a tour.21 He did the trading for Wheeler, Munger, and says he immediately recognized that Munger had a money mind and began to cultivate him. He came to the conclusion that hed been on the wrong side of the Wheeler deal right away, and began to emulate Munger and Buffett, with the goal of forming his own investing partnership. With some, the idea of buying dollar bills for forty cents takes, and with some it doesnt take. Its like an inoculation. Its extraordinary to me. If it doesnt grab them right away, I find that you can talk to them for years and show them recordsyou can do everythingand it just doesnt make any difference. Ive never seen anyone who became a convert over a ten-year period with this approach. Its always instant recognition or nothing. Whatever it is, Ive never understood it. But with a fellow like Rick Guerinno business background in terms of studying it, but he saw it like that, he understood what its about, and he was applying it five minutes later. And Rick was smart enough to know that you should get a great teacher, which is what I was lucky enough to do with Ben Graham. As the day progressed at the Pacific Coast Stock Exchange, Munger would sit, lost in thought, usually reading. Charlie! Charlie! Ed Anderson would shout from the next desk. Munger would say nothing, or grunt something in response.22 Eventually, Anderson learned to make Munger respond clearly to questions, erasing ambiguity; a simple grunt was not sufficient. But it took time and experience for most people to figure out that Mungers mind and mouth often went their separate ways. Guerin did not know this yet. One day he came into the office from his booth on the floor. Charlie, he said. Ive just been offered fifty thousand shares of XYZ at fifteen dollars. This looks like a good deal. Hmmm, uhm, said Munger. Look, Charlie, Guerin carried on, if this interests you, Im going to buy it. Yeah, yeah, said Munger. A little later, Guerin walked back into the office and said, Charlie, we got them. Got what? said Munger. We bought the fifty thousand shares at fifteen dollars. Big money. What!? screamed Munger. What are you talking about! I dont want em! Sell em! Get rid of em right now! Guerin tried to explain. He called on Anderson for backup: Ed, did you hear this when I said it earlier? Charlie, I was sitting here listening to it, just as Rick said, Anderson interjected. I dont care! I dont care! Sell em! Sell em! Sell em! yelled Munger. Guerin ran out the door and got rid of the shares. That was an object lesson, says Anderson.23 Munger bought cigar butts, did arbitrage, even acquired small businessesmuch of this in Buffetts stylebut he seemed to be heading in a slightly different direction than Buffett. Periodically, he said to Ed Anderson, I just like the great businesses. He told Anderson to write up companies like Allergan, the contact-lens-solution maker. Anderson misunderstood and wrote a Grahamian report emphasizing the companys balance sheet. Munger dressed him down for it; he wanted to hear about the intangible qualities of Allergan: the strength of its management, the durability of its brand, what it would take for someone else to compete with it. Munger had invested in a Caterpillar tractor dealership and saw how it gobbled up money, which sat in the yard in the form of slow-selling tractors. To grow, the business had to buy more tractors, gobbling up more money. Munger wanted to own a business that did not require continual investment, and spat out more cash than it consumed. But what were the qualities of such a business? And what gave such a business an enduring competitive advantage? Munger was always asking people, Whats the best business youve ever heard of? But he was a man of no great patience, and inclined to think that people could read his mind.24 His impatience stood out more than any theory that was emerging inside his head. He wanted to get really rich, really fast. He and Roy Tolles made bets on whose portfolio would be up more than one hundred percent in a year. And he was willing to borrow money to make money, whereas Buffett had never borrowed a significant sum in his life. I need three million dollars, Munger would say, on one of his frequent visits to the Union Bank of California. Sign here, the bank would reply.25 With these huge sums, Munger did enormous trades like British Columbia Power, which was selling at around $19 and being taken over by the Canadian government at a little more than $22. Munger put not just his whole partnership, but all the money he had, and all that he could borrow into an arbitrage on this single stock26but only because there was almost no chance that this deal would fall apart. When the transaction went through, the deal paid off handsomely. Yet despite their different approaches, Munger regarded Buffett as the king of investing, and saw himself as merely a friendly pretender to the throne.27 Vivian, get me Warren! he shouted several times a day to whichever secretary had come to occupy Vivians desk.28 He cultivated Buffett like a garden he was tending. Buffett explained his philosophy: Youve got to coattail, he said.29 But he did not want his friends to coattail him and considered it unethical when they did. Hence, while Munger, cultivating Buffett, was open about his tradeshe got Buffett into his British Columbia Power deal, for exampleBuffett always kept his trades to himself unless he was working an idea with a partner. By the early 1960s, the Buffetts had begun to vacation in California, so that Warren could spend more time with Graham and Munger. Once Warren and Susie took the kids on a long trip up and down the coast, but usually when they came to visit, theyd settle into a motel on Santa Monica Boulevard, and he and Munger would talk stocks for hours. The differences in their philosophies made for long conversations. While Buffett made many of the same investments, he would forgo the chance of profits any day to avoid too much risk, and viewed preserving his capital as an almost holy imperative. Munger had the attitude that unless you were already wealthy, you could afford to take some riskif the odds were rightto get rich. His audacity put him in a different category from all the others who cultivated Buffett, for his deference to Buffett was limited by his high opinion of himself. Charlie would get so excited by his own words that hed hyperventilate, says Dick Holland, Buffetts friend and partner, who was present at some of these California get-togethers.30 In his quest for the great businesses, Munger did not understand Buffetts fascination with Ben Graham. Because he is good at explaining Ben Graham, Munger later wrote, Buffett was behaving like the old Civil War veteran who after a few minutes of ordinary conversation always interjected: Boom Boom, that reminds me of the battle of Gettysburg.31 Grahams flaw, Munger felt, was that he considered the future more fraught with hazard than ripe with opportunity. Graham was a man, he said, whose favorite story is that of Croesus, surveying the ruin of his life and empire after the too-hopeful misadventure with Persia, and recalling the words of Solon that no mans life should be accounted a happy one until it is over.32 Munger began trying to wean Buffett away from Grahams dreary pessimism, which underlay the drudgery of stooping for cigar butts and sucking out their last puff. Buffett had a buoyant optimism about the long-term economic future of American business, which had enabled him to invest in the market against his fathers and Grahams advice. Yet his investing style still reflected Grahams doom-laden habits of looking at businesses based on what they were worth dead, not alive. Munger wanted Buffett to define the margin of safety in other than purely statistical terms. In doing so, Munger was working against a subtle tendency toward catastrophism in Buffetts outlook that sometimes cropped up when solving theoretical problems. His father, Howard, had always prepared for the day the currency became worthless, as if that day were imminent. Warren was far more realistic. Nonetheless, he tended to extrapolate mathematical probabilities over time to the inevitable (and often correct) conclusion that if something can go wrong, it eventually will. This style of thinking was the proverbial double-edged sword: It made Buffett a gifted visionary whose thoughts oriented toward doomsday. He would come to use this sword often to slice through knotty problems, sometimes in a very public way. A few years earlier, another friend of Buffetts, Herb Wolf of New York Hanseatic, an over-the-counter trading house, had helped Buffett tame another personality trait that was hindering his financial quest. Wolf, an investor in the water utility American Water Works, had sought Buffett out in the early 1950s after reading an article that Warren had written on IDS Corporation in the Commercial & Financial Chronicle.33 Herb Wolf was one of the smartest guys I ever met. He could tell the effect on American Water Works earnings if somebody took a bath in Hackensack, New Jersey. He was unbelievable. One day Herb said to me, Warren, if youre looking for a gold needle in a haystack of gold, its not better to find the gold needle. I had this thing that the more obscure something was, the better I liked it. I thought it was a treasure hunt. Herb got me out of that way of thinking. I loved that guy. By 1962, Buffett had shaken off the treasure-hunt way of thinking. But he still had Wolfs passion for detail, and even with the addition of Bill Scott, his operations had expanded so much that he now needed another employee to assist him. He managed to keep this one off his own payroll; Buffett would forever go to extremes to control his overhead by paying for expenses in ways that could be shut off as needed, or, better yetas in this casecould be covered in ways that made them effectively free. Henry Brandt, Buffetts stockbroker friend who worked at Wood, Struthers & Winthrop, was a born sleuth who had been doing part-time research for the BPL partnership. Buffett had been paying Wood, Struthers for Brandts time through the brokerage commissions he paid for trading stocks through it. Since he would be paying commissions to somebody anyway, Brandt effectively worked for him for free.34 If Buffett decided he did not need Brandts research anymore, he could use another brokerage firm to execute his trades. Now, Brandt worked for Buffett almost one hundred percent of the time. Buffett paid Brandt by waiving his partnership fee and beginning to cut him in on outside deals without an override. The two men shared an interest in knowing the minutest details about a company. Brandt was fearless about asking questions. Unlike Buffett, he never thought twice about making himself obnoxious if this was what it took. He gladly did enormous amounts of meticulous research by gumshoeing and pestering people. Brandt, however, was incapable of stopping before he found the gold needle. Therefore, Buffett set the agenda and steered the process to keep it from turning into a treasure hunt. Brandt produced foot-high stacks of notes and reports.35 Part of Brandts job for Buffett was finding scuttlebutt, a term used by investment writer Phil Fisher, the apostle of growth, who said that many qualitative factors like the ability to maintain sales growth, good management, and research and development characterized a good investment.36 These were the qualities that Munger was searching for when he spoke of the great businesses. Fishers proof that these factors could be used to assess a stocks long-term potential was beginning to creep into Buffetts thinking, and would eventually influence his way of doing business. Buffett now had Brandt digging into an idea that would have pleased Munger, had he known about it. The episode that resulted would become one of the high points of Buffetts career. This opportunity had its roots in the machinations of a big-time commodities trader, Anthony Tino De Angelis, who had become convinced in the late 1950s that hed found a shortcut to making money in soybean oil. De Angeliswho had a shady past, having once sold tainted meat to the government school-lunch programhad by then become arguably the worlds most important and legitimate dealer in soybean oil. It apparently struck De Angelis one day that no one actually knew how much oil was in his warehouse. He was using the oil as collateral to borrow from banks.37 As long as nobody knew how much soybean oil was in the tanks, why not goose up the numbers a little bit so he could borrow more money? The tanks sat in a warehouse in Bayonne, New Jersey, which was managed by a tiny subsidiary that was an almost invisible part of the gigantic empire of American Express. This arm of the business issued warehouse receipts: documents that certified how much oil was in a tank and could be bought and sold, just like the warehouse receipts for cocoa beans that Graham-Newman had bought from Jay Pritzker in exchange for Rockwood shares. After American Express had verified the oil in the tanks, De Angelis and his Allied Crude Vegetable Oil Refining Corporation sold these receipts or used them as collateral to borrow from banksfifty-one banks. Furthermore, American Express stood as guarantor of the quantity of oil behind those receipts. As for the tanks, they were connected by a system of pipes and valves, and De Angelis found that the soybean oil could be sloshed and shunted around from one tank to another. Thus, a gallon of oil could pull double or triple or quadruple duty as collateral for a loan. Pretty soon, the loans guaranteed by warehouse receipts were secured by a smaller and smaller amount of soybean oil. Eventually, it occurred to De Angelis that, in fact, very little oil was needed. Indeed, just enough to fool the inspectors would do the trick. So the tanks were filled with seawater, and oil was placed inside a little tube that the inspectors used to guide their measuring sticks. They did not notice the difference or think to test a sample from outside the tube.38 At about that point, dealing in the oil itself was no longer generating enough money to satisfy De Angelis, so he began to trade in the futures market. Futures contracts give someone the right to buy soybean oil at a later date, betting on the price of oil in the future versus the price today. They are like the futures contracts Graham-Newman had sold to lock in the price of cocoa beans. For a buck or two per ton, De Angelis could buy tons of soybean oil to be delivered in nine months at a certain price to be paid on that date. The contracts could be sold before the payment came due, which made speculating in oil much cheaper than paying twenty dollars to buy the oil outright in order to sell it later. Thus stretched, the borrowed money went much further; De Angelis could, through the futures market, control a great deal of soybean oil. The people at American Express had not been entirely asleep; after an anonymous tip in 1960 that something was amiss down in New Jersey, they made inquiries of De Angelis and his employees. But De Angelis, who was as tubby as the tanks full of seawater sitting there right in front of the investigators eyes, managed to give them answers that apparently satisfied them. In September 1963, De Angelis saw a chance to make a further killing. The Soviet sunflower crop had failed, and rumors spread that the Russians would have to turn to soybeans for oil. De Angelis decided to corner the soybean market, forcing the Communists to buy from him at an inflated price. There was no particular limit to how many soybean futures he could buy. In fact, he could and did control more soybean oil than actually existed on the planet39 by borrowing heavily from Ira Haupt & Co., his broker, and taking on obligations in the futures market to buy 1.2 billion pounds of soybean oil. But this large a bet meant that he could afford to have the price of soybean oil go in only one directionup. Then, suddenly, it appeared that the U.S. government might not let the Soviet deal go through. The price of soybean oil collapsed, driving the market down by $120 million. Haupt began calling on De Angelis to meet his obligations, but De Angelis sent excuses instead. When Haupt came up short of money, the New York Stock Exchange shut the firm down and Haupt was forced into bankruptcy.40 De Angeliss lenders, holding the now-worthless warehouse receipts, hired investigators and turned to American Express, issuer of the receipts, to recoup their $150 to $175 million in losses. And American Expresscaught holding tanks full of nothing but worthless seawatersaw its stock plummet. The story began to hit the newspapers. Two days later, on Friday, November 22, 1963, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated while riding in a Dallas motorcade. Buffett was downstairs eating lunch in the Kiewit Plaza cafeteria with an acquaintance, Al Sorenson, when somebody came in with the news that Kennedy had been shot. He went back upstairs to his office and found that the New York Stock Exchange floor was in a state of stupefaction; stocks were plunging on heavy trading. With the Dow down twenty-one points in half an hour, the market had lost $11 billion.41 Then the exchange closed, its first emergency closing during trading since the Great Depression.42 Shortly afterward, the Federal Reserve made a statement of confidence that meantafter translation from Fedargot to Englishthat international central banks would work together to thwart speculation against the dollar.43 As a stunned country erupted in sorrow, anger, and shame, schools were dismissed and businesses shut their doors. Buffett went home to sit, along with the rest of the country, and watch the nonstop television coverage throughout the weekend. He characteristically displayed no powerful surge of emotion, rather a detached gravity. For the first time in history, a U.S. presidential assassination was being covered on television around the globe. For the first time, shock and sorrow united the world through the medium of television. For a brief while America stopped thinking about anything but the assassination. The newspapers, of course, relegated the American Express scandal to their back inside pages for days as the dramatic headlines took precedence.44 But Buffett went looking for it. The stock never recovered from the blow it took on Friday when the market closed, and afterward it continued to slide downhill. Investors were fleeing in droves from the stock of one of Americas most prestigious financial institutions. Its price had been cut in half.45 Indeed, it wasnt clear whether American Express would survive. The company was an emerging financial powerhouse. Now that the average person could suddenly afford air travel, half a billion dollars of the companys Travelers Cheques floated around the world. Its credit card, launched five years earlier, was a huge success. The companys value was its brand name. American Express sold trust. Had the taint to its reputation so leaked into customers consciousness that they no longer trusted the name? Buffett started dropping in on Omaha restaurants and visiting places that took American Express cards and Travelers Cheques.46 He put Henry Brandt on the case. Brandt scouted Travelers Cheque users, bank tellers, bank officers, restaurants, hotels, and credit-card holders to gauge how American Express was doing versus its competitors, and whether use of American Express Travelers Cheques and cards had dropped off.47 Back came the usual foot-high stack of material. Buffetts verdict after sorting through it was that customers were still happy to be associated with the name American Express. The tarnish on Wall Street had not spread to Main Street.48 During the months that Buffett was investigating American Express, his fathers health declined precipitously. Despite having undergone several surgeries, Howards cancer had spread throughout his body. In early 1964, Warren took charge as the de facto leader of the family. While time remained, he had Howard remove him from his will to increase the share left to Doris and Bertie in a trust. The amount $180,000was a fraction of his and Susies net worth; he felt it made no sense for him to share it when he could so easily earn money himself. He set up another trust for his children so that Howard could leave them the farm to which the Buffett family had planned to flee when the dollar became worthless. Warren would be trustee of these trusts. Howards previous will had specified an ordinary wood casket and an economical funeral, and the family convinced him to delete that part.49 One of the most difficult things Warren felt he had to do was to level with his father that he was no longer a Republican at heart.50 The reason, he said, was civil rights.51 Amazingly, however, he could not bring himself to change his voter registration as long as Howard was alive.52 I wouldnt throw that in his face. In fact if he had lived, it would have really constrained my life. I would not have come out against my father politically in public. I can envision his friends wondering why Warren was behaving that way. I couldnt have done it. Although the family did not talk about Howards impending death at home,53 Susie took over much of his care from Leila. She also saw to it that the children took part in their own way. She arranged for them to stand outside his hospital window with a sign that said, We Love You, Grandpa. At ten and nine years old, Susie Jr. and Howie understood what was going on. Five-year-old Peter had a vaguer sense of his grandfathers illness. Susie also made sure that Warrenwho had trouble facing illness under any circumstanceswent to the hospital every day to see his father. As Howard worsened, Warren poured his attention into American Express. At the time, he had the largest cache of money with which to work that the partnership had ever seen: Its huge profits in 1963 meant that on January 1, 1964, $5 million of new money had come in, and the partnership was already enriched by $3 million of stock gains from the previous year. His own money had exploded: He was now worth $1.8 million. BPLs capital at the beginning of 1964 stood at just under $17.5 million. During Howards last weeks, Warren began to invest in American Express at a hyperactive sprint, pouring money into stock as fast as he could trade, working tirelessly and methodically to get as many shares as he could without running up the price. Only five years before, he had had to scrape and scrounge to find a few tens of thousands for National American. Never before had he invested like this. Never had he put to work anything approaching this much money, and so fast, in his life. Through most of Howards final few days, Susie was alone with him, often for hours at a time. She both feared and understood pain, but she was unafraid of death and had the strength to sit with Howard even when those around her were falling apart. Her gift for comforting the hopeless and those in misery blossomed, and Leila, devastated, let her take charge. In such close proximity to death, Susie found that the boundaries between herself and the other dissolved. Many people kind of flee, but for me it was natural, she said. It was a beautiful experience to be that physically and emotionally intimate with someone you loved, because I knew exactly what his needs were. You know when they need to turn their head, or you know when they need a little ice chip. You know. You feel it. I loved him very much. And he gave me that gift for myself of knowing, of having that experience, and realizing how I felt about it.54 Susie Jr., Howie, and Peter were sitting at the kitchen table one evening when their father came in, looking more depressed than they had ever seen him. Im going to Grandmas house, he said. Why? they asked. Arent you going to the hospital? Grandpa died today, Warren said, and walked out the back door without another word. I thought, we dont want to talk about this, Susie Jr. recalls. This was going to be so big that talking about it was too painful. Big Susie represented the family in planning the funeral, while Warren sat at home, stunned into silence. Leila was distraught, but she anticipated her reunion with her husband in heaven. Susie tried to get Warren to explore and express his feelings about his fathers death, but he literally could not think about it, fending it off with anything else available. Falling back upon his core of financial conservatism, he argued with Susie that she had been conned into spending too much money on Howards coffin. On the day of the funeral, Warren sat in silence through the service as five hundred people mourned his father. No matter how controversial Howard Buffetts views had been during his life, people came out to show respect for him in the end. Afterward, Warren stayed home for a few days.55 He parried unwelcome thoughts with the distraction of watching Congress debate landmark civil rights legislation on television. When he returned to the office, he continued buying American Express at a hectic pace. By the end of June 1964, two months after Howards death, he had put almost $3 million into the stock; it was now the partnerships largest investment. Although he never did show any visible sign of grief,56 eventually he placed a large portrait of his father on the wall across from his desk. And one day, weeks after the funeral, two bald patches appeared on the sides of his head. His hair had fallen out from the shock. 27 Folly Omaha and New Bedford, Massachusetts 19641966 Six weeks after Howard died, Warren did something unexpected. It was not just about money anymore. American Express had done wrong, and he thought that the company should admit it and pay for the damage. The companys president, Howard Clark, had offered the banks $60 million to settle their demands, saying the company felt morally bound. A group of shareholders sued, arguing that American Express should defend itself rather than pay. Buffett offered to testify on behalf of the managements plan to settle, at his own expense. It is our feeling that three or four years from now, this problem may well have added to the stature of the company in establishing standards for financial integrity and responsibility which are far beyond those of the normal commercial enterprise. But American Express wasnt offering the money to be an example; it just wanted to get the risk behind it of losing a lawsuit that was shadowing its stock. Nor did its customers care; the salad-oil scandal hadnt registered with them in the first place. Buffett wrote that two paths lay before the company, and that an American Express that took responsibility and paid the $60 million to the banks would be worth very substantially more than American Express disclaiming responsibility for its subsidiarys acts.1 He described the $60 million payment as inconsequential in the long run, like a dividend check that got lost in the mail. Susie, who had thrown the dividend checks down the incinerator and had never had the nerve to tell her husband about the incident, might have been shocked to hear him so cavalierly dismiss a $60 million dividend check lost in the mail, had she known.2 And why should Buffett now be interested in whether American Express had standards for financial integrity and responsibilitybeyond those of the normal commercial enterprise? From whence had come the notion that a reputation for integrity would translate into a business worth substantially more? Why did Warren want to testify? While he had always shared his fathers commitment to honesty, now he seemed to have inherited Howards penchant for pontificating on matters of principle. Buffett had always wanted to influence the managements of companies in which he invested. But in the past he had not attempted to turn his investments into a church, where he could preach while passing around the collection plate. Now he showed up at Howard Clarks door unannounced to lobby him to remain resolute despite the shareholder lawsuit. I had this habit of just sort of dropping in and talking to different people. There was one time that Howard said to me that itd be a little nicer if I paid more attention to the organization chart. He was very nice about it.3 As if to confirm Buffetts sense that moral rectitude had financial value, American Express paid the settlement and worked through its travails, and the stock, which had plunged below $35, rose to more than $49 per share. By November 1964, the partnership owned more than $4.3 million of American Express stock. It had made other huge bets: $4.6 million in Texas Gulf Producing and another $3.5 million in Pure Oil, cigar butts both. Together the three made up more than half the portfolio.4 By 1965, American Express alone was almost one-third. The entire partnership had stood at only $7.2 million at the beginning of 1962. Buffett, fearless in concentrating his bets, would keep buying into 1966 until he had spent $13 million on American Express. He felt the partners ought to know a new ground rule: We diversify substantially less than most investment operations. We might invest up to forty percent of our net worth in a single security under conditions coupling an extremely high probability that our facts and our reasoning are correct with a very low probability that anything could drastically change the underlying value of the investment.5 Warren had ventured far from the worldview of his mentor, Ben Graham. The hard-nosed quantitative approach espoused by Graham was the world of the speed handicapper, of the cigar-butt stooper who worked from pure statistics. Come to work in the morning, flip through the Moodys Manual or the Standard & Poors weekly report, look for cheap stocks based on a handful of numbers, call Tom Knapp at Tweedy, Browne & Knapp and buy them, go home when the market closed, and sleep well at night. As Buffett said of this, his favorite approach, The more sure money tends to be made on the obvious quantitative decisions. But the method had a couple of drawbacks. The number of statistical bargains had shrunk to virtually nil, and since cigar butts tended to be small companies, it did not work when large sums of money were involved. While still working this approach, Buffett had had what he would later call a high-probability insight about American Express that confounded Ben Grahams core idea. Unlike companies whose value came from cash, equipment, real estate, and other assets that could be calculated and if necessary liquidated, American Express had little more than its customers goodwill. He had bet his partners moneyAlices inheritance; Doc Thompsons savings; Anne Gottschaldts and Catherine Elberfelds money; the Angles life savings; and Estey Grahams moneyon that goodwill: the competitive advantage that Charlie Munger had been talking about when he spoke of the great businesses. This was the method of the class handicapper, of Phil Fisher, and it involved qualitative, as opposed to quantitative, assessments. Buffett would later write to the partners that buying the right company (with the right prospects, inherent industry conditions, management, etc.) means the price will take care of itself. This is what causes the cash register to really sing. However, it is an infrequent occurrence, as insights usually are, and of course, no insight is required on the quantitative sidethe figures should hit you over the head with a baseball bat. So the really big money tends to be made by investors who are right on qualitative decisions.6 This new emphasis on a qualitative approach paid off in the stupendous results Buffett was able to announce to his partners at the end of 1965. When Buffett made his annual report to them, he compared the huge gain to an earlier prediction that he could beat the Dow by ten percent a yearand referred to the dazzling performance by saying, Naturally no writer likes to be publicly humiliated by such a mistake. It is unlikely to be repeated.7 Despite the irony, he had begun a tradition of hedging against his partners high expectations. As his record of outstanding results lengthened, his letters also began to display a preoccupation with measuring success and failure. He used terms like guilt, embarrass, disappoint, or blame with unusual frequency, including to describe his so-called mistakesfor he remained obsessed with never letting anyone down.8 As readers began to recognize this pattern, some assumed he was manipulating them, while others accused him of false modesty. Hardly anybody knew how deep his sense of insecurity ran. In the year following Howards death, Warren began to think of memorializing him in some wayfor example, through endowing a university chair. But he could never seem to find the perfect vehicle. He and Susie did set up the Buffett Foundation, which made small grants to educational causes. But this wasnt what he had in mind for his father. And he had no intention of becoming a philanthropist; it was Susie who liked to dispense money and she who ran the foundation. Instead, Warren worked with no slacking of intensity. After his incredible home run on American Express, he hired John Harding from the Omaha National Bank trust department in April 1965, to handle administration. And yet, when Harding took the job, Buffett warned him: I dont know if Ill necessarily be doing this forever, and if I quit, youll be out of a job.9 But there was no sign of his quitting. Harding had hoped to learn investing, but that ambition was soon destroyed. Any idea that I wanted to handle investments on my own disappeared when I saw how good Warren was, he says. Instead, Harding simply put most of his money into the partnership. Besides shoveling millions of dollars worth of American Express stock into BPL, Warren now chased bigger deals that required travel and coordination, both giant cigar butts and qualitative class handicapping deals that were a far cry from flipping through the Moodys Manual in his bathrobe at home. His next target, another cigar butt, lay far from Omaha. Each of the Grahamites in Buffetts network was always looking for ideas, and Dan Cowin had brought Buffett a textile maker in New Bedford, Massachusetts, that was selling at a discount to the value of its assets. 10 His idea was to buy it and liquidate it, to sell it off piecemeal, and to shut it down. Its name was Berkshire Hathaway. By the time the hair had grown back on Warrens head from the shock of his fathers loss, he was in full pursuit of this new idea. Buffett began by circling over the company and observing it. He started leisurely accumulating stock in Berkshire Hathaway. This time, for better or worse, he had chosen a business run by a personality the size of Massachusetts. Seabury Stanton, president of Berkshire Hathaway, had reluctantly closed more than a dozen mills, one by one, over the past decade. The remnants sprawled along the rivers of the gently moldering towns of coastal New England like empty red-brick temples of a long-lost faith. He was the second Stanton to oversee the company, and was filled with a sense of destiny. Standing on New Bedfords rocky shores, he cast himself as King Canute, telling the tides of devastation to retreat. But unlike Canute, he actually imagined they would obey. A New England version of American Gothic come to life, Seabury peered coldly down on visitors from his six-foot two-inch heightpeered down if, that is, they managed to find him. He sat tucked away in a remote penthouse office at the top of a long, narrow staircase, protected by his secretarys secretary, far from the din of the looms. New Bedford, the town that was his headquarters, once shone as the diamond in New Englands crown. For a while the ships that sailed from its harbor to hunt sperm whales made New Bedford North Americas richest city.11 Stantons grandfather, a whaling captain, had been head of one of the ruling families of the city, capital of the worlds most swashbuckling business. But in the mid-nineteenth century, as sperm whales grew scarce, the great harpoon ships had to venture ever farther north in search of the bowhead whale, all the way to the Arctic Ocean. In the autumn of 1871, the families of New Bedford waited in vain for their sons and husbands. Twenty-two ships, surprised by an early winter, lay trapped behind the Arctic ice and never returned.12 New Bedford would never be the same. Nor would the whaling business, once its mainstay, ever recover. As the supply of whales shrank, demand for their products had dwindled. After 1859, when oil gushed from the ground in Pennsylvania, kerosene became an increasingly popular substitute for the ever-scarcer whale oil. The flexible, comblike whale baleen13 used in womens corsets, hoop skirts, and fancy parasols, in buggy whips and other mainstays of Victorian life, ceased to find a market as those products gradually disappeared from the shelves. In 1888, Horatio Hathaway, whose family had roots in the China tea trade,14 and Joseph Knowles, his treasurer, organized a group of partners to follow what they saw as the next business trend. They formed a pair of textile mills, Acushnet Mill Corporation and Hathaway Manufacturing Company.15 One of their partners was Hetty Green, the notorious Witch of Wall Street, a shipping heiress raised in New Bedford who rode the ferry to New York City from her tenement apartment in Hoboken to make loans and investments. She stalked through lower Manhattan in an ancient black alpaca gown, swirling cape, and rusty veiled hat like an elderly bat, her appearance so eccentric and her parsimony so notorious that rumors circulated that she wore newspapers as underclothes. By the time of her death in 1916, Green would be the richest woman in the world.16 Financed by such investors, mill after mill sprang up to comb, spin, weave, and dye the deep stacks of cotton bales unloaded from Southern ships onto the wharves of New Bedford. Congressman William McKinley, chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, who passed through the region from time to time to christen new mills, sponsored a tariff to protect the textile mills from foreign trade, for it was already cheaper to make fabric elsewhere.17 Thus, even from the beginning, the textile mills of the North needed political help to survive. Early in the twentieth century, a new technologyair-conditioningrevolutionized factories by allowing precise control of humidity as well as particulate matter in the air, and it was no longer economically justifiable to ship cotton out of the South, where labor was cheaper, to the chilly shores of New England. Knowless successor, James E. Stanton Jr., watched half his competitors mills melt away to the South.18 Put to the rack by repeated wage cuts, workers at the remaining northern mills went out on a crippling five-month strike that broke their employers backs. James Stanton hesitated to spend stockholders money on new equipment when business was so bad and the prospects were so uncertain, recalled his son.19 He pulled capital out of the business by paying dividends. By the time Stantons son Seabury, a Harvard graduate, took over in 1934, the aged, rickety Hathaway plant still rattled out a few bolts of cotton cloth each day. Seabury became seized with a vision of himself as the hero who saved the textile mills. He said there was a place in New England for a textile company that had the latest machinery and capable management, and he and his brother Otis conceived a five-year plan to modernize.20 They spent $10 million installing air-conditioning, electric lifts, overhead conveyers, better lighting, and futuristic locker rooms in the companys venerable red-brick buildings. They shifted from cotton to rayon, the poor mans silk, and made rayon parachute cloth during the war, enjoying a temporary boom. Nonetheless, as time passed, cheap foreign labor kept lowering the price their customers would pay. To compete, Seabury squeezed the pay of the workers in his modern new plant. But year by year the tides lapping at his shorecheaper foreign fabric, better-automated competition, and lower labor costs in the Southpresented a rising threat to his mills. In 1954, Hurricane Carols fourteen-foot storm surge poured into Hathaways Cove Street headquarters. Though the firms distinctive clock tower rode out the storm, a sea of muck and debris swamped the looms and yarn inside the building. Rather than rebuild the mill, the obvious response would have been to join the march southward. Instead, Seabury Stanton merged Hathaway with another mill, Berkshire Fine Spinning, trying in effect to build a levee against a tidal wave.21 Berkshire Fine Spinning made everything from the stiffest twills to the sheerest marquisettes, crisp curtain dimity, and fancy broadcloth shirting. Malcolm Chace, its master, steadfastly refused to sink a nickel into modernization. His nephew, Nicholas Brady, had written a paper on the business at the Harvard Business School in 1954, reaching so discouraging a conclusion that he sold his Berkshire stock. Chace naturally opposed Seabury Stantons demand for modernization, but the new Berkshire Hathaway was governed by Stantons sense of destiny. He simplified the product line, focusing on rayon, turning out more than half the mens suit linings in the United States.22 As Berkshire Hathaway under Stanton unreeled nearly a quarter billion yards of fabrics a year, he continued his relentless modernizing, pouring another million dollars into the mills. By this time, his brother Otis had begun to have doubts about the feasibility of remaining in New Bedford, but Seabury thought the time for a textile mill to move south had passed,23 and refused to give up his dream of reviving the mills.24 When Dan Cowin approached Buffett about Berkshire in 1962, Buffett was already aware of it, just as he was of any U.S. business of a meaningful size. The money that poured into the company meant that Berkshire was worthaccording to its accountants$22 million as a business, or $19.46 per share.25 And yet, after nine years of losses, anyone could acquire the stock for just seven and a half bucks. Buffett started buying it.26 Seabury had been buying Berkshires stock as well, using extra cash that was not being poured back into the mills to make a tender offer for shares every couple of years. Buffetts theory was that Seabury would continue, and he could time his own transactions, buying whenever the stock got cheap and selling it back to the company whenever the price rose. He and Cowin set about buying stock. Had anyone known Buffett was buying, it might have pushed up the price, so he bought through Howard Browne of Tweedy, Browne. The firm was a favorite broker of Buffetts because everyone there, especially Browne, was closemouthed, of utmost importance to Buffett given his insistence on secrecy. Tweedy, Browne had code-named the Buffett partnerships account BWX.27 When Buffett arrived at Tweedy, Browne, which maintained a tiny office at 52 Wall Street, in the same art deco building where Ben Graham had once worked, it felt like entering an old-fashioned barbershop, with its black-and-white ceramic tile floor. In a little office to the left sat the firms secretary and office manager. To the right lay the trading room. Past that, in a small rented alcove half filled with a water cooler and a coatrackin effect a sort of closetsat Walter Schloss, running his partnership from a battered desk. Using Grahams method without the slightest variation, he had been averaging returns of better than twenty percent a year since leaving Graham-Newman. To pay his rent to Tweedy, Browne, in lieu of cash he gave the firm commissions by trading stocks. His trades were few, and he was getting a great bargain on the rent. He limited his other expenses to the cost of a subscription to Value Line Investment Survey, some paper and pencils, subway tokens, and nothing else. Along the center of the trading room ran a twenty-foot wooden table, which the firm had acquired somewhere on its way to a garbage dump. Its surface bore the marks of generations of schoolchildren armed with penknives. To write down figures, a tablet had to be placed underneath the paper; otherwise, Todd loves Mary would be embossed into the text. On one side of the child-scarred table, Howard Browne ruled with benign authority. He and his partners faced the firms trader, wholike all traderssat, jumpy and restless, waiting for the phone to ring so that he could trade. Next to him, an empty space at the table served as the visitors desk. The cheapest of wooden filing cabinets lined the walls. Nowhere else in New York did Buffett feel so at home as sitting at the Tweedy, Browne visitors desk. The firm had branched out into arbitrage, workouts (all-but-completed turnaround situations where a little money remained to be made), and stubs(companies being acquired and broken up)all the sorts of things he liked. It traded securities such as fifteen-year Jamaica (Queens) Water warrantsrights to buy the water companys stock, which rose whenever there was speculation that New York City would someday take over the waterworks. They fell again when speculation lulled. Tweedy, Browne bought them every time they dropped and sold them every time they rose, over and over and over again. The firm also made a specialty of fencing with the managements of these obscure, undervalued businesses, trying to force out hidden value, as with Sanborn Map. We were always in court suing, one partner says.28 All of it reeked of the old Graham-Newman days and bore little similarity to the gargantuan American Express deal, but Buffett loved the atmosphere. Tom Knapp researched stocks and spent his days plotting practical jokes when he wasnt orchestrating trades. He had commandeered a huge storage closet, filling it with the four-cent Blue Eagle stamps he and Buffett had made the mistake of buying and topographical maps of the Maine coastline. The pile of maps continually grew, for Knapp was funneling the cash he made from stocks into buying up the coast of Maine.29 The pile of Blue Eagles slowly shrank as Tweedy, Browne pasted forty stamps onto each batch of the Pink Sheets they sent to Buffett once a week, every week. The Pink Sheet quotations for stocks not listed on the New York Stock Exchange were stale the moment they went to print. Buffett used his Pink Sheets merely as a starting point for the telephonic bazaar in which calls to numerous brokers might be required to make a trade. He was a master at working this system through his brokers. The lack of a publicly posted price helped reduce competition. Someone who was willing to call every market-maker and squeeze them mercilessly had a meaningful advantage over the less energetic or the more fainthearted. Browne would call Buffett to let him know they had XYZ stock on offer at $5 a share. Hmmm, $43/4 bid, Buffett would say, without hesitation. This maneuver, Casting the Line, would fish out how hungry the seller was. After calling the client to see if he would take a lower price, Browne would call Buffett with the response: Sorry. Cant take less than five bucks. Unthinkable, Buffett would Register to View Answerfew days later, Browne would call Buffett again. We got the stock at $43/4. Well go along with $43/4 bid. Sorry, Buffett would now say instantly. $41/2 bid. Browne would go back to the seller, who would say, What the hell? What happened to the $43/4? Were just passing along the message. $41/2 bid. More calls would go back and forth until a week later, Browne came back to Buffett: Okay. $41/2 bid, hed say. Sorry, Buffett would say, and drop it another eighth. $43/8. Thus he Buffetted the price ever lower. And rarelyalmost neverdid he want a stock badly enough to raise his bid.30 He placed his first order for Berkshire Hathaway through Tweedy on December 12, 1962, for two thousand shares at $7.50 a share, paying the broker a $20 commission.31 He told Tweedy to keep buying. Cowin got the scuttlebutt on Berkshire from board member Stanley Rubin, Berkshires top salesman, who happened to be a friend of Otis Stanton, another member of the board. Otis Stanton felt his brother was out of touch. Protected by his secretaries in his ivory tower, Seabury was doing more and more drinking as the clash between his lofty vision and reality worsened.32 Otis was by now sharply at odds with Seabury.33 He felt his brother should have taken a strike rather than giving in to demands for higher wages.34 He also disapproved of Seaburys choice of a successor, his son, Jack, who was a pleasant enough young man but not up to the jobaccording to Otis. Otis had his own idea about who should succeed SeaburyKen Chace, the vice president of manufacturing. Seabury Stanton responded to Buffetts purchases as though a takeover threat was imminent, and made several tender offers for the stock. This was exactly what Buffett wanted, for his purchases were predicated on the theory that, eventually, Seabury would buy him out. He wanted the Berkshire stock not to keep it but to sell it. Nevertheless, in every trade there is a buyer and a seller. Seabury Stanton had so far withstood the forces of cheap foreign fabric and Hurricane Carol. Instead of Seabury getting Buffetted, there was a chance that Buffett could get Seaburied. Eventually, Warren drove up to New Bedford to see the place for himself. For once, he was not just dropping in. Miss Tabor, who was fiercely loyal to Seabury, decided which callers would be allowed through the glass doors and up the narrow stairs to Stantons penthouse office. When she grimly ushered Warren into Stantons palatially furnished, ballroom-size wood-paneled lair, he saw that there was no place anywhere near Stantons desk to sit. This, clearly, was a man used to summoning people to stand before him while he sat behind his desk and directed them what to do. The two men seated themselves at the uncomfortable rectangular glass conference table in a corner, and Buffett asked where Stanton stood on the next tender offer. Stanton looked at him through the wire-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He was reasonably cordial. But then he said, Well probably have a tender one of these days, and what price would you sell at, Mr. Buffett? or words to that effect. The stock at the time was selling at something like $9 or $10 a share. I said Id sell at $11.50 a share on a tender offer, if they had one. And he said, Well, will you promise me that if we have a tender offer youll tender? I said, Well, you know, if its in the reasonably near future, but not if its twenty years from now. But I said, Fine. So now I was frozen. I felt that I couldnt buy any more stock because I knew too much about what he might do. So I went home, and not too long after, a letter comes from the Old Colony Trust Company, which was part of First National of Boston, offering $113/8 per share to anyone who would tender their Berkshire. That was 121/2 cents less per share than agreed. Buffett was furious. It really burned me up. You know, this guy was trying to chisel an eighth of a point from having, in effect, shaken my hand saying this was the deal. Warren was used to doing the Buffetting, and now Stanton had tried to chisel him. He sent Dan Cowin to New Bedford to try to reason with Stanton not to renege on the deal. The two men argued, and Stanton denied that he had made a deal with Buffett; he told Cowin that it was his company and he would do as he pleased. That was a mistake. For trying to chisel Warren Buffett, Seabury Stanton was going to be sorry, very sorry. Buffett decided thatinstead of sellingnow, he would buy. He vowed that he would have Berkshire; he would buy it all. He would own it lock, stock, loom, and spindle. That Berkshire Hathaway was a failing, futile enterprise daunted him not. It was cheap, and he craved it. Above all, he wanted Seabury Stanton not to have it. Buffett and the other shareholders deserved it more. In his determination, he ignored all the lessons learned from the experience at Dempstersave one. And that was the one he should have ignored. Buffett sent his scouts out, looking for more chunks of the closely held stock. Cowin got hold of enough to join Berkshires board. But other people began to take notice too. Jack Alexander, Buffetts old friend from Columbia, had an investment partnership with his classmate Buddy Fox. One day we saw that Warren was buying this Berkshire Hathaway, he says. And we started to buy. On a trip to New York from their office in Connecticut they told him they were following him in the stock, He got very upset. Look, he said, youre riding on my coattails. Thats not right. Cut it out. Fox and Alexander were taken aback. What were they doing wrong? Buffett gave them to understand that he was seeking control. Yet coattail-riding, even in control situations, was a popular pastime among the Graham crowd. It was considered sporting conduct. In effect, Buffett took their stock. I need it more than you, he said. They agreed to sell their stock to him at the then-market price, because it clearly mattered to him so much. He appeared to have some sort of mysterious attachment to Berkshire Hathaway. It wasnt that important to us. It was obviously very important to him, Alexander says. Like Fox and Alexander, a few others had also become Buffett-watchers, tracking Warrens trail like the spoor of Bigfoot. This created competition for the stock. He made it understood among the Grahamites that they were to keep their mitts off Berkshire. The only exception was Henry Brandt; he let Brandtin recompense for his servicesbuy it below $8.00. He had begun to carry himself with a bit of swagger, which some people found irritating. Yet his surefootedness, the way he always seemed to be so right, kept them fascinated. Even his cheapskate qualities were part of the aura. For years he had been possibly the only person doing business regularly in New York who managed to get by with not only free lodging (by staying with Fred Kuhlkens mother, Anne Gottschaldt, on Long Island), but free office space to boot (at Tweedy, Browne). Photo Insert One Image 1 Warren, around age two. Image 2 Warren in 1933 on the running board of the familys first car, a used Chevrolet. Image 3 Warren dressed in one of his earliest costumes, which his father brought back from a business trip to New York City. Image 4 Ernest Buffett surrounded by his grandchildren: Warren and Doris at left, Bertie in Ernests lap. Image 5 Sidney Buffett, who founded the family grocery store in 1869, in a 1930 photograph with Alice Buffett, his granddaughter. Image 6 The Stahl sisters in West Point, Nebraska, around 1913. Warren's mother Leila is top right. Seated beside her is Edith and, in front, Bernice. Image 7 Warrens father Howard (right rear) plays with his siblings George, Clarence, and Alice in the familys fringed surrey. His mother Henrietta (holding younger brother Fred in her lap) sits in the back seat. Image 8 Howard and Leila Buffett, shortly after their marriage in 1925. Image 9 Warren and Bertie in front of the familys Buick, around 1938. Image 10 A revealing family portrait, around 1937. Image 11 Warren, age six, holds his favorite toy, a nickel-plated money-changer, in a photograph with his sisters from the winter of 1936-1937. He and Doris later recalled the unhappiness their faces expressed. Image 12 The eighth-grade class at Rosehill School, May 1938, showing the girls and boys of the disastrous triple date and Warrens other crush, Clo-Ann Kaul. Image 13 Fred and Ernest Buffett in front of the Buffett & Son grocery store. Image 14 Bertie, Leila, and Warren sing to Doriss accompaniment in Washington around 1945. Image 15 A 1948 campaign flyer for the only election Howard ever lost. Image 16 Howard Buffett, Congressman. Image 17 Warren (second left) and his father (fourth left) on a fishing trip with the Nebraska congressional delegation around 1945. The Buffetts look as though theyd rather be elsewhere. Image 18 As a preteen, Warrens first love was Daisy Mae Scragg. She always loved Lil Abner, no matter how he treated her. Image 19 Warren takes the contrarian view in a January 1946 debate about Congresss problems; this aired on the Washington radio station WTOPs American School of the Air. Image 20 Warren in the late 1940s, playing the uke in his classic battered tennis shoes and saggy socks. Image 21 The Buffetts in the summer of 1950. Doris and Bertie were knockouts, says Warren, who felt socially maladjusted. Image 22 Warrens pledge photo for Alpha Sigma Phi fraternity at the University of Pennsylvania, January 1948. Howard Buffett was also an Alpha Sig. Image 23 Warren, Norma Thurston, and Don Danly pose next to the Springfield Rolls-Royce Brewster Coupe. Don and Warren bought it as a stunt in 1948. Now that Susie accompanied him on some of these trips, however, at her behest he had upgraded from hosteling with his deceased college friends mother to taking a room at the Plaza Hotel. Not only was the Plaza more convenient for business, but from Susies perspective, it put department stores like Bergdorf Goodman, Best & Company, and Henri Bendel close at hand. Then a rumor circulated among Buffetts friendsthe kinds of rumors that always swirled around Buffett, like the one that had him stashing his daughter in a dresser drawer rather than buying her a criba rumor that he had found the Plazas cheapest room, a tiny windowless cubicle like his old maids room at Columbia, and cut a deal to stay there at a beggarly price whenever he came alone to New York.35 Regardless of the rumors truth, each time he checked in to the Plaza he doubtless felt a pang of regret, for he no longer stayed in New York scot-free. The trips to Bergdorfs were another aspect of how much the New York routine had changed. Susie spent her days going to lunch and shopping; in the evenings they went to dinner, then Broadway or cabaret shows. He liked to see her enjoy herself, and she had become used to shopping at the better stores. Nevertheless, while she now had the power to loosen the purse strings, their game was to tussle over how much money she got to spend. Her way of justifying spending was to do it on someone elses behalf. Susie Jr. was often a beneficiary; her closets filled with clothes from Bergdorfs. One time Susie came back from New York with an ermine jacket. They had met a friend of Warrens who took them to a furrier. I felt like I had to buy something, she said. They were being so nice to me. She had done it for the furriers sake. Now, all this protecting Berkshire from coattailing would be for naught unless Buffett figured out how to run it well enough to keep Susie in ermine jackets. He made another visit to New Bedford, going by the mill to see Jack Stanton, the heir apparent. Somebody was going to have to run the place once it was wrested from Seaburys hands, and Warren needed to know who that would be. But Stanton claimed to be very busy, and sent Ken Chace to escort Buffett around the mill.*22 Stanton had no idea that his uncle had already suggested Chace as a possible replacement for Seabury. Ken Chace was a chemical engineer by training, forty-seven, quiet, controlled, and sincere. He did not know that he was a contender to run the company; nonetheless, he spent two days teaching Buffett the textile business while Buffett asked question after question and Chace explained the mills problems. Buffett was impressed by his candor and equally impressed by his attitude. Chace made it clear that he thought the Stantons foolish for pouring money into a business that was on its way down the drain.36 When the tour was over, Buffett told Chace he would be in touch.37 A month or so later, Stanley Rubin had to be called into service to persuade Chace not to take a job at a competing textile mill. Meanwhile, Buffett was scrambling to buy more stock, including shares that belonged to various members of the Chace family. Buffetts final target was Otis Stanton, who wanted his brother to retire. He had no confidence in Seaburys son, Jack, and doubted Seabury would ever let go of the reins. Otis and his wife, Mary, agreed to meet Buffett at the Wamsutta Club in New Bedford.38 Over lunch at the graceful Italianate mansion, a relic of New Bedfords onetime grandeur, Otis acknowledged that he would sell, on the condition that Buffett make an equivalent offer to Seabury. Warren agreed. Then Mary Stanton asked if they could keep just a couple of shares out of the two thousand they were selling, out of family sentiment. Just a couple of shares. Buffett said no. It was all or nothing.39 Otis Stantons two thousand shares pushed Warrens ownership to forty-nine percent of Berkshire Hathaway enough to give him effective control. With the prize within his grasp, he met Ken Chace one April afternoon in New York and walked him out to the teeming plaza at Fifth Avenue and Central Park South, where he sprang for two bars of ice cream on a stick. Within a bite or two he got to the point, saying, Ken, Id like to have you become president of Berkshire Hathaway. How do you feel about that? Now that he controlled the company, he said, he could change the management at the next directors meeting.40 Chace, who was stunned to be selected despite the hints Rubin had given him when he convinced him not to take another job, agreed to keep quiet until the board meeting. Not realizing that his fate had been decided, Jack Stanton and his wife raced down from New Bedford to meet Warren and Susie at the Plaza Hotel for breakfast. Kitty Stanton, more aggressive than her husband, pled Jacks case. Reaching for an argument that would appeal to the Buffetts, Kitty threw in what she must have thought was the clincher. Buffett surely would not overturn New Englands hereditary mill aristocracy, who had overseen the business for generations, to put a mill rat like Ken Chace in charge. She and Jack fit in at the Wamsutta Club. Kitty, after all, was a Junior Leaguer, like Susie.41 She was a nice enough person. But I also got the impression that she felt Jack was entitled to it because of his dad. Part of her appeal was that Ken Chace really wasnt in the same class as Jack Stanton and she and Susie and I were. Poor Kitty, making this pitch to a man who so disdained hierarchy that he had refused to join Ak-Sar-Ben and thumbed his nose at the establishment of Omaha. It was too late for Jack. It was too late for Seabury, who ruled by autocracy and had no friends on the board. Even his own chairman, Malcolm Chace, did not like him. Thus, when backers of Buffett arranged for him to be nominated to the board at a special meeting, on April 14, 1965, he was swiftly elected a director with much of the boards support.42 A few weeks later, Buffett flew into New Bedford, where he was greeted by a headline in the New Bedford Standard-Times about outside interests taking over the company.43 The planted story infuriated him. The one lesson that had stuck with him from Dempster was to never, ever let himself be branded a liquidatorand wind up with a whole town hating him. Buffett vowed to the press that he would carry on business as usual. He denied that mill closings would result from the takeoverand saddled himself publicly with this commitment. On May 10, 1965, the board convened at Berkshires headquarters in New Bedford. It presented a silver tray to the retiring vice president of sales, approved the minutes of the last meeting, and agreed to increase wages five percent. Then the meeting turned surreal. Seabury, his nearly bald seventy-year-old head speckled with age spots, claimed that he had planned to retire in December to let Jack succeed him. But, he said, he could not continue as president of an organization over which he would not have complete authority.44 With as much hauteur as his character allowed himwhich was considerable, despite the mutineers having taken over the shipSeabury made a little speech, commending himself for his accomplishments. Then he tendered his resignation, and the board accepted it. Jack Stanton added a bitter little coda, saying that, had he become president in December, he was certain that it would have meant continued success and profitable operations. The board listened patiently, then accepted his resignation as well. At that point, Jack Stanton put down his pen and stopped taking the minutes in which these two speeches had been recorded, and the two Stantons stalked out of the room. The board paused, and sighed with relief. Moving quickly on, the board elected Buffett chairman and confirmed Ken Chace in his new job running the doomed company that Buffettin a moment of follyhad exerted such strenuous effort to acquire. A few days later, he explained his thinking on textiles in a newspaper interview. Were neither pro nor con. Its a business decision. We try to assess a business. Price is the big factor in investment. It determines the decision. We bought Berkshire Hathaway at a good price.45 He would later come to revise that opinion. So I bought my own cigar butt, and I tried to smoke it. You walk down the street and you see a cigar butt, and its kind of soggy and disgusting and repels you, but its freeand there may be one puff left in it. Berkshire didnt have any more puffs. So all you had was a soggy cigar butt in your mouth. That was Berkshire Hathaway in 1965. I had a lot of money tied up in the cigar butt.46 I would have been better off if Id never heard of Berkshire Hathaway. 28 Dry Tinder Omaha 19651966 The dynamics changed one hundred percent when my father died, says Doris. Everything went flying into space. My father was the linchpin of our family. The center was gone. Leila had endured multiple losses over recent years. Her mother, Stella, had died in 1960 in Norfolk State Hospital, and her sister Bernice had died a year later of bone cancer. Without Howard, she had to find a new sense of purpose, and she became dependent on Warren and Susie and their family. The grandchildren went to her house on Sundays, where she gave them bags of candy to eat during church, then took them to lunch afterward and gave them money if they could add up the bill correctly. In the afternoons, she took them to Woolworths to buy a toy to play with at her house. Like Howard, who had once paid his children to go to church, she found a Buffettesque solution to the problem of her lonelinessmaking deals with the grandchildren so that they would stay with her as long as possible. Howards presence was what had always made being with Leila tolerable to Doris and Warren. Without him, both found visits with their mother unbearable. Warren trembled when forced to be in proximity to her. At Thanksgiving, he took a plate, went upstairs, and ate dinner by himself. Leila continued to erupt in occasional fits of rage. For decades, her bizarre behavior had been aimed only at family members, though once she leaped out of the car in a parking lot and spent an hour screaming at an acquaintance over some trivial matter, as Big Susie and Howie looked on in astonishment. But Doris, who had idolized her father even more than her brother had, was still her main victim. Doris had always felt she had let the whole family down with her divorce from Truman. The contrast between Warren and Susies successes and her own life as a divorce at a time when divorce was still rare only reinforced her lingering feelings of worthlessness. Shortly before his death, Howard had told her that she must remarry to provide a father for her children. So she did, to George Lear, the first person who asked her.1 He was a lovable man; but Doris felt coerced into remarrying, which augured poorly for the unions prospects. Bertie, always the least troubled by her mothers behavior and the least dependent on her father, now found her life the least changed by her fathers death. Like Warren, however, her relationship with money both triggered her anxieties and gave her a sense of control. She kept records of every dollar she spent, and when she felt stressed she paid bills to relax. All of the Buffetts had issues with money that ran so deep none of them really noticed what an unusual family they were. After Howards death, Warren and Susie naturally assumed leadership of the family partly because of their money, but also through the force of their personalities. Leila and Doris and Bertie looked to Warren and Susie for support, and so did virtually everyone else. Warrens uncle Fred Buffett and his wife, Katie, who now owned the grocery store, gave Warren a run for his money in the familys cheapskate contest. They were especially attached to Warren and Susie, and grew more so as their nephews stature and wealth increased. Leila, who had always been jealous of her sister-in-law, fixated on an incident many years before in which Ernest had danced with the vivacious Katie and not her at a Rotary Club dance. Now she grew even more jealous of Katie, and Susiewho was trusted by everyonehad to juggle visits to separate them. Given all the work to separate Leila from Warren and from Katie, Susie was an expert juggler by the time she had nursed Howard through his final illness. Perhaps it was not surprising, therefore, that Warrens aunt Alice, his favorite relative since childhood, had grown to trust Susie more than anyone else in the family except him. So it was Susie, not Leila, whom Alice tracked down one Monday in late 1965. Susie was at the beauty parlor with Doris when the call came. She got out from under the dryer to go to the phone at the front desk; Alice explained that she was concerned about Leilas sister Edie, who had called her on Sunday to say she was feeling extremely depressed. Alice, a fellow teacher, had taken Edie for a drive and talked to her, and they had stopped for ice cream. Edie idolized Warren and Susie and Alice, indeed all the Buffetts; she confided that she felt she had disgraced the perfect family with her imperfect life.2 Her impulsive, high-spirited marriage had not worked out; the husband she had followed to Brazil had turned out to be a philandering embezzler who left her there for someone else. Since returning from Brazil, she had found it hard adjusting to life as a divorced single mother of two daughters in Omaha. Alice told Susie that today Edie hadnt shown up at Technical High School to teach her home economics classes. Worried, Alice had gone over to Edies apartment. Nobody answered when she rang and knocked. Alice told Susie that she feared that something had happened. So Susie raced out the door to her gold Cadillac convertible, with her rollers still in her hair, drove over to the garage apartment where Edie lived, and started knocking and ringing herself. When nobody answered, she got inside somehow and began to search. She found no sign of anybody; the place was immaculate. There were no notes or messages and Edies car was there. Susie continued searching until she reached the basement of the house, and there she found Edie. She had slit her wrists, and was already dead.3 Susie called an ambulance, then had to break the news to the family. No one had known that Edie was this depressed, and nobody had seriously considered her a possible victim of the Stahl familys history of mental instability until now. Those whom Edie had left behind worked through a complex web of feelings: guilt that she had been so desperate without their realizing it; pity that she may have seen herself as so inferior to the Buffetts; grief at the loss. Warren, Doris, and Bertie were shaken and sad at the loss of a kind, loving aunt whom they had been extremely fond of since childhood. There is no telling what Leila, sixty-two years old, felt at her sisters death. But why should Leilawho always did feel put uponfeel any different than other survivors of those who commit suicide, who normally experience anger and abandonment, along with other emotions? At the very least, Edies death meant that Leila was the last remaining member of her immediate family; Edie had also taken away the opportunity to repair their strained relationship. And yet another of the Stahls had embarrassed the Buffetts, this time by stigmatizing the family with suicide. Whatever Leila did feel, less than a month later she abruptly married Roy Ralph, a pleasant man twenty years her senior who had been pursuing her since Howards death. Until now she had refused his proposals. Her relatives had listened with numb boredom throughout her widowhood as she ceaselessly invoked the past and the 381/2 wonderful years with Howard. Thus she stunned them all when she reversed herselfand changed her name to Leila Ralph. Some of them thought she was out of her mind, and conceivably she was, at least temporarily. Howard, who had remained an invisible but constant presence since his death less than two years before, now went unmentioned at family gatherings for the sake of politeness, while his children adapted uneasily to a new stepfather who was in his eighties. Susie, meanwhile, was taking on more obligations than ever, not just in the family but in the community. She began to press Warren to call a halt to his continuing obsession. The Buffett Partnership was stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey by American Express. It ended 1965 with assets of $37 million, including more than $3.5 million in profit on this one stock, which had risen to $50, then $60, then $70 per share. Warren had earned more than $2.5 million in fees, bringing his and Susies stake in the partnership to $6.8 million. He was thirty-five years old. The Buffetts were among the very rich by the standards of 1966. How much money did they need? How long did he have to keep going at this pace? Now that they were so rich, Susie thought they should do more for Omaha. In 1966 she glowed with the fire of a woman who had found her cause in life. She had become close to leaders of the black community and was all over Omaha, brainstorming, coordinating, cajoling, publicizing, working on behind-the-scenes relationships in a town where racial tensions were reaching the point of violence. Every summer now in the nations major cities, race riots flared after minor incidents involving the police. Martin Luther King Jr. had issued a call the previous year: Desegregating workplaces and public facilities wasnt enough; segregated housing had to be eliminated. The idea terrified many whites, especially after riots in the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles, which had turned into a war zone of arson, sniping, and looting in which thirty-four people were killed. Similar uprisings had taken place in Cleveland; Chicago; Brooklyn; Jacksonville, Florida; and other smaller towns.4 During a fifteen-day heat wave in July 1966, riots erupted in Omaha; the governor called out the National Guard, blaming the riots on an environment unfit for human habitation.5 Susie now made the elimination of segregated housing in Omaha her central cause. She tried to involve Warren in some of her community and civil-rights work, and he complied, but he was not much for committees. In the 1960s Buffett generally rolled over sapheads without even commenting. I got involved in half a dozen of these things. Its just the nature of it; if people focus their whole lives on one thing, they get a little obsessed after a while. And Susie would always see it coming with meI would be sitting with these guys and she could see the look on my face as they went off into the wild blue yonder. Committee meetings also gave him a splitting headache, according to Munger; his way, therefore, was to let other people sit on the committees while he fed them ideas. Warren was far from indifferent to social and political causes, however. He had become deeply concerned about the potential for nuclear wara vivid and seemingly impending threat in the early 1960s, since President Kennedy had urged families to build fallout shelters in order to survive a nuclear attack and the United States had barely averted a nuclear war after a standoff between Kennedy and Khrushchev over the removal of Soviet missiles from Cuba. When Buffett discovered philosopher Bertrand Russells 1962 antinuclear treatise, Has Man a Future?, it affected him powerfully.6 He identified with Russell, admired his philosophical rigor, and frequently cited his opinions and aphorisms. He even kept a small plaque on his desk quoting a phrase from an influential antinuclear manifesto on which Russell had collaborated with Albert Einstein: Remember your humanity, and forget the rest.7 But it was the antiwar movement that had taken on more urgency in Buffetts mind after Congress passed the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution in 1964, authorizing President Johnson to use military force in Southeast Asia without formally declaring war, using an alleged but unproven naval attack against a U.S. destroyer as the pretext to attack North Vietnam. Young men were burning their draft cards, going to jail, and fleeing to Canada to avoid the draft. Hundreds of thousands took to the streets all over the world to protest the war escalation; they marched in New York City on Fifth Avenue, in Times Square, and at the New York Stock Exchange; in Tokyo, London, Rome, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and elsewhere. Warren was not an ideological pacifist like many of those who were marching, nor an extreme isolationist like his father, but he did feel strongly that the war was wrong, and that U.S. involvement in it was based on deceptionespecially troubling for a man who placed such a high value on honesty. He started asking speakers over to the house to talk to his friends about it. Once he brought an antiwar speaker from as far away as Pennsylvania.8 He himself, however, was not going to march against the war. Warren had strong views about specialization; he defined his special skills as thinking and making money. When asked to donate, his first choice, always, was to donate ideas, including ideas that would get other people to give money. But he would also give money himselfnot a lot, but someto politicians and to Susies causes. He never labored in the trenches stuffing envelopes; volunteering directly for causes, no matter how urgent and important, would consume time he felt was more efficiently spent thinking of ideas and making more money to write bigger checks. Many people in the 1960s felt a burning desire to tear down the Establishment that had created the war and operated the military-industrial complexa desire to avoid selling out to the Man. For some, therefore, social consciousness clashed with the need to make a living. Warren, however, saw himself as working for his partners, not for The Man, and as someone whose business acumen and money helped the civil rights and antiwar causes. So he could focus on his business with a sense of dual purpose, and felt no inner conflict about how he spent his time. The conflict he was beginning to feel was a struggle to find investments for the partnership. During the past year he had put money into safe but increasingly scarce cigar butts like his old favorite Philadelphia and Reading, and Consolidation Coal. He had managed to find some of the few undervalued stocks that still paraded through the Standard & Poors weekly report: Employers Reinsurance, F. W. Woolworth, and First Lincoln Financial. Hed also bought some stock in Disney after meeting Walt Disney and seeing the entertainment showmans singular focus, his love of his work, and the way these had translated into a priceless catalog of entertainment. But the concept of great businesses had not entirely sunk in, and he didnt load up. Of course, hed continued to cobble together a bigger and bigger stake in Berkshire Hathaway. But he had also built a $7 million short position in stocks like Alcoa, Montgomery Ward, Travelers Insurance, and Caterpillar Tractorborrowing the shares and selling them as a hedge against the risk that the market would plunge.9 When investors changed their minds, stocks often dropped like doves thwacked full of bird shot in midflight. He wanted the protection for the partners portfolio. In January 1966, another $6.8 million had rolled in from his partners; Buffett found himself with a $44 million partnership and too few cigar butts to light with his cash. Thus, for the first time, he had set aside some money and left it unusedan extraordinary decision.10 Ever since the day he left Columbia Business School, his problem had always been getting his hands on enough money to pump into a seemingly endless supply of investment ideas. Then, on February 9, 1966, the Dow had briefly streaked across the mythical one thousand mark before closing just a few points below. The chant began: Dow one thousand! Dow one thousand! The market would not break through the barrier again that year, but the euphoria carried on anyway. Buffett had been worrying all year about disappointing his partners. Although he started his latest letter to them cheerily with the news about the huge profits on American ExpressOur War on Poverty was successful in 1965, he wrote, alluding to President Johnsons program to bring about a Great Society through a vast array of new social-welfare programshe then delivered the real news in what would be the first of many similar warnings: I now feel that we are much closer to the point where increased size may prove disadvantageous. And with that he announced that he would be shutting the door to the partnership, locking it, and putting away the key. There would be no more new partners. He made a joke of it. Susie couldnt have any more kids, he wrote, because they wouldnt be allowed in. This joke was not particularly apt, since none of their children had ever actually been partnersor would be. He was determined to manage their expectations about money, in order to ensure that they would find their own way in life. From an early age, each of the kids knew not to expect financial help from him except to pay for their education. He could have brought the children into the partnership as a learning exerciseto teach them about money, about investing, and about how he spent his time. Certainly he used it that way with those who were members of the partnership. But Warren rarelyif evertaught those he saw day to day. For him, teaching was a performance, a conscious act that took place before an audience. His kids got no lessons. Instead, he bought them stock in the benighted Berkshire Hathaway. As trustee of the trust left to his children by his father, he sold the farm that Howard had bought as a refuge for the family and used the money to buy the stock. Given that Warren didnt approve of unearned wealthwhich was how he viewed inheritancehe might have left the farm alone. A small farm in Nebraska would never be worth much, and the kids would never become rich from their grandfathers inheritance. But by investing the proceeds in his floundering textile business, he increased his hold on Berkshire by another two thousand shares. Why he cared so much about it was a mystery to observers, but ever since Buffetting his way to control of Berkshire, he seemed obsessed by it. The Buffett kids were not expecting to get rich. They did not even really know that their family was rich.11 Their parents wanted them to be raised unspoiled, and they were. Like children everywhere, they had to do chores to get their allowances. But when it came to money, their familys odd disconnection meant that Susie and Warren tussled over her allowance as if the Buffetts were broke; then she got the money anyway and used it to give them an upper-middle-class life. The children went on nice vacations, enjoyed themselves at the country club, wore good clothes, and saw their mothers Cadillac and fur coats. But they never got to take money for granted. Their father niggled over small amounts of money all the time and surprised them by denying little requests. If he took them to a movie, he might not pay for popcorn. If one of the kids asked for something, his answer might well be no: If I did it for you, Id have to do it for everyone. Whatever message he and Susie were trying to give the children about money, one unvarying theme came through: Money was important. They were growing up in a household where it was routinely used as a tool of control. Warren would take Big Susie to a store for her birthday and give her ninety minutes to race through and buy whatever she could grab. The Buffett side of the family had always been about making deals. Although Susie felt that Warrens obsession with making money was unworthy, she still angled to get more of it from him. Now she was struggling with her weight and this too became a money deal. Warrens childhood obsession with weighing machineshe would have weighed himself fifty times a dayhad been no passing phase; he was obsessed with his familys weight and preoccupied with keeping them all thin. The familys eating habits helped neither his cause nor their health. Susie, who had suffered from a mysterious and excruciating abdominal adhesion two years before, cooked unenthusiastically. She and Warren both willingly ate the same thing day after day: mostly meat and potatoes. Unlike Warren, Susie would eat vegetables, but she refused every fruit except watermelon. She picked at healthy food while living on chocolate and Rice Krispies treats, frosting out of a can, cookies, Tootsie Rolls, and milk, milk, milk. Warren breakfasted on Fritos and Pepsi, ate handfuls of chocolate and popcorn, and chose steaks, hamburgers, and the odd sandwich as his mainstay meals. Finally, Susie asked him to make a deal to pay her to keep her weight at 118 pounds. Since she cared less about money than her husband did, however, motivation was a problem for her. All month long she picked and snacked; but then, as the weigh-in date approached, she would get on the scale. If the news was bad and she had to take the pounds off fast, Uh-oh, shed say to one of Susie Jr.s friends: Kelsey, Ive got to call your mom for her diuretic pills.12 Warren disciplined himself to maintain his own weight by dangling money in front of his kids. When they were younger, he made out unsigned checks to them for $10,000 and said that if he didnt weigh 173 pounds on such-and-such a date, he would sign the checks. Little Susie and Howie went crazy trying to tempt him with ice cream and chocolate cake. But the prospect of giving up money pained Warren far more than giving up a treat. He made out those checks over and over, but he never had to sign a single one.13 *** Instead of his children, one of the last new partners Warren allowed to join his partnership was Marshall Weinberg, a stockbroker friend of Walter Schloss who had taken Grahams seminar twice. A cultivated man with a bent for the arts and philosophy, Weinberg had met Buffett at one of Grahams lectures at the New School in New York. Lunching together a few times and talking of stocks, they had become friends. Weinberg soon gave up on interesting Buffett in music, art, philosophy, or travel, but Buffett traded through him at times and Weinberg became interested in joining the partnership. So on one of the Buffetts frequent trips to New York, Warren agreed to meet with him to discuss it. Loping downstairs from his room at the Plaza, Warren met Weinberg in the lobby. Then Susie glided in, and Warren lit up. She sidled over to him and gave him a hug, then put her hand behind him as if he were a child and gazed at Weinberg with her large brown eyes. How are you? she asked, beaming at him. She wanted to know everything about him. He felt he was being welcomed into a family and went away thinking that he had made a new friend in Susie. He also intuited that he had just met Buffetts most powerful asset.14 Weinberg had squeaked through the door just in time. Through 1966, the urban riots continued, the war in Vietnam escalated, and antiwar protesters rallied in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, Washington, and San Francisco. The stock market began to decline, down ten percent from the beginning of the year. Buffett had never stopped looking for things to buy, no matter how uphill the climb, but despite the markets easing, the days of cigar butts scattered everywhere were gone. He became seriously worried about how to keep up his performance. He thought more often of buying entire businesses now. In fact, he had gotten started on an entirely new venture, one that consumed large amounts of his time. 29 What a Worsted Is Omaha 19661967 Buffett ran a $50 million partnership that owned a textile business, yet he had never stopped looking like the Raggedy Man.1 His only concession to the sideburns and long hair that other men wore was a little patch of fine dark hairs that he occasionally let sprout from his crew cut like baby grass over his domed forehead. The rest of the world was turning mod. Men wore Nehru jackets, turtlenecks, and wide geometric-and floralpatterned ties. Buffett never varied his skinny striped ties and white shirt, though the shirts collar had grown tighter, and the jacket of the old gray suit he wore day after day bunched around his shoulders and gapped at the neckline. He refused to part with his favorite camel-colored V-neck sweater, although its elbows had grown thin. His shoes had holes in the soles. When Chuck Peterson tried to introduce him to a potential investor at a party, the mans reaction had been Youre kidding! He didnt even want to talk to Buffett, based purely on the way Warren dressed.2 Susie had no influence; her husbands taste had formed back in 1949 when he was selling suits at JC Penneys, and Mr. Lanford told him that nobody knows what a worsted is. He now bought his suits at Parsows, downstairs in the lobby of Kiewit Plaza, where Sol Parsow was always trying to upgrade his taste. Buffett considered Parsow a very wild dresser and paid no attention to his suggestions. Warrens idea of a proper suit was one that you could bury a ninety-year-old banker from a small town in western Nebraska in.3 P arsow prided himself on giving Buffett good advice about stocks, however. He had steered him away from hatter Byer-Rolnick, warning that hats were going out of style. He had also kept him from investing in Oxxford Clothes, delivering the news that suits were not a growth business in the 1960s.4 Buffett, however, had ignored Parsows warning not to buy suit-lining maker Berkshire Hathaway.5 Since he knew nothing about clothing, why the next episode of his career would consist of buying a department store remains somewhat mysterious. It took a whopper of an idea to crack open his wallet these days. But in 1966 he was having trouble finding things to buy for the partnership. It was one of his newer friends, David Sandy Gottesman, who brought him this latest idea. Gottesman was like Fred Stanback, Bill Ruane, Dan Cowin, Tom Knapp, Henry Brandt, Ed Anderson, and Charlie Munger: people who worked their own ideas and fed ideas to him. The ever-handy Ruane had connected them at a lunch in New York City. Gottesman, a fellow Harvard graduate from a different year, worked for a small investment bank and sometimes found the odd cigar butt or two.6 Buffett considered him a shrewd, disciplined, hard-nosed, opinionated, unabashed capitalist. Naturally, they hit it off. From then on, says Gottesman, every time I had a good idea, I would call Warren. It was like vetting. If you could get Warren interested in something, you knew that you had the right idea. The quintessential New Yorker, Gottesman valued his time with Buffett highly enough to be willing to travel to Omaha often. Wed stay up till late at night talking about stocks, he says, and then Id go back the next morning and go to work in New York. We also talked every Sunday night at around ten oclock for maybe an hour and a half about stocks. I was looking forward to that conversation all week, thinking about what are the stocks Im going to talk to him about. No matter what I talked to him about, he knew as much as I did about them, most of the time. After I hung up, says Gottesman, I used to go to bed around midnight or afterward, and I couldnt go to sleep for a couple of hours, I was so charged up. In January 1966, Gottesman had brought Buffett an idea: Hochschild-Kohn, a venerable department store headquartered in a building a city block in size that sat at an intersection in downtown Baltimore. Although it was kitty-corner to three competitorsHutzlers, Hecht Co., and Stewartsall four stores had prospered since the times when ladies donned hats and gloves and rode the streetcar downtown to spend all day shopping and having lunch. The well-regarded Hochschild-Kohn sold apparel, home furnishings, and housewares. Its proprietors, the Kohn family, drove old cars and lived modestlyjust the kind of people Buffett liked. Martin Kohn, the companys CEO, had called Gottesman to tell him that several branches of the family were thinking of selling and would probably accept a discount price. The Kohns took enormous pride in this store, says Gottesman, but if it had a good dress department, they never bought a dress there. It was too expensive for them. When Charlie Munger was in Omaha, he, Buffett, and Gottesman usually played a lot of golf, and theyd sit at the grill at the Omaha Country Club drinking pitchers of iced tea, talking stocks, and kidding around. But although they liked the same kind of stocks, the three had never partnered on a deal. This time, Gottesman called Buffett and told him the part about Hochschild-Kohns discount price and the Kohns parsimony, and Buffett got hooked. He owned no other retailing stock besides a little F. W. Woolworth. Department stores rose and fell on fashion and customer tastes; he knew as much about that as how to bake a souffl. He wanted Munger, to tap into his incisive way of sizing up businesses. The two of them flew into Baltimore, and liked the Kohns immediately. They were the soul of integrity, reliable people with connections all over town.7 After the episodes with Lee Dimon at Dempster and Seabury Stanton at Berkshire, Buffett knew that if he were to buy a company, he needed a manager he could count on to run the business for him. He felt that Louis Kohn was that man. Kohn had a financial background and understood the numbers and profit margins well. Buffett had become confident of his ability to assess people quickly after experience with bringing in three hundred partners and meeting countless business executives over the years. The two men looked at the balance sheet and made a $12 million bid on the spot. Munger did the negotiating with Louis Kohns relative Martin, the outgoing CEO, whom he considered this wonderful old guy who headed the place. He told Martin Kohn, I came in here and I saw a lot of old women with swollen ankles standing behind your perfume counter, with unfunded pension liabilities. Do you really want to sell this business, which is the work of your life, to somebody who might worry you about their pensions? Dont you want to take care of your own?8 Kohn tossed the towel into Mungers lap so fast that Charlie could barely catch it.9 On January 30, 1966, Buffett, Munger, and Gottesman formed a holding company, Diversified Retailing Company, Inc., to acquire diversified businesses, especially in the retail field.10 Buffett owned eighty percent of DRC. Gottesman and Munger each took ten percent. Buffett and Munger then went to the Maryland National Bank and asked for a loan to make the purchase. The lending officer looked at them goggle-eyed and exclaimed, Six million dollars for little old Hochschild-Kohn?11 Even after hearing this, Buffett and Mungercharacteristicallydid not question their own judgment and run screaming out the door. We thought we were buying a second-class department store at a third-class price is how Buffett describes little old Hochschild-Kohn. He had never borrowed any significant money to buy a company. But they figured the margin of safety reduced their risk, and interest rates were cheap at the time. Profits in department stores were thin, but as those profits grew over the years, the interest on the debt would stay the same and any increase in the profits would flow to themselves. If the profits grew over the years. Buying Hochschild-Kohn was like the story of a man who buys a yacht, says Munger. The two happy days are the day he buys it and the day he sells it.12 Louis Kohn and Sandy Gottesman flew out to Laguna Beach, where the Buffetts were renting a house, and holed up in a nearby motel. Buffett strategized with Kohn and Gottesman. He was already becoming fond of Louis Kohn. He was as high-grade a guy that you could ever imagine, had an IQ way up there, very decent guy, and he came into the partnership when we bought Hochschild-Kohn. I loved the guy. The Kohns were another couple for him and Susie to socialize withmeaning that he and Kohn could talk business while Susie entertained Kohns wife. The Buffetts social life by now included a significant number of people who lived outside of Omaha, people they usually saw on one of Warrens business trips or, as now, when friends visited the Buffetts in California. But Buffett began to grow concerned on his next trip to Baltimore, when Kohn showed him a plan the company had been developing for some time to build two new stores, one in York, Pennsylvania, the other in Maryland. The idea was to capitalize on the exodus from city to suburb that was sending people to suburban shopping malls. Theyd been planning those two stores for a couple of years. The guy that had the mens furnishings department had his section laid out. He knew exactly how he was going to decorate it. The woman who ran the high-priced dress department had hers all planned too. Buffett didnt like confrontation and dreaded disappointing people, but he and Charlie agreed that neither of these locations made sense. He spiked the York store and the Hochschild-Kohn employees and management resisted. Lacking the stomach for a fight, Warren gave in. But he drew the line at the Columbia, Maryland, store. I ended up killing that. And everybody died. They just died. Then more signs of trouble arrived in the form of numbers coming from Baltimore, revealing that every time one of the four department stores downtown put in an elevator, the other three had to do the same. Every time one store upgraded its window displays or bought new cash-register systems, the others had to follow suit. Buffett and Munger came to call this standing on tiptoe at a parade. Once anybody did it, everybody had to do it.13 Still, for the first time, Buffett and Munger had found something they could partner on. Through Diversified Retailing, they and Gottesman had, in effect, created a separate company specifically to own retailers. But Hochschild-Kohn was the beginning of a pattern that would recur more than once in frothy markets: Buffett had lowered his standards to justify an investment. That he had done it at a time when he was having more and more trouble finding what he considered to be good investments in the stock market was no coincidence. In this case, We were enough influenced by the Graham ethos, says Munger, that we thought if you just got enough assets for your dollars, somehow you could make it work out. And we didnt weigh heavily enough the intense competition between four different department stores in Baltimore at a time when department stores no longer had an automatic edge. Within the first couple of years at Hochschild-Kohn, Buffett had figured out that the essential skill in retailing was merchandising, not finance. He and his partners also had learned enough about retailing to understand that it was a lot like the restaurant business: a wearying marathon in which, every mile, fresh, aggressive competition could leap in and race ahead of you. When the three had the opportunity to acquire another retailer through DRCthis one very different and run by a true merchandiserthey went ahead, however. This retailer came to them through Will Felstiner, the lawyer who had also worked on the Hochschild-Kohn deal, who called to say, If youre interested in retailing, heres the numbers on Associated Cotton Shops. The Cotton Shops sold womens dresses. Here Buffett was headed even further afield from his basic circle of competence, although this next episode would bring into his fold one of the all-time greatest managers and characters he would ever meet in his life. A cheap little scroungey is how Munger described Associated Retail Stores, the parent of the Cotton Shops.14 Seeing a set of third-class stores for a fourth-class price, he and Buffett were immediately interested. Associated owned eighty stores with $44 million of sales and earned a couple of million dollars a year. Benjamin Rosner, its sixty-three-year-old proprietor, ran discount dress shops, in tough neighborhoods in cities such as Chicago, Buffalo, New York, and Gary, Indiana, under names like Fashion Outlet, Gaytime, and York. Sometimes he installed several tiny stores carrying the same goods under different names on the same city block. They ranged in size from that of a modest New York City apartment to a well-appointed suburban house. Rosner kept the overhead microscopic and sold only for cash. Running these outlets required unusual skills. In Chicago, a manager at the Milwaukee Avenue store, a big, hard-boiled woman, blew a whistle every time she saw somebody come in that she knew was a shoplifter type. All the employees would look over and watch the guy from then on. She knew them all and had the lowest shrinkage rate of practically any store you could ever find in the toughest neighborhood you could imagine.*23 Born in 1904 to Austro-Hungarian immigrants, Ben Rosner dropped out of school in the fourth grade. In 1931, the downdraft of the Great Depression, he started with one little store on the North Side of Chicago, $3,200 in capital, a partner, Leo Simon, and a batch of dresses they sold for $2.88 apiece.15 When Simon died in the mid-1960s, more than three decades later, Rosner continued to pay his widow, Aye Simon24 (daughter of communications mogul Moses Annenberg), Leos salary in exchange for the nominal task of signing the rent checks for their eighty stores. This went on for about six months, and then she started complaining and second-guessing and criticizing. And that really got to Ben. She was a spoiled, spoiled, spoiled woman. Now, Ben was a guy whose principle, as he later explained to me, was to screw everybody except his partner. And in his mind, shes no longer his partner. So he decided that he had to end this whole thing. So as the switch flips in his mind, hes going to screw her. He decided that he was going to sell the business to me too cheap, even though he owns half of it, because itll show her. When we met with him, he started talking and I got the picture very quickly. Buffett had been there before with people who were talking themselves into thinking they were better off without something, and he knew not to do anything that would interfere. Hes talking about selling his business that hes built up all his life, and hes going crazy because he cant stand it and he cant stand her. Hes just a total mess. So Charlie goes back in the room with me. And after about half an hour, Ben was jumping up and down, and he said, They told me you were the fastest gun in the West! Draw! And I said, Ill draw on you before I leave this afternoon. Buffett needed a manager, but Rosner told him that he would stay only until the end of the year, then turn the business over to the new owners. Buffett could see, however, that, just as the business couldnt carry on without Rosner, fortunately, Rosner couldnt carry on without the business. He loved it too much to quit. He kept a duplicate set of store records in the bathroom so that he could look at them while he was sitting on the can. He had this rival, Milton Petrie of Petrie Stores. One time, Ben went to a big bash at the Waldorf. Miltons there. They immediately started talking business. Ben said, How much do you pay for lightbulbs? How much do you mark up? And thats all Ben could talk about. Finally, he said to Milton, How much are you paying for toilet paper? And Milton said so much. Ben was buying his quite a bit cheaper, and he knew that you want to be not just cheaper but right. Milton said, Yeah, thats the best I can get. And Ben said, Excuse me, and he got up, left the black-tie benefit, drove out to his warehouse in Long Island, and started tearing open cartons of toilet paper and counting the sheets, because he was suspicious. He knew that Milton could not be paying too much by that wide a margin, and therefore that he must be getting screwed himself somehow on toilet paper. And, sure enough, the vendors were saying there were five hundred sheets per roll in one of these things. And there werent. He was getting screwed on toilet paper. Buffett knew that he wanted to be in business with the kind of guy who would leave a black-tie party to count sheets of toilet paper; a guy who might screw the guy across the table but never his own partner. He made a deal with Rosner for $6 million. To make sure that Rosner would stay on the job after he bought the business, he flattered Rosner, made certain he got the numbers to evaluate its performance, and otherwise left him alone.16 Buffett felt at one with the Ben Rosners of the worldhe saw in their relentlessness the spirit of success. He was sick of problem companies like Hochschild-Kohn and was looking for more Ben Rosners, people who had built excellent businesses that he could buy. He and Rosner shared a mutual obsession. As Buffett liked to put it, Intensity is the price of excellence. 30 Jet Jack Omaha 1967 As late as 1967, Susie seemed to think that Warren would be more attentive to her and the family if he quit working. In her mind, the two of them had an understanding that they would scale back their lives once he made $8 or $10 million. His 1966 fees of $1.5 million and gains on his capital brought the familys net worth to over $9 million.1 She badgered him that the time had come. But Warrens pace never slackened as he shifted his focus from one preoccupation to another: raising money for the partnerships, buying National American, Sanborn Map, Dempster, Berkshire Hathaway, Hochschild-Kohn, American Express, and any number of investments in between. Sometimes his back seized up when he got on a plane, and occasionally Susie had to nurse him for several days while he was bedridden with pain. His doctor couldnt find any specific cause, suggesting that work or stress might have something to do with it. But Warren was about as likely to stop working for the sake of his back as he was to fork down a big plate of broccoli for the sake of his health. He was always sitting hunched over something, a book, the phone, a bridge or poker game with friends like Dick Holland and Nick Newman, a prominent businessman who owned Hinky Dinky, the same grocery chain from which Warren had slunk, humiliated, as a boy after his grandfather sent him to buy loaves of bread. Newman and his wife were active in the community and in civil-rights circles, and, like the low-key Hollands, they were typical of the Buffetts friends. Warren and Susie stayed away from the Omaha social circuit. Their joint social life was evolving into a series of recurring events that followed the rhythm of Warrens work and often took place when they were traveling to see Warrens friends. In town, however, Susie stayed on call; she shuttled between her own friends, family, needy cases, and community work. A sign now hung on the Buffetts unlocked back door that read: The Doctor Is In. One or another of Susies patients could often be found wandering around the house. Her clientele came from all different ages and stations in life, and some were more demanding than others. They asked and Susie gave, and when they asked for more, she gave more. When Susie asked, Warren gave, and when Susie asked for more, Warren complied. Unyielding about how he spent his time, he gave in to her on almost everything else. This was the year they remodeled the house. Already the biggest on the block, under Susies direction a new wing replaced the old garage, giving the neighborhood kids a place to gather in a new family room. Warren was excited at having his own racquetball court in the basement underneathlike Ping-Pong on a human-size scalewhere he took his friends and business colleagues to play. But even though Warren was like a kid in many ways, and Susie wished he were a more attentive father, he was loyal and committed: He showed up at school events and took the children on vacations. And while 1967, the year of White Rabbit and Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band, marked the apex of the rock-and-roll drug culture, with Susie Jr. in eighth grade, Howie in sixth, and Peter in third, the Buffetts were blessedly free of worries faced by many other parents. Susie Jr. had developed from a timid child to a self-sufficient teen and the undisputed boss of her siblings. While her mother filled the house with ballads and soul music when she sang and played albums, Little Sooz had turned into a rock-and-roll girl; she introduced her brothers to groups like the Byrds and the Kinks. She was a straight kid, however, not sucked into the druggy element at school. Howie, now twelve, was still young enough to try to scare his sister and her friends by looming from the crabapple tree outside her window in a gorilla costume. But his pranks were getting more sophisticated, and more dangerous. He put Scout the dog on the roof, went downstairs, and called him to see if he would come. Scout did, and wound up at the vet with a broken leg. Well, I just wanted to see if he would come, Howie protested.2 To foil his mother from periodically locking him in his room out of frustration, he bought a lock at a hardware store and started locking her out. Peter spent hours at the piano, playing by himself or with his friend Lars Erickson. He was winning talent shows and seemed as absorbed in his music as his father was in making money. The one person in the family who was seduced by the dark side of the psychedelic sixties was seventeenyear-old Billy Rogers, son of Susies sister, Dottie, now a budding jazz guitarist who was experimenting with drugs. His mother did some volunteer work and was an expert seamstress, but she also slept until noon, seemed paralyzed by making decisions, and at times was so distant and vague that it was literally impossible to carry on a coherent conversation with her. Dottie was drinking more and not paying attention to her kids. Susie often took Billy to watch Calvin Keys, a local jazz guitar playerso that Billy could learn technique from him, but also to try to straighten Billy out.3 She faced a daunting task in an era when the drug culture of pot and LSD was ubiquitous and Timothy Leary invited America to Turn on, tune in, drop out. The youth-led counterculture was rebelling against all forms of authority, everything for which the prior decades had stood. This aint Eisenhowers America no more, said one of the hundred thousand hippies milling about San Franciscos Haight-Ashbury that summer, as if that were explanation enough.4 Warren still lived in Eisenhowers America. He had never suffered from Beatlemania. He wasnt singing Kumbaya or putting up posters saying that war was unhealthy for children and other living things. His state of consciousness remained unaltered. His mind was deep in rigorous philosophical inquiry, torn between the cigar-butt philosophy of Ben Graham and the great businesses of Phil Fisher and Charlie Munger. I was in this Charlie Mungerinfluenced type transitionsort of back and forth. It was kind of like during the Protestant Reformation. And I would listen to Martin Luther one day and the Pope the next. Ben Graham, of course, being the Pope. While Munger was nailing his theses on the door of the Cigar Butt Cathedral, the market itself had abandoned all authorities past and present; as the 1960s progressed, chatter about stocks enlivened cocktail parties, and housewives called their brokers from the beauty parlor. Trading volumes were up by one-third.5 Buffett, at thirty-six, felt like a grizzled old man in a world that craved Transitron, Polaroid, Xerox, Electronic Data Systemscompanies whose technology he did not understand. He told his partners that he was slowing down. We simply dont have that many good ideas, he wrote.6 Yet he did not relax his rules in search of ways to keep the money at work. Instead, he laid out two new restrictions that would make it even harder for him to invest. These personal preferences now became part of the official canon. 1. We will not go into businesses where technology which is way over my head is crucial to the investment decision. I know about as much about semiconductors or integrated circuits as I do of the mating habits of the chrzaszcz. 2. [W]e will not seek out activity in investment operations, even if offering splendid profit expectations, where major human problems appear to have a substantial chance of developing. By major human problems he meant layoffs, plant closingsand union businesses that couldnt take a strike. This also meant he would think once, twice, three times, before smoking any more cigar butts. The cigar butts he owned were problem enough. Berkshire Hathaway was now on life support. Buffett had recently hired his Peat, Marwick auditor, Verne McKenzie, and sent him off to New Bedford to oversee the wretched textile mill. He had been regretting a mistake he had made at a recent Berkshire Hathaway board meeting. Feeling flush during what would turn out to be a brief moment of financial successwe were selling out of rayon linings for a few months and making a lot of money7Buffett had let himself get talked into a ten-cent-per-share dividend. The firms lawyers had argued that Berkshire was doing so well that it might be accused of unjustifiably retaining earnings. Either while daydreaming or simply in a moment of weakness, Buffett went along with the distribution; a dime a share sounded measly; it somehow took him twenty-four hours to realize the fallacy of their argument. By then it was too late and his uncharacteristic agreeableness had showered on the partners and shareholders $101,733 that he knew he could have turned into millions someday.8 He would never make a mistake like that again. Eight months later, Buffett offered the Berkshire shareholders a swap. Anyone who wanted an incomeproducing security could have a 71/2 percent debenture in exchange for stock. A total of 32,000 shares were turned in. With this move Buffett washed out of the mix a group of shareholders who wanted income, ensuring that the rest were more likely to care about growth instead of dividends. It was brilliant, says Verne McKenzie.9 And, of course, with fewer shares outstanding, he was able to tighten his grip on Berkshire that much morecuriously, even as the magnitude of his original error in buying the place was clearer. Ken Chace stoically followed Buffetts orders to shrink the business. Rather than precipitate a hateful backlash like that at Dempster, Buffett listened to Chaces recommendations that the unions be treated well, and decided to tolerate losses to keep some remnant of the company operational and New Bedford content. By 1967 Chace and McKenzie had managed to pull the hapless maker of mens suit linings back to breakeven. But the term inflationmoribund since the Second World Warwas again on everyones lips. The costs of wages and raw materials were rising like silt in a river, and both foreign and southern textile mills with cheaper labor were drying up Berkshires sales. Buffett gave the news to his partners: B-H is experiencing and faces real difficulties in the textile business. While I dont presently foresee any loss in underlying values, I similarly see no prospect of a good return on the assets employed in the textile business. Therefore, this segment of our portfolio will be a substantial drag on our relative performanceif the Dow continues to advance.10 He tried to pull money out of the textile business as fast as possible. He became intimately involved in the most ordinary decisions of the mills, on the phone almost daily with Chace and McKenzie.11 Chace had had to shut down the Box Loom division for a week back in October 1966 because of competition from imports; less than six months later Buffett told him to permanently shut down the King Philip D division in Rhode Island, which made fine lawn cotton, about one-tenth of Berkshires output. The loss of 450 jobs marked the end of Rhode Islands cotton industry.12 The tide continues to be far more important than the swimmers was the bottom line, as Buffett saw it.13 It wasnt enough. As the numbers came in, Buffett realized that the Apparel Fabrics and Box Loom divisions were losing so much money that the only way to salvage them was to modernize the equipment. But throwing good money after bad had been Seabury Stantons mistake. Buffett refused to invest in the business; it would be like trying to irrigate the desert with a garden hose. Still, closing the plants down would throw hundreds of people out of work. He sat behind his desk and swiveled his chair and thought about it, then thought about it some more. The irony was that the partnership was swimming in a sea of money.14 And on Wall Street, brokers in pinstripes were getting high on cash. A new breed of men, who had come of age after World War II without the lessons of the Crash and the Great Depression seared into their brains, had risen on the Street. As they pushed stocks to never-before-seen values, Buffett began selling down his American Express position, which by now was worth $15 million more than the $13 million that it had cost, accounting for two-thirds of the partnerships gain. But he didnt want to plow that money back into Berkshire Hathaway. Rather, his most important task that year was to find something new to which he could hitch the broken-down nag of Berkshire before its substantial drag on his performance became intolerable. In Omaha, he had long had his eye on a company, National Indemnity, headquartered just a few blocks away from his Kiewit Plaza office. Buffett first met its founder, Jack Ringwalt, in the early 1950s, in the boardroom at the broker Cruttenden and Company. Ringwalt was one of the smartest, most enterprising men in town. Then Warrens aunt Alice had tried to steer Ringwalt into the Buffett Partnership.15 Ringwalt later claimed that Buffett had demanded a minimum investment of $50,000 (though Buffett was taking far less than that from nearly everyone at the time). If you think I am going to let a punk kid like you handle $50,000 of my money, you are even nuttier than I think you are, Ringwalt supposedly replied, and declined to invest. Ringwalt considered himself an investing expert, however, and Buffetts penchant for secrecy put many people off.16 Buffett kept an eye on National Indemnity nonetheless. A nonstop learning machine, he wanted to know everything there was to know about the insurance business. He checked out armloads of books from the library and came to understand Ringwalts strategy, which was to insure the most difficult customers. Ringwalt, Buffett saw, was the mix-up player of insurancethe cautious risk-taker and the penny-pinching, aggressive underwriter who went around the office every night and turned off all the lights.17 For a fancy price, he insured the unusual: circus performers, lion tamers, the body parts of burlesque stars.18 Theres no such thing as a bad risk, Ringwalt liked to say, only bad rates. His first break had come when a bank asked him to guarantee that a bootleggerpresumed murderedwould not return to Omaha, because the presumptive widow wanted to withdraw his account without waiting the legally required seven years. Ringwalt figured the alleged murderers lawyer might have a pretty good idea whether the missing bootleggers blood no longer pulsed. He had helped the accused murderer beat the rap, but the dead mans widow (and the bank) suspected that was mainly just good lawyering, not exoneration. Still, the lawyer couldnt say whether his client had confessed to him. So Ringwalt got him to put up some of his own money on the guarantee, on the theory that unless the bootlegger had croaked louder than a bullfrog, the lawyer wouldnt take the risk. Sure enough, the cash told all; the bootlegger never reappeared, and the bank never made a claim. Jack Ringwalt was enterprising, and a natural handicapper. From there, he expanded into insuring taxicabs, then he put up the stakes for radio-station treasure hunts, hiding the clues in lipstick cases, burying them himself, using clues so obscure that only one prize was ever claimed. He soon became the fastest-moving, most swashbuckling, energetic businessman in Omaha. His daughter referred to him by the racy-sounding nickname Jet Jack. He managed National Indemnitys investments himself, buying tiny positions in hundreds of stocks, scribbled almost illegibly on ledger sheets: fifty shares of National Distillers, 2,500 of Shaver Food Marts. He carried around hundreds of stock certificates in an old gym bag. In the early 1960s, Buffett had called his friend Charlie Heider, who was on the board of National Indemnity, and asked whether Ringwalt had any interest in selling. Heiders answer was intriguing. For fifteen minutes every year, Jack would want to sell National Indemnity. Something would make him mad. Some claim would come in that irritated him, or something of that sort. So Charlie Heider and I discussed this phenomenon of Jack being in heat once a year for fifteen minutes. And I told him if he ever caught him in this particular phase to let me know. One gray and gloomy February Omaha day in 1967, Heider was having lunch with Ringwalt, who said, I dont like this weather. The conversation wound around to the fact that he wanted to sell National Indemnity. Ringwalt had convinced himself he was better off without it; the fifteen-minute window had appeared. Theres somebody here in town who might want to buy it, Heider said. Warren Buffett. Ringwalt allowed as how he might be interested. Heider called Buffett afterward and told him that Jack Ringwalt would possibly sell the company for so many million. Do you care to meet with him in the coming days? What about this afternoon? Buffett said immediately. Ringwalt was leaving for Florida the next morning, but Heider convinced him to go down to Kiewit Plaza first.19 Buffett asked Ringwalt to explain why he hadnt sold to anyone yet. Ringwalt said that all the offers came from crooks. He started laying down conditions. He said he wanted to keep the company in Omaha. Sensing that the fifteen-minute window was about to disappear, Buffett agreed he wouldnt move the company. Ringwalt said he didnt want any employees fired. Buffett said that was okay. Ringwalt said all the other offers had been too low. How much do you want? Buffett asked. Fifty dollars a share, said Ringwalt, fifteen dollars more than Warren thought it was worth. Ill take it, Buffett said. So we made a deal in that fifteen-minute zone. Then, Jack, having made the deal, really didnt want to do it. But he was an honest guy and wouldnt back out of a deal. However, he said to me after wed shaken hands, Well, I suppose youll want audited financial statements. And if Id have said yes, he wouldve said, Well, thats too bad, then, we dont have a deal. So I just responded, I wouldnt dream of looking at audited financial statementstheyre the worst kind. Then Jack said to me, I suppose youll want me to sell my insurance agencies to you as well. It would have been natural for Buffett to want the agencies. They controlled relationships with some of the customers who did business with National Indemnity. I just said, Jack, I wouldnt buy those agencies under any circumstances. If Id said yes, that I wanted him to sell the agencies to Berkshirehe wouldve said, Well, I cant do that, Warren. We mustve misunderstood each other. So we went through about three or four iterations like this. And finally Jack gave up and sold me the business, though I dont think he really wanted to do it. Buffett wanted him to do it, because Berkshire Hathaway was a lousy business that he had partially liquidated, and this was his chance to swap those funds for a great business. Since he knew that Ringwalt would be having second thoughts while away in Florida, he moved fast to seal the deal before Ringwalt could change his mind. Both men wanted a contract no more than one page long.20 Buffett had final papers drawn up quickly and the funds deposited in the U.S. National Bank.21 When Ringwalt returned from Florida a week later, Buffett freight-trained him with a deal ready to close. But Ringwalt showed up to the closing meeting ten minutes late. Buffett and Heider would later explain this by saying that Ringwalt was driving around the block looking for a parking meter with time left on it.22 Ringwalt always said he was just late. But maybe hed realized he wasnt actually better off without it, and was dragging his feet, sorry at having bowwowed himself into thinking he was better off without National Indemnity. Buffett, of course, knew full well that the partnership was better off with it; National Indemnity was the chance to give his fortunes a gigantic push. A short time later, he wrote a paper on the subject under the dull title Thoughts Regarding Capital Requirements for Insurance Companies. The word capitalmoneywas an important hint at what Buffett was thinking when he acquired National Indemnity, for capital was his partnerships lifeblood. He was pulling capital from Berkshire and it needed to be put to work. National Indemnity took a lot of risk and needed gobs of capital to do so. By most standards, he wrote, National Indemnity is pushing its capital quite hard. It is the availability of additional resources in Berkshire Hathaway that enables us to follow the policy of aggressively using our capital which, on a long-range basis, should result in the greatest profitability within National Indemnity. Berkshire Hathaway could put additional capital into National Indemnity, should underwriting turn sour.23 Buffett had figured out a whole new type of business. If National Indemnity made money, he could send those profits out to buy other businesses and stocks, instead of leaving them to hibernate in National Indemnitys vault. But if the lion ate the lion tamer, National Indemnity might need money to pay the lion tamers weeping family. Then the money could come back home to National Insurance from the other businesses. Grafting the insurance business onto Berkshire Hathaway, the mess of a textile mill, made its capital homeostatic. It could respond internally to the environment at Buffetts command, rather than hibernating like a lizard when it got cold or running out when the sun shone to find a rock on which to sun itself. The key was to price the risks right. Thus he needed Jack Ringwalt, who had talked himself into selling his own business, to stick around. Buffett paid Ringwalt handsomely and cultivated him as a friend; and as with Ben Rosner and Associated Cotton Shops, he had bought an excellent business run by an able manager. The two men often played tennis in California. Ringwalt, whose taste in clothes resembled Buffetts, would show up in a grimy old sweatshirt that his daughter had made for him. His racy nickname, Jet Jack, stretched in huge letters over his bay window of a gut. Once when he and Buffett were having lunch at a Jolly Roger restaurant, a little kid came up to him. Can I have your autograph, Jet Jack? he asked. Ringwalt swelled with pride. The kid thought he was a celebrity: an astronaut or a movie star. He may not have looked the part except to a little kid, but in his heart, he still felt like Jet Jack. And rightly so, because the swashbuckle came from inside, not from the way he looked. Ringwalt may have sold his company, but he had gotten back a bit of his ownfor what he did with some of the money he got from selling National Indemnity was to buy stock in Berkshire Hathaway.24 31 The Scaffold Sways the Future Omaha 19671968 The greatest wave of riots, lootings, and burnings since the Civil War swept the country during the summer of 1967. Afterward, Dr. Martin Luther King said, Many more riots of the kind we had last summer and we shall be in danger of a right-wing takeover of the fascist type!1 P rivately angry at the movements lack of progress, King still refused to endorse violent resistance; some activists felt that the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and Dr. Kings Southern Christian Leadership Conference should have mounted a much more confrontational response to the ugly force of nightsticks and cross burnings they faced that summer. Omahas nonviolent activists counted the Buffettsboth of whom were now influential in townamong their informal network. Rackie Newman, the wife of Warrens best friend in Omaha, Nick Newman, was working with Susie to pressure the YMCA and the boards of other organizations to give a fairer share of money to their branches in impoverished areas. Through the United Methodist Community Center, run by an African-American friend, Rodney Wead,2 Susie and Rackie sent black kids to summer camp and set up an interracial dialogue group for local high school students.3 Wead had become a frequent presence in the Buffett house. John Harding, who ran Buffetts back office, collected thousands of signatures for an open-housing petition. Nick Newman helped bring Warren directly into the struggle by sponsoring his participation in various local civil-rights groups. Warrens role was not to labor, but to speak. He, Newman, and Harding testified before the legislature in Lincoln on open housing. For her part, Susie went out and at least a few times actually bought houses, fronting for blacks who wanted to move into white neighborhoods.4 Recently, Warren had been introduced to Joe Rosenfield, who ran the Younkers chain of department stores based in nearby Des Moines.5 Rosenfield was well connected in both local and national politics and shared the Buffetts political views. He was also a trustee of Grinnell College, which sat like a tiny radical island in the middle of the farming hamlet of Grinnell, Iowa.6 Its liberal-minded students tended to go into social services after graduation, and the school was focusing its funding on increasing its African-American enrollment. Eighty-some years after its founding in 1846, Grinnell had nearly gone broke, but in the quarter century since Rosenfield had taken over the endowment, he had built it to nearly $10 million.7 He had a keen wit, as well as an edge of sadness about him, having lost his only son in a tragic accident; Susie Buffett quickly developed a special relationship with him. Given all their shared interests, Rosenfield naturally wanted to involve the Buffetts with Grinnell, his most important cause. In October 1967, the college was presenting a three-day fund-raising convocation on the liberal arts college in a world of change and had assembled a brilliant panoply of 1960s culture in its speakers roster including author Ralph Ellison, whose novel Invisible Man had won a National Book Award; social biologist Ashley Montagu, who had questioned the validity of race as a biological concept; communications theorist Marshall McLuhan, who had popularized the idea of a media-driven global village contemporary artist Robert Rauschenberg; and Fred Friendly, the retired former president of CBS News. But the speaker they were all waiting for was Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.8 Nobel Peace Prize winners were not everyday visitors to Iowa. Rosenfield had invited the Buffetts to the convocation; they were among the five thousand people who packed themselves into Darby Gymnasium for that Sunday mornings program. King flew in with the president of Morehouse College, who was going to introduce him. They were hours late; state troopers, deputies, police, and private security guards had been standing on alert since before ten a.m., ready for trouble. As they waited, the audience grew hungry and restless. Finally King strode to the podium, dressed in his preachers robes. He had chosen the theme of Remaining Awake During a Revolution, and his resonant voice rang out with a quote from poet James Russell Lowells The Present Crisis, the anthem of the civil-rights movement. Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne: Yet that scaffold sways the future, And behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow Keeping watch above His own.9 He spoke of the meaning of suffering. Inspired to nonviolent resistance by Gandhi, King invoked the lessons of the Sermon on the Mount. Blessed are the persecuted, it said, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. As touched as she was by Dr. Kings powerful words, Susie must also have been deeply moved by the way he transfixed her husband.10 Buffett had always responded to powerful, charismatic orators. Now he saw King standing before him: moral courage in the flesh, a man who had been beaten and imprisoned, put in shackles and sentenced to hard labor, stabbed and clubbed for his beliefs, a man who had carried a movement on the strength of his ideas for nearly a decade despite enraged opposition, violence, and limited success. King had once described the power of nonviolence, which has a way of disarming the opponent. It exposes his moral defenses. It weakens his morale and at the same time it works on his conscience. Even if he tries to kill you, you develop the inner conviction that some things are so precious, that there are some things so dear, some things so eternally worthful, that they are worth dying for. If an individual has not discovered something that he will die for, he isnt fit to live. When one discovers this, there is power in this method.11 King was a prophet, a man who saw a vision of glory, of evil exposed through visible suffering, of people roused from sleep by the sight of horrors. He called his followers to nail themselves to his vision, to lift it up behind them and drag it through the streets. Christianity, he said, has always insisted that the cross we bear precedes the crown we wear. One of his lines, which he repeated in many of his speeches, struck Buffetts heart and pierced his reason.12 The laws are not to change the heart, he said, but to restrain the heartless. With that great voice of his, he just rumbled that out, and then went on and used that as a theme. *** Susie had often told her husband that there was more to life than sitting in a room making money. That October 1967, in the throes of the civil-rights struggle, he had written a special letter to the partners, which showed that something in his thoughts had changed. This letter went out a little earlier than the annual report he wrote to the partners each year, and it laid out his strategy without revealing the years pending results. After describing the hyper-reactive pattern of market behavior against which my analytical techniques have limited value, he went on to say: My own personal interests dictate a less compulsive approach to superior investment results than when I was younger and leaner. I am out of step with present conditions. On one point, however, I am clear. I will not abandon a previous approach whose logic I understand (although I find it difficult to apply) even though it may mean forgoing large, and apparently easy, profits to embrace an approach which I dont fully understand, have not practiced successfully, and which, possibly, could lead to substantial permanent loss of capital. He also brought up another reason for this less compulsive approach: Personal goals, he said, had begun to intrude: I would like to have an economic goal which allows for considerable noneconomic activity. I am likely to limit myself to things which are reasonably easy, safe, profitable, and pleasant. Buffett then stunned his partners by dropping his stated goal of beating the market by ten points a year to beating it by just f ive points a yearor to earning nine percent, whichever was less. If they could find better results elsewhere, he said, they should go, and he wouldnt blame them. He knew that this was taking a risk. Some of the hot new mutual funds were doing much better than the partnership, doubling their money in a year. Each January, the partners could add money to the partnershipor take it out. Many other skippers were forecasting sunnier skies. Yet his timing in announcing that he was cutting the goal worked in his favor. The Dow produced an unusually poor year in 1966.13 Some of the partners, shaken by the markets roiling, had advised him to sell stocks. He paid attention neither to the market nor to advice, and the partnership beat the Dow by thirty-six points, the best record in its ten-year history. If you cant join em, lick em, he wrote.14 So, it was not a bad time to be offering his partners the chance to take their money elsewhere. One side effect of this strategy would be to test their trust in him. They would be making their decision without knowing the actual results of his latest yearand for 1967 he was about to report his second stellar year in a row. If they stayed in, it would be because of that trust and because they were willing to accept his more modest goal. Beating the market by five points a year, compounded over any long-term period, would produce stupendous wealth.*25 Even Ben Graham had beaten the market by just 2.5 percent a year. Buffetts revised goal of nine percent put a floor on their results that was still two percent or more better than owning an average bond. That consistency, year after year, and not losing money, would lead to a stunning result. Sticking with him, an investor took only a modicum of risk, could achieve these extraordinary returns, and do so safely. Nevertheless, by lowering his target, Buffett had just taken his partners down a peg psychologically, and the results reflected that. For the first time, instead of investors rushing to put more money into the partnership, they pulled out a net $1.6 million of capital in January 1968. Yet it was a fraction of what might have been. Less than one in thirty dollars had gone elsewhere. And when he reported his 1967 results a few weeks later, Buffett Partnership, Ltd. had advanced thirty-six percentversus the nineteen percent rise in the Dow. Thus, in two years, a dollar in Buffetts stewardship grew more than sixty cents, while a dollar in the Dow was still a measly dollar. He wished the departing partners Godspeed with what might be perceived as the subtlest trace of irony: This makes good sense for them, since most of them have the ability and motivation to surpass our objectives and I am relieved from pushing for results that I probably cant attain under present conditions.15 Financial genius is a rising market, as Kenneth Galbraith would later say.16 Now Buffett had more time to pursue the personal interests he had spoken about, and less pressureat least in theory. After Kings speech, Rosenfield easily recruited Buffett to become a Grinnell trustee. Given Buffetts dislike of committees and meetings, this signified how much he had been touched by the convocationas well as how close he had grown to Rosenfield. Naturally, he went straight onto the finance committee, where he found the trustees to be a group of like-minded men. Bob Noyce, who ran a company called Fairchild Semiconductor, which made electronic circuitssomething about which Buffett knew little and had even less interestwas chairman. Noyce, a former Grinnell graduate who had once been expelled from school for stealing a pig to roast at a luaua serious offense in a pig-farming statehad the aura of a man who knew what he was about.17 Yet he was really a regular guy. He didnt seem like a scientist at all, says Buffett. Above all, Noyce had an overarching hatred of hierarchy and a love of the underdog, in keeping with the guiding spirit of Grinnell. Buffett seemed to feel a sense of urgency to do something more for civil rights too. He felt he could best serve the cause by using his brains and financial savvy behind the scenes. Rosenfield began to introduce Buffett around the Democratic Party power network. Buffett started to get involved with Iowas Democratic Senator Harold Hughes and with Gene Glenn, who was running for the Senate. Then, in March 1968, the most controversial man in America, former Alabama Governor George Wallace, arrived at the Omaha City Auditorium to campaign for President.18 More than five thousand people crammed into a room designed to seat 1,400 to see the man who had run for governor seven years before on the platform Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.19 It took less than eight minutes for his supporters to collect the signatures to place him on the Nebraska ballot. The odor of stink bombs filled the air. When Wallace began to speak, demonstrators pelted the platform with sticks, bits of placards, paper drinking cups, and stones.20 Chairs flew, nightsticks cracked, blood splattered, and the police sprayed the crowd with Mace. As the melee spilled out along 16th Street, rioters pulled drivers out of cars and beat them. People started throwing Molotov cocktails, flames raced through the neighborhood, sidewalks filled with broken glass, and looters pawed through the stores. Hours later the violence passed, and calm finally began to descend. Then an off-duty policeman shot and killed a sixteen-year-old black boy inside a pawnshop, mistaking him for a looter.21 Over the next few days, high school students walked out of class, smashing windows and setting fires.22 A few days later, police and snipers armed with automatic weapons traded shots and arrested several people, including members of the Omaha Black Panthers.23 The racial violence continued all that summer, even as Susie never stopped going to the North Side. She trusted in her excellent relations with the community and discounted the personal danger; Warren was not always aware of the details of what she was doing but did feel that at times she went too far in putting others interests before her own. His own horror of violence and fear of mob rule had roots that went back a generation. Howard Buffett had recounted over and over to his children a scene he had witnessed when he was sixteen years olda day when thousands of people converged on the Douglas County Courthouse, broke in and attempted to lynch the mayor of Omaha, and beat, castrated, and lynched an elderly black man who had been accused of rape. Afterward they dragged his body through the streets, shot bullets into it, lynched it again, and set it afire. The Courthouse Riot became the most shameful episode in Omahas history. Howard missed seeing much of the violence, but witnessed the lynch mob turning a streetlamp into an improvised scaffold, and the mayor of Omaha hanging by a noose around his neck before being rescued in the nick of time.24 The memory haunted him for the rest of his life.25 He had seen with his own eyes the speed with which ordinary people, formed into a mob, could act out the lowest depths of human nature. Kings warning earlier that year about mass social unrest potentially leading to fascism required no explanation to Warren Buffett. His own commitment to siding with the underdog went beyond instinct and rested partly on this train of logic. Many people thought such a thing was inconceivable in the United States, but the seemingly impossible happened time and again. The law is not to change the heart, King said, but to restrain the heartless. And who are they, the heartless? That he did not say. A few weeks later, King flew to Memphis to speak at the Masonic temple. He reflected on a woman who had stabbed him in New York City and the persistent rumors that an assassin was waiting for him. I dont know what will happen now, he told the audience. Weve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesnt matter with me now, because Ive been to the mountaintop. The next day, April 4, as he stood on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel preparing to lead a march of sanitation workers, he was fatally shot in the neck.26 Grief, rage, and frustration poured out of black communities across America, turning urban centers into fiery combat zones. At this time, tens of thousands of students were demonstrating against the Vietnam War on college campuses. The Vietcong had launched the Tet Offensive, attacking a hundred South Vietnamese cities. Americans had been horrified by a photograph of a South Vietnamese police chief shooting a Vietcong guerrila in the head point-blank, an image that for the first time changed the Communists from an abstraction to human beings. The U.S. government had just eliminated most draft deferments, finally putting the sons of the upper middle class at risk of being drafted. Public sentiment turned decisively against the war. By the time King was shot, the country felt as though revolution could erupt at any moment. In their various ways, many people decided they were fed up, and done with being put down. Buffetts friend Nick Newman abruptly announced that he would no longer attend meetings at clubs that discriminated against Jews as members.27 Warren, too, was moved to take action. Since his Graham-Newman days, he had broken away from the segregated 1950s culture and the anti-Semitism of his familys elder generation to forge friendships and business connections with a wide circle of Jewish people. He even seemed to feel a sense of personal identification with Jews, some thought; their status as outsiders fit with his own sense of maladjustment and his alignment with the underdog. Some time before, Buffett had quietly resigned from the Rotary Club, repelled by the bigotry he saw as a member of its membership committee. But he never told anyone the reason. Now he made it his personal project to sponsor a Jewhis friend Herman Goldsteinfor membership in the Omaha Club. Since one of the rationales that institutions like the Omaha Club used to defend their exclusionary policies was that they have their own clubs that dont admit us, Buffett decided to ask Nick Newman to nominate him for the all-Jewish Highland Country Club.28 Some of its members objected, using the same logic employed by the Omaha Club: Why take in gentiles when we had to establish our club because their clubs wouldnt have us?29 But a couple of rabbis got involved and an Anti-Defamation League spokesman appeared on Buffetts behalf.30 Once accepted, Buffett quietly stormed the Omaha Club, armed with his Jewish country-club membership. Herman Goldstein was voted in, and the long-standing religious barrier to membership there finally toppled. Buffett had devised a clever solution, a way to get the club to do the right thing without confronting anyone. It avoided the thing he dreaded, but it also reflected his reasoningprobably correctthat marching and demonstrations would not change the minds of well-off businessmen. It also worked because he was now a well-known figure in Omaha. He was no longer an upstart; he had clout. The man who had once had to work to get off the blacklist of the Omaha Country Club had singlehandedly effected what was perhaps the most significant organizational change since its founding in one of Omahas most elite institutions. Yet Buffett wanted to play more than just a local role. With his money, he knew he could have an impact at the national level, for 1968 was an election year, and it would take a lot of money to try to unseat an incumbent PresidentLyndon Johnsonin favor of an antiwar candidate. Vietnam was the central issue of the campaign, and Eugene McCarthy, the liberal Senator from Minnesota, was initially the only Democrat willing to run in the primaries against Johnson. The campaign had started in New Hampshire, where a McCarthy childrens crusade against the war sent nearly ten thousand young activists and college students to knock on almost every door in the state in heavy snow. He won forty-two percent of the New Hampshire vote, a strikingly strong showing against an incumbent President. Many students, blue-collar workers, and antiwar voters considered McCarthy a hero. Buffett became treasurer of his Nebraska campaign, and he and Susie attended a campaign event, she smiling broadly in an eye-catching dress and mob cap that she had had made out of fabric striped with McCarthys name. Then Johnson announced that he would not run again and John F. Kennedys brother Robert Kennedy entered the race. He and McCarthy raced through a bitter primary battle in which there was no clear frontrunner until Kennedy won the California primary, giving him a decisive lead in delegates. But on the night of his victory, he was shot by an assassin, dying twenty-four hours later, and Johnsons Vice President, Hubert Humphrey, announced his candidacy. He captured the nomination at a tumultuous Democratic convention in Chicago marked by battles between police equipped with nightsticks and Mace and rioting antiwar protesters. Buffett then supported Humphrey against the Republican Richard Nixon, who won the election. In later years, McCarthy switched parties several times and made several erratic independent runs for President, undermining his credibility as a serious politician. Buffett was notably loyal to his close friends. His enthusiasm for more distant acquaintances, and especially for public figures was fickle, however, waxing and waning with their stature in others eyes. In his insecurity, he worried constantly about how associating with others reflected on him. Eventually he regretted and downplayed his association with McCarthy. But his involvement in politics and his commitment of money signaled a sea change in Buffetts life. For the first time he had made room for something besides investing, a noneconomic activity with roots in his familys past and one that stretched toward the unknowable future. 32 Easy, Safe, Profitable, and Pleasant Omaha 19681969 In January 1968, Buffett had issued a call to his fellow Grahamites, summoning them together for the first time as a meeting of the faithful in the middle of a stock market gone mad. [T]here has been a tremendous change in attitude in the last few years, and I think the gang that is assembling in La Jolla is about all that is left of the old guard,1 he wrote, inviting Grahams former students Bill Ruane, Walter Schloss, Marshall Weinberg, Jack Alexander, and Tom Knapp. He also invited Charlie Munger, whom he had introduced to Graham, as well as Mungers partner, Roy Tolles, and Jack Alexanders partner, Buddy Fox. Ed Anderson, who had left Mungers partnership to become a partner in Tweedy, Browne, was on the guest list, too, as was Sandy Gottesman, who, Buffett told Graham, is a good friend of mine and a great admirer of you. Lastly, he said, I think you probably remember Henry [Brandt], who works very closely with us.2 Fred Stanback, Buffetts partner in deals like Sanborn Map and the best man at his wedding, was too busy to attend. A few years after Warren had finished at Columbia, he and Miss Nebraska 1949, Vanita Mae Brown, had reunited for dinner in New York. They made it a sort of double date by bringing along Susie and Fred, who had met Vanita at least once before through Warren. She was then Vanita Mae Brown Nederlander, having been briefly married to a member of the Nederlander family, theater owners who were part of an American entertainment dynasty. After the dinner, Fred, Warrens most introverted friend, became, as another friend put it, putty in her hands, as if to prove the old maxim that opposites attract. Initially, their marriage probably seemed like a sort of charming postscript to Warrens career at Columbia: a couple brought into the Buffetts circle from that era. He did have a tendency to arrange his friends lives, asking them to partner with him, putting them on his companies boards, and in general wrapping them into his life through ties of various kinds. Two friends married may have felt almost like a compliment to him, but it turned out to be the worst decision Fred ever made in his life. He and Vanita had been living in Salisbury, North Carolina, where Fred grew up and where his family had built their Snap Back with Stanback headache-powder business. Now Fred himself needed boxcarloads of headache powder; he was extracting himself from this pulse-pounding marriage. Vanita had thoroughly established herself in tiny Salisbury and remained there to torment him with all her considerable creativity while they battled in the courts. Thus, unlike the rest of the Grahamites, Freds interest in the stock market had been temporarily diverted. It was at a time when the market was growing less attractive anyway: Hundreds of millions of dollars had been poured into it by people mindlessly coattailing so-called experts, who themselves had no more than a couple of years proven ability to make money. More than fifty new investment funds had come to market, with nearly sixty-five more waiting in the wings.3 For the first time in U.S. history, it became fashionable for a broad group of individuals to own stocks.4 Buffett would describe this phase as resembling an ever-widening circle of chain letters, even a mania, populated mostly by the hopeful, credulous, and greedy, grasping for an excuse to believe.5 In a business that was still transacted through paper trade tickets and physical delivery of stock certificates, trading volume had reached such a level that the market was nearly crushed under the weight of paperwork. Huge numbers of orders were duplicated or never executed, the tickets misplaced or simply thrown in the garbage, while file rooms worth of stock certificates disappeared, presumed stolen, amid rumors that the Mafia had infiltrated the market. All sorts of reforms pushed through in 1967 and 1968 automated and computerized the trading systems in a desperate effort to catch up. One of the most important would shut down the old under-the-counter market. The National Association of Securities Dealers announced that it was about to bring online a new system called NASDAQ that would quote prices for smaller stocks.6 Instead of appearing on Pink Sheets that were stale the moment they were printed, the prices of most companies not listed on the stock exchanges would now be posted and updated electronically as they changed. Market makers had to show their hands and stand by the quotes they posted. Any trader who was very knowledgeable, good at haggling, and strong of backbone was not going to like the new system. In the middle of an already difficult market, it was going to make Buffetts job harder. To each of the Grahamites coming to La Jolla, Warren sent out instructions. Please do not bring anything more current than a 1934 edition of Security Analysis along with you, he wrote.7 Whatever their age, wives, too, would remain at home. In his letter, Buffett reminded them that they were there to listen to Graham, the Great Man, not one another. Several in the groupMunger, Anderson, Ruanewere inclined to be loquacious. When it came to investing, of course, no one had more of this tendency than Buffett himself. At age thirty-seven, he had finally attained peerage and was able to call his former teacher Ben, but sometimes he still slipped and said Mr. Graham. So he must have been at least partly reminding himself not to try to take over as the best student in the class. Thus instructed, the dozen Graham-worshippers convened at the Hotel del Coronado, across the bay from San Diego. Warren had wanted to meet at a much cheaper venue such as a Holiday Inn; he made sure the group knew that the extravagance of this pink-and-white Victorian confection of a resort was Grahams idea. By the time the dozen arrived in San Diego, a huge storm with lashing rain and churning seas had hit, but no one cared; they were there to talk about stocks. Buffett was bursting with pride at having engineered a tribute to his teacher and a chance to show off the wisdom of Ben Graham to his new friends. Graham arrived at the Coronado late. Ever the teacher, as soon as he got there, he immediately gave them an exam. Graham was almost painful to listen to under any circumstances. Every sentence was complex and larded with classical allusions. The exam he gave them was much the same. They were not terribly complicated questions, although they were a littleyou know, some were French history, or something like that. But you thought you knew some of the answers, says Buffett. They didnt. Only Roy Tolles got more than half. By answering everything true except a couple that he knew for certain were not, he scored eleven out of twenty. The little exam turned out to be one of Grahams teaching tricks, designed to show that even an easy-looking game can be rigged. Buffett would later have a saying: Knowing that a clever guy is stacking the deck is not necessarily protection. During the rest of the meeting, Graham tolerated the discussions of stock promotion, manufactured performance, phony accounting, institutional speculation, and the chain-letter acquisition syndrome with bemusement.8 But he was no longer engaged; instead, he wanted to tell riddles and joined with enthusiasm in brainteasers and word and numbers games. Buffett, however, was as much engaged as ever, notwithstanding the tenor of his letter to his partners in October 1967, when he wrote that from now on he would limit himself to activities that were easy, safe, profitable, and pleasant. When he returned to Omaha from San Diego he focused intensely on the problems of the partnership. He needed to let the partners know that all was not well at some of the businesses they owned and in his next two letters dropped subtle hints. After having described the travails of textiles eloquently in 1967, he made no further mention of the business in 1968, although the prospects and results of the Berkshire mills had not improved. Earnings at DRC were falling because of Hochschild-Kohn.9 Still, Buffett did not take the logical next step, which would have been to sell Berkshire Hathaway and Hochschild-Kohn. Here, his commercial instincts chafed against some of his other traits: the urge to collect, the need to be liked, the preoccupation with avoiding confrontation after the Dempster windmill war. In an intricate minuet of rationalization, he explained his thinking in his January 1968 letter to the partners: When I am dealing with people I like in businesses I find stimulating (what business isnt?), and achieving worthwhile overall returns on capital employed (say, ten to twelve percent), it seems foolish to rush from situation to situation to earn a few more percentage points. It also does not seem sensible to me to trade known pleasant personal relationships with high-grade people, at a decent rate of return, for possible irritation, aggravation, or worse at potentially higher returns.10 Some of the growing crowd of Buffett-watchers may have read these words with surprise. Measuring by overall returns allowed for some businesses to do considerably worse than the average. To witness Buffettwho squeezed the last tenth of a percentage point from a buck like a miser gripping a toothpaste tubedismissively waving away a few more percentage points was astonishing. Yet his performance stopped complaints, for even as he lowered expectations, he continued to surpass himself. Despite the deadweights, the partnership had averaged more than a thirty-one percent return over the dozen years of its existence, while the Dow had produced nine percent. The margin of safety Buffett always insisted on had skewed the odds sharply in his favor.11 Along with his talent for investing, its cumulative impact on his batting average meant that $1,000 put in the Dow was now worth $2,857, whereas he had turned it into nearly ten times that, $27,106. Buffetts partners by now trusted him to always deliver more than he promised. He manifested predictability and certainty in 1968, the tumultuous year in which students would take over and close Columbia University, flower-child demonstrations would turn militant, and activists would nominate a pig for President.12 But by mid-1968, Buffett had made a decision to try to jettison the intractable Berkshire Hathawaya business that was neither easy, safe, profitable, nor pleasantand its unlucky textile workers. He offered to sell the company to Munger and Gottesman. They came to Omaha to visit and talk. After three days of discussion, however, neither man wanted to buy something that Buffett thought he was better off without. He was stuck with Berkshire Hathaway. Because the Apparel and Box Loom divisions were not self-sustaining and it would take gobs of cash to keep them running, Buffett was now forced to act. Deploying capital with no hope of a return was a cardinal sin to him. He told Ken Chace what to do. Chace was upset, but, in typically stoic fashion, he followed orders and shut the two divisions down.13 Still, Buffett could not bring himself to put a spike through the whole thing and bury it. What he was left with, therefore, was a partnership that owned two businesses, one thrivingNational Indemnityand one failingBerkshire Hathawayplus eighty percent of DRC, the retail holding company, and, of course, shares in a wide range of other companies. As 1968 waned, stocks on the fringes of the market began to slide; investors concentrated on the biggest, safest names. Indeed, Buffett himself started buying the blandest, most popular stocks that remained reasonably priced: $18 million of AT&T, $9.6 million of BF Goodrich, $8.4 million of AMK Corp. (later United Brands), $8.7 million of Jones & Laughlin Steel. But above all, he kept accumulating more Berkshire Hathawaydespite his restriction against buying any more bad businesses and even though the textile business was sinking into the mud. Only a short while ago, he had tried to sell it to Munger and Gottesman, but now that he could not sell it, he seemed to want as much of the stock as he could get. He and Munger had also discovered another company they saw as promising and were buying as much stock of it as they could. This was Blue Chip Stamps, a trading-stamp company. They would buy it separately and together, and over the course of time Blue Chip would dramatically reshape the course of both mens careers. The trading stamp was a marketing giveaway. Retailers handed stamps to their customers with their change. Customers dumped them in a drawer, then pasted them into little booklets. When redeemed, enough of the booklets bought them anything from a toaster oven to a fishing rod or a tetherball set. The small thrill of saving stamps fit neatly into a disappearing world: a world of thrift, a world that feared debt, that viewed these free gifts as the reward for taking the trouble to collect and save those stamps and for never wasting anything.14 But the stamps were not really free.15 The stores paid for them and marked up the merchandise accordingly. The national leader in trading stamps was Sperry & Hutchinson, except in California. There, a group of chains had shut out the S&H Green Stamp by starting their own trading stamp, Blue Chip, and selling it to themselves at a discount.16 Blue Chip had a classic monopoly. When you had all the major oil companies and grocers giving out a single stamp, it became like money. People would leave their change behind and take the stamps. Morticians gave out stamps. Prostitutes gave them. I always thought the funniest thing would be if the madam would call in one of the girls and say, From now on, I think you better double-stamp, honey. It was ubiquitous. Everybody had them. People even counterfeited them. In 1963, the Department of Justice had filed suit against Blue Chip for restraint of trade and monopolizing the trading-stamp business in California.17 S&H also sued it. With the stock in a slump, Rick Guerin, who had founded his own partnership, Pacific Partners, noticed Blue Chip and took it to Munger. Buffett had noticed it too. Blue Chip did not have an immaculate conception, Charlie Munger concedes, but they all decided to make a calculated bet that Blue Chip could work its way out of its woesthe S&H lawsuit being the most threatening. They wanted it because Blue Chip had something called float. The stamps were paid for in advance; the prizes got redeemed later. In between, Blue Chip had use of the money, sometimes for years. Buffett had first encountered this tantalizing concept with GEICO, and it was part of why he had wanted to own National Indemnity. Insurers, too, got paid premiums before the claims came in. That meant they could invest this steadily growing stream of float. To someone like Buffett, who was supremely confident in his investing ability, such a business was catnip. All kinds of businesses had float. Deposits in banks were also float. Customers often thought of banks as doing them a kind of favor by holding their cash in a safe place. But the bank invested the deposits in loans at the highest interest rates they could charge. They made a profit. That was float. Buffett, Munger, and Guerin understood how to invert every financial situation. If someone offered them trading stamps, they upended the situation and thought, Hmm, its probably better to own the trading-stamp company, then figured out why. They would no more spend time saving trading stamps to get a hibachi or a croquet set than they would wear their great-aunt Betsys petticoats to the office. Even Buffetta boyhood stamp collector who still dreamed occasionally about counting stamps, and had a sentimental stash of Blue Eagle stamps in his basementwould rather own Blue Chip stock than collect Blue Chip stamps. In 1968, Blue Chip began settling the lawsuits filed against it by competitors.18 It entered into a consent decree with the Justice Department, under which the grocery chains that owned it would sell forty-five percent of the company to the retailers who gave away the stamps.19 To remove even more control from the grocers who had given Blue Chip its less-than-immaculate conception, the Justice Department required the company to find another buyer for one-third of its stamp business. Still, it looked as though Blue Chip had survived this part of the legal fight.20 Mungers partnership had bought 20,000 shares, and Guerin bought a similar amount. In the process, Munger developed the proprietary attitude about Blue Chip that Buffett displayed about Berkshire Hathaway. He warned others away from it. We dont want anyone buying Blue Chip, he told people. We dont want anyone buying this.21 As the market rose, Buffett increased the partnerships temporary cash position to the tens of millions, even though he was still buying stocks in huge chunks. His partnership also took over large blocks of Blue Chip stock from Lucky Stores, Market Basket, and shares owned by Alexanders Markets, however, and would continue to buy for the next few months until the partnership had acquired more than 70,000 shares. For National Indemnity and Diversified, he also bought five percent of the stock of Thriftimart Stores, one of Blue Chips largest shareholders. Buffett figured he could eventually get Thriftimart to swap the Blue Chip it owned for its own stock. Fortunately they were betting mainly on the S&H lawsuit settlingotherwise, the timing would have been awful. Just as he and Munger and Guerin were making large commitments to Blue Chip, its steadily growing sales apexed. Women had started to lose interest in sitting at home, sticking trading stamps in a book. The burgeoning womens liberation movement meant that they had better things to do with their time, more money, and with that a sense of entitlement that meant that if they wanted an electric blender or a fondue set, they went out and bought it, rather than fussing over books of stamps to trade in for it. Social roles and conventions had gone topsy-turvy, the Establishment culture so reviled that young people said categorically, Dont trust anyone over thirty. Buffett, at thirty-eight, did not feel old personallyhe would never feel old personallybut I am in the geriatric ward, philosophically, he wrote to the partners.22 He was out of step with modern culture and finance. In 1968, the prospect of Vietnam peace talks in Paris set off another boisterous rally in the market. Though proud of having husbanded, tended, and compounded his partnership, with minimal risk, from seven investors and $105,000 to more than three hundred people and $105 million, Buffett had become an elder of the market, seemingly eclipsed by young barnstormers who could flash a couple of years worth of showy numbers and joy-ride new investors into giving them $500 million nearly overnight. He seemed especiallyand comfortablyantiquated when it came to all the new technology companies that were forming. At Grinnell College, he showed up for a meeting to find his fellow trustee Bob Noyce itching to leave Fairchild Semiconductor. Noyce, Gordon Moore (its research director), and its assistant director of research and development, Andy Grove, had decided to start a nameless new company in Mountain View, California, based on a vague plan to extend the technology of circuits to higher levels of integration.23 Joe Rosenfield and the college endowment fund each said they would put in $100,000, joining dozens who were helping to raise $2.5 million for the new companywhich was soon to be named Intel, for Integrated Electronics. Buffett had a long-standing bias against technology investments, which he felt had no margin of safety. Years ago, in 1957, Katie Buffett, wife of his uncle Fred Buffett, had arrived at Warrens back door one day with a question. Should she and Fred invest in her brother Bills new company? Bill Norris was leaving Remington Rands*26 UNIVAC computer division to start a company called Control Data Corporation to compete with IBM. Warren was horrified. Bill thought that Remington Rand was falling behind IBM. I thought he was out of his mind. When he left Remington Rand he had six kids and no money to speak of. I dont think Bill left to get rich. I think he left because he just felt frustrated. Everything had to go to New York to get approved and come back. And Aunt Katie and Uncle Fred wanted to put a few bucks in Control Data there right at the start. Bill didnt have any money. Nobody had any money, in a sense. Well, except Warren and Susie. I could have financed half the thing if Id wanted. I was very negative on it. I told them, It doesnt sound like much to me. Who needs another computer company?24 But since Bill was Katies brother, for once she and Fred had ignored Warrens advice and invested $400 anyway, buying the stock at sixteen cents a share.25 That Control Data had geysered investors with money hadnt changed Buffetts opinion about technology. Many of the other technology companies that had started at the same time had failed. As much out of regard for Rosenfield as for any other reason, however, Buffett signed off on a technology investment for Grinnell.26 We were betting on the jockey, not the horse, as he saw it.27 But, more important, Rosenfield provided the margin of safety by guaranteeing the colleges investment. And as much as Buffett admired Noyce, he did not buy Intel for the partnership, thus passing on one of the greatest investing opportunities of his life. While he had lowered his investing standards in difficult environmentsand would do so againone compromise he would never make was to give up his margin of safety. This particular qualityto pass up possible riches if he couldnt limit his riskwas what made him Warren Buffett. Now the whole market was starting to look like Intel to him, however. His 1968 year-end letter assessed it soberingly, saying that investing ideas were at an all-time low.28 Nostalgia just isnt what it used to be, he concluded. As he later explained: It was a multi-trillion-dollar market, and yet I couldnt find a way to invest $105 million intelligently. I knew I didnt want to manage other peoples money anymore in an environment where I didnt think I could do well, and yet where Id feel obliged to do well. That attitude was remarkably different from 1962, when the market was similarly soaring. Both times he bemoaned it. But then he had raised money with an energy that belied his inability to put it to work. The partners were dumbfounded by the contrast between his dour words and the wing-walk way he seemed to be earning money for them. Some began to impart an almost supernatural level of confidence to him. The more he surpassed his own gloomy predictions, the more the legend seemed to grow. But he knew it wasnt going to last. 33 The Unwinding Omaha 1969 In the outer office on Kiewit Plazas eighth floor, Gladys Kaiser sat guarding Warren Buffetts doorway. Rail-thin, perfectly made up, chain-smoke drifting through her platinum hair, Gladys dispatched paperwork, phone calls, bills, and nonsense with brisk efficiency.1 She kept Buffett off limits to everyoneincluding his family at times. It made Susie seethe, but with Gladys guarding the door there was nothing she could do. Susie blamed Gladys. And, of course, Warren would never give Gladys an actual order to keep Susie out. But everyone at his office knew how to interpret what he wanted from his subtle way of saying something without directly stating it. Nobody would so much as cough if they thought he would disapprove. People had to follow hints and signals as if they were stated rules simply to work at the Buffett Partnership. Beetled brows and hmmmf meant Dont even consider it. Really? meant I disagree but wont say so directly. An averted head, crinkled eyes, and backpedaling meant Help me, I cant. Gladys brooked no nonsense in following these unarticulated requests and orders, and sometimes peoples feelings got hurt. But her job was to protect her boss, and that meant doing things he couldnt bring himself to do. She had to be tough enough to take the blame. On the dingy walls above her head hung some framed newspaper clippings, reminders of the 1929 Crash. Dented metal furniture, along with an old ticker machine, furnished the offices. Down the short linoleum hallway beyond Gladys sat the other people who knew how to interpret Buffetts signals and signs. To the left was Bill Scotts little office, where he barked Hurry up, Im busy! at the brokers to execute Buffetts trades. Down the hallway to the right, in a workroom packed with files and the small refrigerator Gladys kept filled with Pepsi bottles, part-time bookkeeper Donna Walters plied her trade, meticulously keeping the partnerships records and preparing its tax returns.2 Just past Walters sat John Harding, managing the partners and the partnerships affairs. Straight ahead behind Gladys was Buffetts own realm, furnished with a couple of reclining armchairs, a desk, and a litter of newspapers and magazines. Its most prominent feature was the large portrait of Howard Buffett on the wall across from his desk. Warren arrived every morning, hung up his hat, and disappeared into his sanctuary to read the papers. After a while he emerged and told Gladys, Get me Charlie. Then he shut the door, got on the phone, and spent the rest of the day swiveling between the phone and his reading, spelunking for companies and stocks to buy. Once in a while he would reappear and tell Bill Scott about a trade. With the stock market high, Scott was less busy these days. Buffett, his pockets full of the money that National Indemnity produced, was delving for entire businesses, since their prices were less subject to the whim of investors. He had discovered the Illinois National Bank & Trust, one of the most profitable banks he had ever seen, run by seventy-one-year-old Eugene Abegg in Rockford, Illinois. Buffett wanted the crusty Abegg as part of the deal. Abegg resembled Ben Rosner, who had counted sheets of toilet paper. Buffett talked to Abegg about a few things he wanted to change in the business, then said, Ive dropped all the shoes. Im not a centipede. If you want to go ahead, fine, and if not, then were still friends. Gene had already made a deal to sell the bank to somebody else. But the buyer had started criticizing it, or they wanted an audit and hed never been audited and he wanted out. He was pretty dominant, and everything he did was unbelievably conservative. He carried around thousands of dollars of cash in his pocket, and he cashed checks for people on the weekends. He carried a list of the numbers of unrented safe-deposit boxes with him everywhere and would try to rent you a safe-deposit box at a cocktail party. Mind you, this is the biggest bank in the secondlargest city in Illinois at the time. He set every salary and paid every employee in cash, so the head of the trust department did not know how much his own secretaries made. So I went out there, and I named a number that turned out to be about a million dollars less than the other guy. And Gene, who owned a quarter of the stock, called up his biggest shareholder, who owned more than half the stock, and said, This young guy from Omahas come here and offered this. Im tired of those guys at XYZ Company. If you want to sell to them, then you come run this bank, because I wont. Sure enough, Abegg accepted his offer. And doing business with him cinched Buffetts instinct that strongwilled and ethical entrepreneurs often cared more about how they and the companies they had built were going to be treated by the new owners than about grabbing the last nickel in a sale. The Illinois National Bank, which Buffett soon came to refer to by its colloquial name of Rockford Bank, had been chartered in the days before the U.S. Treasury assumed the exclusive right to coin money. Buffett was fascinated to discover that it still issued its own currency. The ten-dollar bills featured Abeggs picture. Buffett, whose net worth was now more than $26 million, could have bought almost anything he wanted, but not this. Gene Abegg had done him one better. He and the United States Treasury had the privilege of issuing their own currency, but not the Buffett Partnership or Berkshire Hathaway.3 The idea of legal tender with your own picture on it captivated him. He began carrying a Rockford bill in his wallet. Heretofore, Buffett had not wanted his picture on a bill or anywhere else. He had more or less shunned the spotlight while managing the partnership. True, a few more stories and photographs of his family had found their way into the local paper than might be expected of someone who wanted privacy.4 Nevertheless, except for his letters to the partners, he had gone through the sixties with his lips sealedhe didnt want anyone coattailing him. He didnt talk about how he invested and he didnt broadcast his results, in contrast to the flash and razzle-dazzle shown by other money managers of the era, whose self-promotion propelled them to nearly instant fame. Even when the opportunity to promote himself arrived on his doorstep, he hadnt used it. A few years earlier, John Loomis, a securities salesman, visited Buffett at Kiewit Plaza. Loomiss wife, Carol, wrote the investing column for Fortune magazine. She had once interviewed a money manager named Bill Ruane, who told her that the smartest investor in the United States lived in Omaha. Some time later, her husband arrived at the pale monolith of Kiewit Plaza and made his way upstairs to the 2271/2-square-foot space that looked nothing like the office of one of the richest men in town. Buffett took him over to the restaurant at the Blackstone Hotel across the street, where he downed a strawberry malt and told Loomis what he did. Loomis talked about his wifes job as a journalist, and Buffett found that interesting. He said that if he had not become a money manager, he would have pursued journalism as a career.5 Warren and Susie met with the Loomises when they were in New York not long after. They got us a special little room someplace where we had lunch, Buffett says. The well-connected young money manager from Omaha with the stellar track record and the ambitious reporter for Fortune found they shared many attributes: a zeal for unmasking the flimflam of fat cats, a magpie obsession with minutiae, and a streak of competitiveness as long as the interstate from New York to Omaha. Carol Loomis was a tall, athletic-looking, no-nonsense woman with short brown hair who tolerated shoddy journalism about as well as Buffett tolerated losing money, and she was a punctilious editor. They began to correspond and she ushered him into the world of big-league journalism. He began helping her with her story ideas. Carol very quickly became my best friend other than Charlie, he says.6 At first she did not publish anything about Buffett. By the late 1960s, however, the rising market had made investing in stocks less viable for the partnership. The advantage of a higher profile when trying to buy entire businesses began to outweigh the advantage of secrecy in buying stocks. And thus it was in the late 1960s that Buffetts longtime interest in newspapers and publishing came together with his newly recast investing goals and his desire for personal attention in a way that would fundamentally change his world. Before long, Buffett was immersed in the black-and-white world of journalism. Page by page, newspapers fell to cover the litter of financial reports from the publishers of newspapers and magazines that lay scattered on his desk. When he went to sleep, more newspaperspulled from a bundle and folded into tidy packetsflew through his dreams. On his most restless nights, he dreamed of oversleeping his childhood paper route.7 Buffetts fortune had grown large enough for him to afford the purchase of a newspaper or a magazine, or both. His dream was to be not just an investor but a publisherto have the influence that went with owning the means through which the public learned the news. Around 1968, he and some friends tried to buy the entertainment newspaper Variety, but this came to naught.8 Then another acquaintanceship bore fruit. Stanford Lipsey was a friend of Susies who liked to go to clubs with her and listen to jazz. One day, he showed up in Warrens office and said he wanted to sell the Omaha Sun Newspapers. Buffett was immediately interested; he had already tried to buy it once. The Sun was a chain of weekly neighborhood newspapers that Stan and Jeannie Blacker Lipsey had inherited from her father. It published seven editions in the Omaha suburbs; its meat-and-potatoes stories were the police blotter, local society news, neighborhood business doings, high school sportsand gossip about who was going steady with whom, which made it a must-read for both parents and kids. Although the Sun was the underdog in Omaha, its editor, Paul Williams, specialized in investigative journalism, and competed by publishing stories that the leading paper, the Omaha World-Herald, missed, often stories that exposed the follies and misdeeds of city bigwigs, stories that would offend major advertisers of the World-Herald. Usually these advertisers shunned the Sun. Despite his own elevation to the Omaha establishment, Buffett took a particular interest in the muckraking aspect of the Sun. Ever since collecting license-plate numbers to catch bank robbers, he had wanted to play the cop. And hed always had this huge admiration for newspapers, Lipsey says. I recognized intuitively that Warren understood the role of newspapers in our society. There was a new highway about to come through my plant, and I would have had to borrow a whole lot of money to buy a new press. I didnt like the Suns business prospects, but I knew that Warren had enough money that the journalism wouldnt suffer because of the economics. In twenty minutes, it was done. I figured wed pay a million and a quarter for it and take out a hundred thousand a year, Buffett says. This return was eight percent, about as much as a bond would provideless, far less, than he expected to earn on a business or a stock, and the long-term outlook suggested that return would decline, not increase. But the partnerships money was lying fallow, and he really wanted to be a publisher. Part of my deal, Lipsey says, was that, even though the partnership was closed, he had to take me in. Buffett wanted the Sun so much that he agreed even though he knew he was beginning to consider shutting the partnership down. Berkshire Hathaway became owner of the Omaha Sun Newspapers on January 1, 1969. But this little neighborhood newspaper was only a beginning; Buffett wanted to be a publisher on a national scale. Joe Rosenfield introduced him to West Virginias Secretary of State Jay Rockefeller, whom Rosenfield considered a rising political star. Soon, the Buffetts were hosting the Rockefellers for dinner in Omaha; Rockefeller, in turn, introduced Warren to Charles Peters, an idealist whose start-up magazine, the Washington Monthly, seemed like the right national voice to express viewpoints on important ideas. Buffett talked to Gilbert Kaplan, who ran Institutional Investor magazine, to get a handle on magazine publishing.9 Then he wrote to Rockefeller: You have found my Achilles heel. I am a pushover for publishing dealswhen I like the product. I might mention that my enthusiasm for publishing adventures is in exact inverse proportion to my calculated assessment of their financial probabilities.10 Buffett introduced Fred Stanback and Rosenfield to the idea of investing in the Washington Monthly, warning them that it was unlikely to be a financial table-pounder. But the scandals it might uncoverthe ideas it could promotethe minds it could awakenthe exposs it could expose! They put in a little money.11 In short order, the Washington Monthly ran through its initial capital stake. Buffett held out the possibility of another $50,000. Then he and Peters had a fifty-minute phone conversation. And, Oh God, says Peters. As an investment it reeked of the potential for failure. There was his instinct as a hard businessman, and his philanthropic, good-citizen instinct on the other side, and they were clearly at war. He was worried about his business reputation and would come within an inch of pulling out, and I would slowly try to pull him back. Warren kept finding new plausible escape routes, and I tried to block the exits. But the glorious thing was, he ended up staying in.12 Buffett added the condition that the editors had to put in some of their own money while Peters raised some outside, which Buffett said he would match eighty percent.13 Peters was a better journalist than an accountant. They raised the money; the checks went out; then nobody heard from the Washington Monthly for months. They just vanished, says Buffett. Fred Stanback complained that he was getting IRS forms late, and had to amend his tax returns.14 Although the Washington Monthly was indeed putting out strong storiesas Buffett had wantedit wasnt enough. He had known from the beginning that it would not make money, but he thought it ought to be accountable for the money that it had. He was embarrassed at having drawn Stanback and Rosenfield into a bear hunt. The investors felt they were being treated like bank tellers. Buffett wanted to be a partner in journalism, a fellow newshound, not just the guy who bankrolled idealism. Yet even with mixed results, Buffett was now pursuing the personal concerns of which he had spoken in his October 1967 letter to his partners. Meanwhile, the market continued to dry up and deprive him of opportunities. Spending part of his time as a publishing magnate was no help in adjusting to that reality. Whatever else occupied him, he remained wholly committed to the partnership, too, and it turned out that a less compulsive approach to investing was not in his nature. So he started to figure out the best way to wind down the partnership. He says he received offers from a couple of people to buy the management firm, which would have meant the opportunity to sell at a large profit, but he thought this was not right. It was unusual for a money manager to forgo a large sum of money, even in those days, and so far, Buffett had shown no inclination to avoid getting richer. But he had always stayed on the same side as his partners, harnessing his avarice to their benefit as well as his own. Around Memorial Day 1969, Buffett wrote the partners to tell them that simply lowering his goal hadnt lessened his intensity: If I am going to participate publicly, I cant help being competitive. I know I dont want to be totally occupied with outpacing an investment rabbit all my life. The only way to slow down is to stop.15 And then he delivered his bombshell: He announced he would be giving his formal notice of retirement by year-end and closing down the partnership in early 1970. I am not attuned to this market environment, and I dont want to spoil a decent record by trying to play a game I dont understand just so I can go out a hero.16 What would he do now? I dont have an answer to that question, he wrote. I do know that when I am sixty, I should be attempting to achieve different personal goals than those which had priority at age twenty.17 The partners howled with disappointment, and a few with fear. Many were nafs, like his aunt Alice. They were ministers, rabbis, schoolteachers, grandmothers, and mothers-in-law. His announcement amounted to a market call on stocks. He did not think the game would be worth playing anytime soon. He had taught even the inexperienced to be wary of an overheated market. Some trusted no one other than him. But he just didnt want to operate in an environment where he didnt feel comfortable with the opportunities, says John Harding, especially when it was something that he felt he had to devote all his time to. *** Susie Buffett was happy that Warren was shutting down the partnership, at least for the kids sake. They cared desperately what their father thought of them. Susie Jr. had always gotten most of what little attention Warren provided, and Peter felt rewarded for being quiet and staying in the background. But fourteenyear-old Howie, who had always sought some emotional connection to his father that was never forthcoming, had grown wilder as he grew up. Susie Jr. would find a pair of mannequin legs covered with fake blood sticking out of her closet. He climbed on the roof in the gorilla costume to spy on her when she came home from dates and drenched her with the sprayer from the kitchen sink when she appeared in her prom dress. When their parents were in New York City, Howie seized the chance for an experiment in anarchy.18 Warren, still relying on Susie for everything, assumed she would take care of whatever Howie and the other kids needed. But by now, Susie herself had stopped trying to control her children. And she had long since let go of any idealistic expectations regarding her marriage. Her attention was increasingly taken up by an expanding number of vagrants, as one friend put it, who wandered through the house, sought her help, and occupied her time.19 Since she almost always accepted people unconditionally, some of those clients had pasts as felons, con men, addicts, or, in one case, as the purported proprietor of a bawdy house. From time to time these people conned her out of money. She didnt really mind. Buffett was infuriated at the thought of being cheated himself, but he had eventually come to think of this as part of Susies giveaway budget and even accepted it as part of her charm. Her large group of women friends continued to expand: Bella Eisenberg, Eunice Denenberg, Jeannie Lipsey, Rackie Newman, and others. Though Warren recognized who most of them were, this was Susies circle, not his. Other ties of hers, people like Rodney and Angie Wead, came from the activist community; another set of friends centered around the tennis courts at Dewey Park. And there was always the family: Leila, especially now that Roy Ralph had died and she had taken back the Buffett name; Fred and Katie Buffett and their son Fritz, who had married Warren and Susies former babysitter, Pamalso, of course, a friend of Susies now. Her nephews Tom and Billy Rogers were often around, as was another guitarist from the local music scene whom she had met through Billy, David Stryker. Like the Rogers boys and Dave Stryker, a number of Susies friends were younger: She was close to Renee and Annette Gibson, daughters of the baseball player Bob Gibson and his wife, Charlene. Several of the black students to whom she had given scholarships had come under her wing and wandered in from time to time: Russell McGregor, Pat Turner, and Duane Taylor, son of the jazz great Billy Taylor. And so it went. Even though Susie was the fountainhead of all this generosity, she was starting to need a little attention too. It wouldnt have taken much, according to her friends, just an ounce of effort on her husbands part. She disagreed that making money was lifes purpose. She felt impoverished denying herself travel, museums, theater, art, and most other forms of culture because of his lack of interest. Warren praised her effusively in public but when at home or work, lapsed into his normal preoccupied state. If he would make an effort by going to an art gallery with her now and then, or take her on a trip just because she wanted to go, it would make a difference, she said. But while he did sometimes show up when asked, if she had to ask, it was a favor, not a gift. Now that Susie realized that Warren was never going to take off to Italy for weeks on end, she began to travel on her own or with her women friends, sometimes to visit familysuch as Bertie, who now lived in Californiaand sometimes to attend personal-growth seminars. One day at the Chicago airport, a man stopped in front of her as she sat on a bench. Are you Susie Thompson? he asked. She looked up, embarrassed to have been caught with a mouth full of hot dog. It was Milt Brown, her high school sweetheart, whom she had not seen in years. He sat down and they began to get reacquainted.20 Susie, who was always reaching out for emotional connections, would later say that her husband wasnt lacking in emotion, he was just cut off from his own feelings. And it certainly seemed as though his strongest emotional bonds were with his friends and partners, to whom he felt an intense obligation, and with whom he had created a de facto family. The other Buffetts could not help but notice the way he lit up in their company, in contrast to the dutiful but preoccupied manner he displayed while attending his own family events. Thus, even now that he was preparing to close the partnership that had consumed most of his waking hours for the last thirteen years, he remained fully engaged with his partners and seemed a little reluctant to let go of his connection to them. He went to extremes to help them place their money in good hands, writing them another letter describing their options in meticulous detail. Explaining his dedication to them, he says, The question of finding other advisers is a tough one. When I wound up my partnership, I had these partners that had counted on me and I was going to be distributing a lot of money. I felt an obligation to at least suggest some alternatives for them. This was unusual behavior for a money manager, to say the least. Even Ben Graham had only said, Oh, buy AT&T, when asked, and mentioned Buffett offhandedly to a few people. But Buffett made elaborate efforts to shepherd his partners on to their future investing life. Some of them were already in the Munger partnership, and Buffett sent one or two more to him. But Munger was queasy about the market. Who wants to be around people when youre disappointing them? he says. Particularly when you sucked them into the relationship? He also lacked Buffetts genius for promotion. I recommended two people to the partners whom I knew were exceptionally good and exceptionally honest: Sandy Gottesman and Bill Ruane. Id been around the investment world for a long time at that point, and Id gotten to know them over the years. So I not only knew their results, but I knew how theyd accomplished their results, which was terribly important.21 So the richer partners would go to Gottesman at First Manhattan. But Sandy didnt want the small-fry, so Buffett sent the rest to Ruane, who was now leaving Kidder, Peabody to set up his own investment advisory firmRuane, Cunniff & Stireswith two partners, Rick Cunniff and Sidney Stires, and creating the Sequoia Fund specifically to take on the smaller accounts. They hired John Harding, who would be out of a job when the partnership dissolved, to run an Omaha office for the new company. John Loomis, the securities salesman who was Carol Loomiss husband, and Buffetts trusty researcher Henry Brandt also went to Ruane, Cunniff giving it in effect a full staff. These connections also kept Harding, Loomis, and Brandt in Buffetts extended family. Buffett brought Ruane to Omaha and promoted the Sequoia Fund to the partners. He endorsed Ruane in typically mathematical terms. Unremarkably, even though he had known Ruane for years, he still felt it necessary to leave a small escape hatch, fearing blame in case things didnt work out, and wrote: There is no way to eliminate the possibility of error when judging humans[but] I consider Bill to be an exceptionally high-probability decision on character and a high-probability one on investment performance.22 Yet while Buffett made arrangements to close the partnership, the first signs appeared that the markets sparks were going to cool. By July 1969, when U.S. troops began withdrawing from Vietnam, the Dow had dropped nineteen percent. Even though the triumphant moon landing that summer gave the country a lift, Wall Street did not feel it. Exotic stocks like National Student Marketing and Minnie Pearls Chicken System, Inc.which had garnered a huge following in a market where half the money managers and brokers had been working in the business for no more than seven yearswere starting to collapse.23 Blue Chip Stamps, the trading-stamp stock painstakingly accumulated by Buffett, Munger, and Guerin, now became a striking exception to the general trend. The three of them had been betting on whether the company could settle its antitrust lawsuit with Sperry & Hutchinson. When a settlement was reached, this stockwhich the Buffett partners didnt know they ownedshowered nearly $7 million in profit on them in return for a $2 million investment less than a year ago.24 Now Blue Chip decided to have a public offering, and Buffett elected to sell the partnerships shares as part of that deal.25 It seemed that the partners were going to have a splendid final year in 1969. That October, Buffett called another meeting of the Grahamites, including those who had gathered in San Diego the year before, sans Ben Graham himself. This time the wives were also invited, and although they did not join the meetings in which the men talked about stocks, their presence made the atmosphere more festive, like a vacation. Buffett delegated the planning to Marshall Weinberg, who lived in New York City and liked to travel. But Weinberg, who also liked to shave a dime and had no more experience of the jet-set life than Buffett, asked around and then made the unfortunate choice of the Colony Club, a Palm Beach, Florida, resort, where they were treated like rubes and snooted at even by the bellboys. Ruane reported at the first nights dinner that the bellhop had handed him back his five-dollar tip with a sneer, saying, You need it more than I do. Bill Scott had given his bellhop a handful of the dimes he always carried in his pocket to make phone calls for Buffett. The bellhop threw the change all over the floor in the hallway on his way out. For the next five days, as the group enjoyed bad food, small rooms, high winds, and lashing rains, the men sat classroom style, with Buffett most often in his usual place at the front. They batted thoughts back and forth in an encoded shorthand derived from many years of conversation and a closely shared set of concepts and values.26 Charlie told some horror stories, Buffett wrote later, and I drew the same gloomy conclusions, [while Walter Schloss] said that two mislocated steel companies with obsolete plants were still below book value so all was not lost.27 Buffett posed the Desert Island Challenge. If you were stranded on a desert island for ten years, he asked, in what stock would you invest? The trick was to find a company with the strongest franchise, one least subject to the corroding forces of competition and time: Mungers idea of the great business. As Henry Brandt took copious notes on the various answers, Buffett delivered his own choice: Dow Jones, owner of the Wall Street Journal. His interest in newspapers was growing and would only become more intense, yet curiously he did not actually own this stock. The gathering ended much as it had begun, with more displays of rudeness from the hotel staff, who had no idea they were hosting anything other than a third-rate group of stockbrokers at a time when the market was falling.28 The staff had officiously shooed the Grahamites away from the jewelry cases on the hotel mezzanine. On the last day, as the group was departing, Ed Anderson approached the front desk, and asked how best to get to the airport. Most of our guests go by limousine, he was told, but for you folks well call a cab.29 Buffett would go on to describe the Colony Club as a friendly family hotelthat is, friendly if you were the Kennedy family.30 It was a low-class performance by a high-class place, says Anderson. Later, when a Fort Lauderdale businessman who held the mortgage on the Colony Club asked Buffett to advise him on a financing deal, Buffett told the man he would be happy to do it without taking a fee, but if you ever have a chance to foreclose on them, do it.31 One of those Buffett had invited to the Colony Club was Hochschild-Kohns Louis Kohn. Buffett had grown fond of Kohn and his wife, and he and Susie had vacationed with them in Cozumel. But inviting them to the Colony Club gathering proved awkward, since no sooner had the meeting been planned than Buffett and Munger started to realize that Hochschild-Kohn was not going to work out for them. Retail is a very tough business, says Charlie Munger. We realized that we were wrong. Practically every great chain-store operation that has been around long enough eventually gets in trouble and is hard to fix. The dominant retailer in one twenty-year period is not necessarily the dominant retailer in the next. Their experience had given them a deep wariness of retailingone that would only grow, not lessen, over time. They wanted businesses that would marmalade them with money, businesses that had some sort of sustainable competitive advantage and could outwit the natural cycle of capital creation and destruction as long as possible. Not long after the meeting in Florida, Munger and Buffett sold Hochschild-Kohn to Supermarkets General for about what it had cost them.32 Buffett wanted to act fast in order to unload the company before winding down the partnership and distributing the assets. And along with the company, the Kohns disappeared from the Buffetts lives.33 Diversified Retailing had issued unsecured debt (debentures) to finance the Hochschild-Kohn purchase. Buffett had taken special care with this, his first public financing, and insisted to his underwriters that the bonds have several unusual features. The bankers had objected that a novel structure would make the bond harder to sell. I said, Well, but bonds should have this in there. That was the first bond issue I ever sold, and I put a few things in there that the underwriters had no interest in whatsoever. But I had thought a lot about bond issues over the years. And I had thought about how bondholders got taken. Bondholders historically earned less than stockholders because they gave up the potentially unlimited opportunity of a shareholder in favor of lower risk. But Buffett knew that in the real world this was not necessarily true. One of the things I put in was that if we didnt pay the interest on the bond for any reason, the bondholders took over voting control of the company, so they didnt have to get Mickey Moused by bankruptcy and all that kind of stuff. Ben Graham had written about this in Security Analysis, with as much passion as he mustered on any subject, describing how courts rarely allow bondholders to seize the assets that back those bonds unless the assets are nearly worthless. Unsecured bondholders interests were worked over in receivership through a strangling process that delayed payment almost to the point of irrelevance. Thus, DRCs debenture also provided that the company could not pay dividends while the debentures were outstanding, meaning that equity investors could not siphon off profits while interest on the bonds was in arrears. The second unusual provision was that the debentures paid eight percent but, depending on the earnings of the company, could pay up to an additional one percent. And Buffett added a third provision. Because he felt that the bonds would be sold mainly to people who knew him or his reputation, he wanted the bonds to be redeemable if he sold enough stock in DRC that he was no longer the largest shareholder.34 And nobody had ever stuck anything like this in a covenant. I said, You know, theyre entitled to have this in there. They may not want to redeem them, but theyre entitled if they want to. They lent money to me, basically. When his own banker, Nelson Wilder, protested that such clauses were unprecedented and unnecessary, Buffett overruled him.35 Now that interest rates had risen, and banks were newly reluctant to lend, the debentures suddenly became a valuable form of cheap financing, a powerful consolation prize. Nevertheless, since Buffett thought of a dollar today as the fifty or hundred dollars that it could become someday, it was as if he had lost many millions on Hochschild-Kohn because of the forgone opportunity to use the money more effectively. He drew a conclusion that he would later state as: Time is the friend of the wonderful business, the enemy of the mediocre. You might think this principle is obvious, but I had to learn it the hard way. After ending our corporate marriage to Hochschild-Kohn, I had memories like those of the husband in the country song My Wife Ran Away with My Best Friend and I Still Miss Him a Lot.Its far better to buy a wonderful company at a fair price than a fair company at a wonderful price. Charlie understood this early; I was a slow learner. But now, when buying companies or common stocks, we look for first-class businesses accompanied by first-class managements. That leads right into a related lesson: Good jockeys will do well on good horses but not on broken-down nags.36 Even as Buffett and Munger were working on the sale of Hochschild-Kohn in the fall of 1969, Forbes hit the newsstand with a story about Buffett titled How Omaha Beats Wall Street. The article opened in such an arresting manner that other writers covering Buffett would copy it for decades afterward.37 $10,000 invested in his Buffett Partnership in 1957, Forbes said, is now worth $260,000. The partnership, which now had assets of $100 million, had grown at an annual compounded rate of thirty-one percent. Over that twelve-year period, it hasnt had one year in which it lost money. Buffett has accomplished this through following consistently fundamental investing principles. The anonymous columnist for Forbes then wrote one of the more insightful statements ever made about Buffett: Buffett is not a simple person, but he has simple tastes. This not-simple Buffett with simple tastes had insisted on total secrecy in his stock dealings when he ran his partnership, and was never once profiled in an interview. Now, however, when secrecy was no longer important, he had cooperated with a high-profile article about himself. The article did not print, or even whisper, his net worth. The reporter did not know that since Buffett closed the partnership to new partners in 1966, his fees, reinvested, had quadrupled his net worth to $26.5 million in just three yearsnor that, with no money coming in from new partners to dilute him, his share of the partnerships assets had risen from nineteen percent to twenty-six percent. The story cited his rambling old Omaha house 38 and the lack of computers and vast staff in his unimpressive office. True, the man with simple tastes still chugged four or five bottles of Pepsi a day, asked for it instead of wine at dinner parties, and ate only the dinner rolls if anything more complicated than a steak or hamburger was served. A helpless captive of whoever happened to be doing the laundry at home, he still sometimes turned up in public looking little better than a hobo and barely noticed the condition of his clothes. He would have been happy in a two-room garage apartment; the money was just his scorecard. It was Susie who cared about living well, and it was she who thought that money was pointless unless used for some purpose. Nonetheless, the Buffetts had for some time lived the life of a well-to-do couplethough not, of course, a life as luxurious as they could have afforded. Susie had even upgraded Warren to a Cadillac like her own, but only the most stripped-down version with no extra features, and after she had called every dealer within miles to get the cheapest deal. People found the contrast between his homespun tastes and his ever-growing fortune refreshing. His genial manner, self-deprecating wit, and air of calm put them at ease. He had shed some of his earlier gracelessness and most of his arrogance along with the more obvious signs of insecurity though his tolerance for criticism had not increased. He was learning to hide his impatience. He showed great loyalty to longtime friends. People were especially struck by his fundamental honesty. Those who spent long periods in his presence, however, found the unleashed whirlwind of his energy exhausting. Insatiable, they whispered, and sometimes felt a guilty relief when his attention lapsed. He inhaled information and was prone to deluging his friends with mountains of clippings and reading material that he thought would interest them, before realizing with a start that they had fallen months behind his pace. His conversations were less casual than they seemed. They always seemed to have a purpose, however obscure it might be to those on the receiving end. People sometimes realized he was somehow testing them. Buffett vibrated with an inner tension that belied his outwardly casual style. It was hard to imagine what he was going to do with all that energy and intensity without the partnership. Many of the partners found it hard to imagine what they were going to do without him. Many of them had become his trainbearers and were reluctant to let go. Their reluctance struck an ironic note next to the fate of the other Buffett family business. Concurrent with its centennial, Fred Buffett threw his hands in the air and gave up on the Buffett grocery store. Neither of his sons wanted to take over, and even though it had a half million dollars a year in sales, when he tried to find a buyer, there were no takers. The grinding wheel of capitalism had spoken. *** The Buffetts were not socialites and had never thrown a really large party. But with both the store and the partnership closing, they celebrated with a bash one night during the last weekend of September 1969. Nearly two hundred people of all ages and races poured into their house. Businessmen, society matrons, poor adopted clients of Susies, teenagers, friends who were now rich from the partnership, Susies women pals, assorted priests, rabbis, and ministers, and local politicians made their way through a string of flashing lights, past the three-foot Pepsi bottles in the windows. Susie had chosen a New York themeStage Door Deli food and decorand told people to dress in casual kosher. They showed up in everything from culottes to cocktail dresses. A half-cut beer barrel burst with chrysanthemums in her favorite color, sunshine yellow. A table was set up like a deli cart, covered with pastrami sandwiches and cheeses and hung with sausages and a real plucked chicken, in keeping with the theme. A piano player next to the beer keg in the sunroom encouraged guests to sing along. The aroma from a popcorn machine outside the racquetball court welcomed guests into an impromptu basement movie theater. The courts ceiling bobbed with giant helium balloons; films with W. C. Fields, Mae West, and Laurel and Hardy ran all evening long. In the solarium, the elderly Fred Buffett protected two bikiniclad models as the guests covered them with body paint. I had such a good time that I hate to think its over, Susie said afterward.39 PART FOUR Susie Sings 34 Candy Harry Omaha 1970Spring 1972 Two months after the Stage Door Deli party, as Buffett took the formal steps to unwind the partnership, the Dow broke 800 on the downside. A month later, in January 1970, his friend Carol Loomis highlighted his spectacular performance over the course of the partnerships historyand his dour view of the prospects for stocksin an article on hedge funds in Fortune.1 Shortly before the article appeared, as the market started to snowplow downhill, he sent the partners a letter explaining what they owned. Berkshire Hathaway, which he said was worth about $45 per share.2 Of this, about $16 was tied up in textiles, a business that he said was not satisfactory and had an even smaller chance of being so in the future. But even though that was one-third of the value, he would not liquidate it to free the cash. I like the textileoperating people, he wrote. They have worked hard to improve the business under difficult conditionsand, despite the poor return, we expect to continue the textile operation as long as it produces near-current levels. Berkshire Hathaway also owned the much more profitable insurer, National Indemnity. Diversified Retailing, which he valued at $11.50 to $12 per share. DRC consisted of only the scroungy Associated Cotton Shops and cash and notes from the sale of Hochschild-Kohn, which he planned to use for reinvestment in other operating businesses. He did not specify what these might be, implicitly requiring the departing partners to trust his judgment, just as they had when they joined the partnership. Blue Chip Stamps, revealed for the first time. Buffett told the partners he would probably cash them out of this investment because the company was planning a sale of stock around the end of the year. Illinois National Bank & Trust Company of Rockford, Illinois, also owned by Berkshire Hathaway. Sun Newspapers, which he described as not financially significant.3 The departing partners were floored to find that through their ownership of Berkshire Hathaway, they owned a trading-stamp company, a bank, and an insignificant newspaper.4 Now they had to decide whether to hold these cards or trade them, because they could have all cash instead. He would cut the pie and you would be able to get the first choice on the pieces, says John Harding. This was a brilliant move on Buffetts part. He, of course, wanted them to choose the cash, leaving the Berkshire Hathaway and Diversified Retailing stocks for himself. Nevertheless, he was honest with them. In a letter of October 9, 1969, he made a market forecast, which he had previously declined to do. With the market at such heights, [f]or the first time in my professional life, he wrote, I now believe there is little choice for the average investor between professionally managed money in stocks and passive investment in bonds5although he did allow as how the very best money managers might be able to squeeze out a few percentage points over the earnings of bonds. Nonetheless, the departing partners shouldnt have high hopes for what they could do with the cash. Two months later, on December 5, he gave a prediction about how these two stocks would do, along with telling the partners what he was going to do himself. My personal opinion is that the intrinsic value of DRC and B-H will grow substantially over the years. I would be disappointed if such growth wasnt at a rate of approximately ten percent per annum. That was an important statement. He was telling them that Berkshire and Diversified would not only do better than bonds, but better than he had said in October the partners could expect from even the very best money managers. I think both securities should be very decent long-term holdings and I am happy to have a substantial portion of my net worth invested in them. I think there is a very high probability that I will maintain my investment in DRC and B-H for a very long period.6 Separately, Buffett wrote the partners a dissertation on how to invest in bonds, again extending himself considerably more than a typical money manager would ever do. Even so, I had four people panic when I closed down. All four were divorced women. They trusted me, and they didnt trust anybody else. They had had bad experiences with men, and they didnt feel they could make it again if they lost what money theyd gotten. They would call me in the middle of the night and say, Youve got to keep earning me money, and all this sort of thing.7 But he refused to act as what he considered to be a fiduciary if he could not perform to his high standards. Basically, if Im the guarantor, I just cant do it, knowing how hard it was on me once, he says, harkening back to what he had felt at age eleven when Cities Service Preferred had disappointed his sister. He continued working on the partnership dissolution over Christmas in Laguna Beach. He had bought his Christmas gifts with his usual efficiency. As with most things, he had a system: He went to Topps, the best dress shop in Omaha, and gave them a list of the different sizes for all the women in his life. I would go over, and theyd wheel out the dresses. Id make a variety of decisions and buy presents for my sisters, Susie, Gladys, and so forth. I kind of enjoyed it. Berties more conservative, so Id move her up a notch in style, and shed accept it from me but nobody else. You know, clothing holds its value better than jewelry. On December 26, after the exchange of Christmas gifts, he sent the partners another long letter, going out of his way to answer at length a number of their questions.8 A few of the partners had been challenging him. They were deciding whether to hold the Berkshire stock. If it was such a lousy business, why not get rid of the Berkshire Hathaway textile mill? I have no desire to trade severe human dislocations for a few percentage points additional return per annum, he wrote, echoing what he had said to them in his letter of January 1969. But since the whole point of his business was to eke out a few additional percentage points per annum, this kind of rationalization would have been unthinkable earlier in his career. What is Sun Newspapers? they asked. Its worth a buck a share, he replied, kind of skipping the rest of the economics. Then he added some famous last words. We have no particular plans to expand in the communication field, he wrote.9 Why didnt you register the Berkshire Hathaway and Diversified stock so that it could be freely traded? Berkshire was so closely held that it traded by appointmentwhich made it hard for anyone to know what the stock was actually worth. Diversified did not trade at all. A long, complicated explanation followed, in which Buffett argued that a freely traded and liquid public market for these stocks would be less efficient and less fair and the more sophisticated partners might have an important edge over the less sophisticated partners. And it was certainly true that the more naive of his departing partners would be kept from the clutches of the manic-depressive Mr. Market, who might at times have valued the stock at a severely discounted price. It lowered the odds that a pack of brokers would talk them into selling just to buy IBM or AT&T. But it also meant that Buffett was limiting his partners options making it harder for them to buy and harder for them to selland, if they did sell, making it more likely that they would sell to him. As general partner of the partnership, he was used to having total control of these two companies. Letting go and giving up control to the anonymous Mr. Markethe just couldnt do it. Moreover, as soon as he handed these stocks to his departing partners, for the first time his own self-interest and theirs might be at odds. This complicated rationale to justify keeping the stocks unregistered danced a little do-si-do around the fact that Buffett was the most sophisticated partner of all. It was he who would have the most important edge over his former partners. No matter how honest his intentions, the decision widened the potential conflict between his interests and theirs. The painfully earnest tone of Buffetts letter sounds like someone who has had to talk himself into thinking that he is doing the right thing. But the conflict was guaranteed to cause hard feelings. Anyone who sold to him and was later sorry could look back with hindsight and think: He had an edge on me. Still, the Howard in Warren demanded that he present their options with scrupulous honesty. The way he answered the next question told the departing partners exactly what to expect. Should I hold my stock? they asked. Buffett gave as clear and direct advice as he would ever give in public about a stock. All I can say is that Im going to do so, he said, and I plan to buy more.10 The departing partners were also going to have a third stock to deal with. In this same letter of December 26, Buffett told them that the Blue Chip stock sale had fallen through.11 The stock had plunged in a short time from a high of $25 to $13 a share because Safeway Stores had dropped Blue Chip stamps, its customer base was eroding, and no buyer was in sight for the one-third of the business that the Justice Department had mandated it sell. Two new lawsuits had been filed against it in the U.S. District Court in Los Angeles, one by Douglas Oil Company and the other by a group of filling stations, who said Blue Chip had broken the antitrust lawsthat it was a monopolyand asked for treble damages and attorneys fees.12 Yet even as Blue Chips problems multiplied and the price fell, Buffett had been buying the stock instead of selling. He had bought it for Diversified Retailing and for National Indemnity. He had bought it for Cornhusker Casualty and National Fire & Marine, two little insurance companies that Berkshire had acquired. He had also bought it for himself and for Susie. Now the partners knew that Buffett wouldnt sell, and indeed planned to hoover up more of all these stocks. They would get whichever they wantedstock or cash. If they took the money, he would get the stock. If they kept their stock, they would still be his partners, in a sense. In his anxiety over whether people accepted and liked him, Buffett valued loyalty more than almost anything. He looked for loyalty in all of his relationships. The dissolution of the partnership had elements of a loyalty test, as his behavior afterward would make clear. When the partnership unwound, Buffett had more money to buy even more stock, for even while holding on to his shareshe personally owned eighteen percent of Berkshire Hathaway, twenty percent of Diversified, and two percent of Blue Chip Stamps13he and Susie had hauled home roughly $16 million in cash by the end of 1969. During the ensuing year, the shares of Berkshire and Diversified quickly began to change hands, as though a giant were shuffling a deck of cards. As he had promisedbut on a scale that might have staggered his partners, had they knownBuffett used the cash he got from the partnership to buy still more Berkshire and Diversified for his own account. He used Berkshires cash to buy its own stock, and for DRC, offered to buy the companys stock from some people in exchange for a DRC note that paid interest at nine percent.14 He bought from people ranging from his former brother-in-law Truman Wood to his first investor, Homer Dodge, and his son Norton.15 Those who rejected these offers had to be willing to ride along and let Buffett reinvest the earnings without ever paying out a dimea show of trust that was important to him.16 Forever after, he would feel a loyalty to those who kept the stocka loyalty of such depth and strength that the standard-model modern CEO would find it completely incomprehensible. Berkshire, he would later reflect, is still like a partnership. You basically have the closest thing to a private business with shareholders who identify with you and who like to come to Omaha. He thought of partners as people who had come together out of a complex set of shared values and interests, not out of short-term economic convenience. He often said that he tried to treat his partners the way he would his family. His partners were people who trusted him, people to whom he owed a special duty. In return, he expected loyalty from them. Yet people made their decisions for all sorts of reasons. Some needed money. Others simply invested in the Sequoia Fund after listening to Bill Ruane. Many peoples brokers urged them to sell the stock of a moneygobbling textile mill. Some listened, some didnt. Some professional investors had other options and thought they were better off without these humdrum stocks. When Warren went to the West Coast in person and offered the DRC note, Estey Grahams sister Betty sold her stock; Estey didnt. Rhoda Sarnat, Ben Grahams cousin, and her husband, Bernie, decided not to sell, telling themselves, Warrens buying, and if its good enough for him, its good enough for us.17 When he offered the note to his sister Doris, she refused it, thinking, If hes buying, why would I sell? A few partners quizzed Buffett more closely in person for his opinion of how the stocks would do. He said, carefully, that he thought they would do well, but it could take a long time. People like Jack Alexander and Marshall Weinberg parsed those words, considered the fact that they were good investors themselves, and sold him part of their stock. Munger would later call Buffett an implacable acquirer, like John D. Rockefeller in the early days of assembling his empire, who let nobody and nothing get in his way.18 With hindsight, some people felt hard done by, enticed, or even misled. Others said to themselves, in effect, Well, thats just Warren. I should have known. By the end of 1970, many of the former partners had cashed out while Warren continued buying more stock. His and Susies ownership of Berkshire had shot from eighteen percent to almost thirty-six percent. Their ownership of DRC had nearly doubled, to thirty-nine percent. As a practical matter, Buffett now controlled both.19 He had also bought more Blue Chip, taking him from two percent to over thirteen percent ownership of its stock. But it was clear to Susie Buffett that Warrens gyrations to get control of Diversified and Berkshire Hathaway meant that her husbands second retirement would be similar to his first. One reason was that Blue Chip was in the same sort of trouble as Berkshire Hathaway.20 The business was no longer just shrinking, it was dying, so he and Munger would have to buy something new to springboard its capital. In late 1971, after President Nixon abandoned the gold standard, the price of oil skyrocketed and half the countrys oil companies suddenly stopped issuing trading stamps. With prices of everything leapfrogging day by day because of inflation, the classic retailing method of enticing customers into a store through a panoply of services and giveaways was thrown overboard. People wanted the lowest price, and retailers headed to a discount model.21 Any chance that housewives would plan their shopping to collect enough books of trading stamps to get an electric frying pan evaporated. Then one day Buffett got a call from Bill Ramsey, Blue Chips president, saying that a local Los Angeles company, Sees Candies, was for sale. Buffett had carved out a tiny subspecialty of studying candy companies, keeping a file on Fanny Farmer22 and looking into the company that made Necco Wafers. But candy companies were expensive. So far, he had never bitten. Call Charlie, he said.23 Munger was in charge of Blue Chip, their West Coast business. Sees, founded in 1921 by a Canadian candy salesman, competed by using the finest quality butter, cream, chocolate, fruits, and nuts, painstakingly prepared to Sees Quality, which was better than top quality. During World War II, rather than dilute its recipes to stretch rationed ingredients, Sees had put signs in its distinctive black-and-white stores: Sold out. Buy war bonds for Christmas.24 The company became a California institution. Sees has a name that nobody can get near in California, Munger told him. We can get it at a reasonable price. Its impossible to compete with that brand without spending all kinds of money. Ed Anderson thought it was expensive, but Munger was overflowing with enthusiasm. He and Buffett went through the plant, and Munger said, What a fantastic business. And the manager, Chuck Hugginsboy, is he smart, and we can keep him on!25 Sees had a tentative deal on the table already and wanted $30 million for assets worth $5 million.26 The difference was Sees brand, reputation, and trademarksand most of all, its customer goodwill. Susie Buffett, for example, was crazy about Sees, which she had discovered in California. They decided that Sees was like a bondworth paying $25 million for. If the company had paid out its earnings as interest, the interest would average about nine percent. That was not enoughowning a business was riskier than owning a bond, and the interest rate was not guaranteed. But the earnings were growing, on average twelve percent a year. So Sees was like a bond whose interest payments grew.27 Furthermore: We thought it had uncapped pricing power. Sees was selling candy for about the price of Russell Stover at the time, and the big question in my mind was, if you got another fifteen cents a pound, that was two and a half million dollars on top of four million dollars of earnings. So you really were buying something that perhaps could earn six and a half or seven million dollars at the time, if just priced a little more aggressively. They had to negotiate to buy the company from two people: first, Charles B. Seeor Candy Harry, as Buffett, Munger, and Guerin called himwho was managing the estate of his recently deceased older brother, Larry See. The two brothers were partners, but Larry had run the business. Candy Harry really didnt want to run Sees. He was interested in wine and girls. He wanted to chase after girls. But, of course, he got cold feet about selling at the last minute. Rick and Charlie went to see him, and Charlie gave one of the great lectures of all time on the advantages of grapes and girls, how the highest and best use of Candy Harrys time was chasing after women. The other person involved was Numbers Harry, Harry W. Moore, the companys finance chief and a director. Through its lawyers, Blue Chip set about courting Numbers Harry through the financial advantages of the deal, while suggesting to Candy Harry that a sale would relieve him of potential conflicts of interest that arose from serving as his brothers executor.28 At the price Blue Chip offered, $25 million, the $4 million it was earning pretax would give Buffett and Munger payback of nine percent after-tax on their investment from the first day they bought itnot factoring in future growth. Adding in the $2 to $3 million of price increases they thought Sees could institute, the return on their capital would rise to fourteen percent: a decent level of profitability on an investment, although it wasnt a sure thing. The key was whether the earnings would continue to grow. Buffett and Munger came close to walking. The pickings had been so easy until now, and they had such an ingrained habit of underbidding, that it was like swallowing live guppies for them to pay the asking price. You guys are crazy, Mungers employee Ira Marshall said. There are some things you should pay up forhuman quality, business quality, and so forth. Youre underestimating quality. Warren and I listened to the criticism, says Munger. We changed our mind. In the end, they came to the exact dollar limit of what we were willing to pay.29 While the deal was being struck, Buffett discovered that Tweedy, Browne already owned a thousand shares of Sees. Buffett ordered the firm to tender its stock to him. The Tweedy, Browne partners knew how valuable Sees was and thought the price was too low. They resisted and debated the issue briefly with Buffett. They did not see why they should give him their Sees stock. He insisted he needed the stock more than Tweedy, Browne did. Buffett won. They gave him the stock.30 The instant that the deal was inked and the trio of Buffett, Munger, and Guerin joined the board, Buffett threw himself into the candy business with an enthusiasm he had never displayed with companies like Dempster and Berkshire Hathaway, where he had appointed proxies. He sent boxes of Sees to his fellow Grahamites. Within days, he wrote a detailed letter to Chuck Huggins, executive vice president, explaining that he had been talking to shopping-center owners around the country about opening new Sees stores in locations like Colorado Springs, Fayetteville, and Galveston. He suggested that Huggins avoid Iowa, because the shopping-center executives had told him that Iowans are generally not candy enthusiasts.31 He gave Huggins permission to stop sending monthly boxes of candy to the long list of women whom Candy Harry had designated as his special friends. He started following sugar futures and cocoa futures, which at 58 cents a pound were approaching prices unheard of since the year of the Rockwood cocoa caper.32 Buffett suggested experimenting with prepackaged candy. He wanted to see results, budgets, and lots and lots of financial information. He wrote Huggins about a store in Las Vegas: Its interesting how many more dollars we can take out of a community when we get the right sort of location. You are doing a first-class job of extending our ring of preeminence. Buffett suggested that Huggins play around with advertising slogans and try to come up with one along the lines of Coca-Colas pause that refreshes, or the Rocky Mountain spring water of Coors beer.33 It was as if, over his breakfast cornflakes, Huggins could dream up an advertising slogan as compelling as Coca-Colas.34 One longtime employee described Buffetts Dale Carnegie management style this way: Hed always praise you while he gave you more to do.35 As the bar subtly rose an inch or two with each new accomplishment, and the hurdler was reassured that he could surely leap to ever-higher heights, the effect was like a tiny stream of water: Its gentle, unrelenting pressure felt wonderful until it finally drove its recipient mad. Thus, when Buffetts attention broke, as it inevitably did, it could seem like a relief. Deceived by the initial gush of enthusiasm, Huggins signed up Buffett for several candy-industry trade magazines. Eventually, Buffett, turning his attention to some newer interest, asked for a cease-and-desist. Charlie may have visions of becoming a candymaker someday, he wrote, but I will continue to just read the statements.36 He had discovered that he liked owning a candy company, not r unning one. It was much the same at home. Buffett would tell someone with great sincerity, Please come visit, I really want to see you, then bury his head in a newspaper when they arrived, apparently satisfied with their presence. But there was also the odd chance that he wanted to talk and talk, and they might go away exhausted. Susie had seen his enthusiasms come and go. Warren was still besotted with his wife, praised her constantly in public, and cuddled her on his lap. But at home, as always, he withdrew into his private pursuits and wanted to be taken care of. Susie referred to him as an iceberg to one of her friends. However, nothing had really changed in their relationship since the beginningexcept her feelings. He was content. He reasoned that because she loved to give, by receiving he served her. Based on their past and her behavior with people in general, and with him in particular, there was no reason for him to think otherwise. But Susies own desires were changing. She, the emotional vending machine, was now taking care of many more people than Warren alone; recently she had watched over Alice Buffett as she succumbed after a painful battle with cancer. Yet this time, Susie was developing a yearning to be taken care of herself. Thus, while her husband pursued his new businesses away from Omaha or sat sunk in thought in his office, Susie spent less and less time at home, going to lunch, to dinner, or to jazz clubs in the evening with friends, and traveling more widely. She now had a number of new friends much younger than she. They admired her and returned her generosity and tenderness with openly expressed feelings that ranged from warmhearted affection to outright adoration. But they were less like adopted children and more like genuine friends, albeit friends who, like all her friends, needed her. At home, Susie had begun paying attention to Peter, her quiet son, in a different way, treating him, too, as friend, confidant, and source of emotional support, now that he was growing up and about to enter high school. Susie Jr. was living in Lincoln, having enrolled at the University of Nebraska. Howie, who had broken the family record for getting grounded, was in his junior year of high school and Susie now devoted herself to launching him into college; she took him to debate meets and helped him corral his energy and burnish his high school record. Warren, as usual, was happy to delegate all these responsibilities to her. Susie did succeed in enticing Warren to really pitch in and get involvedrather than simply write checks whenever business intersected with a cause to which he could lend his expertise. Her friend Rodney Wead and other leaders in the black community had gotten the idea of starting a minority-owned bank to enhance community pride and economic development on the North Side. Promoting black capitalism, they came to Buffett and his friend Nick Newman, the man who had sponsored Warren in local civil-rights activities.37 Wead was a respected figure in Omaha, and Buffett liked banks. He had just joined the board of Omaha National Corporation, the biggest bank in town, a long-held ambition.38 He had an automaticand rational predisposition toward any business where people gave money to the business faster than the company disbursed it. So he was willing to listen to Wead, but wanted to know if a minority bank was viable. Since the hope was that Community Bank would attract a diverse group of customers, he hired Peter and one of his friends to sit outside another minority bank to count how many people went inside and to classify them by race.39 P eters tally made Warren optimistic, so he joined an advisory board of directors for the Community Bank of Nebraska and also got John Harding from Ruane, Cunniff on the board.40 Buffett told the founders that if they could raise $250,000 in stock from the black community, the advisory board would raise money to match it.41 The bank set up its office in a trailer. Youre really hitting bottom, Warren, said Joe Rosenfield, when were asking people to put their money into something you can drive off in the middle of the night and take the whole bank with it. Most of the managers and the board of directorswhich included Buffetts baseball player friend Bob Gibsonwere black, and most were financial tender-foots. To stave off disaster, Buffett went into his teaching mode and tried to educate the founders on the need for strong lending standards. The bank, he stressed, was not a charity or social-services agency. He attended monthly board meetings that stretched late into the night, but, as with the companies he owned, he was never involved in the day-to-day management.42 Harding, however, spent every day at the bank, making sure its numbers balanced. The management from the community was well-intentioned, Harding says, but not financially savvy. Asked for more money to cover bad loans, Buffett said no. Wead felt Buffett didnt understand the cycle of poverty and never understood his role as a wealthy man in our beleaguered community.43 But Buffett understood the numbers; he knew the bank wouldnt help anyone by relaxing its lending standards and making uncollectible loans, which would only teach the wrong financial lesson. So the bank limped along for years without growing. He got a chance to help in another way when Hallie Smith, a friend of Susies, began to bring her the names of black kids who needed money because they couldnt pay for college. Susie started giving a thousand dollars here and there. Ive got to ask Warren, she said over and over. Susie, you have money; why dont you just pay for it? Smith asked in amazement. No, I cant, Susie always said. It has to go through Warren. Smith found it incredible that someone as rich as Susie allowed her husband to make every decision involving money.44 Thus, while Susie was in charge of the family foundation, they worked together on funding and donations. She would have given away huge sums had Warren not put on the brakes. The foundation made small grants to education, and it didnt have professional management. To do a proper job of managing it required thinking forward: What was going to happen to all that money someday when it ended up in the foundation? Warren felt that someday was far away. Susie had a passionate desire to help in the here and now, but someone needed to strategize for the future. A year before, Warren had had what for many forty-year-olds would have been a wake-up call. During a dinner at the Sarnatsin California, one of his fingers started to swell. He had taken a double dose of delayedaction penicillin earlier that day for a minor infection. Bernie Sarnat, a surgeon, suspected an allergic reaction. He gave Warren antihistamines and advised him to get to a hospital.45 Buffett didnt want to go to the hospital. He had already had enough of sickness in 1971, after a recent bout of salmonella.46 Besides, said Susie, he was a bad patient and had a palpable horror of doctors and hospitals, sickness and medicine.47 He had Susie drive him back to the house they were renting for the summer. But as he continued ballooning and grew dizzy and sick, she began an urgent search for a doctor who could see Warren in a hurry. The one she finally reached insisted that they go to an emergency room immediately instead. By then Buffett was barely conscious, and the emergency room team started working to save his life. Three days later, he was still in the hospital. He was lucky, the doctors told him. His penicillin allergy was so severe that if he took it again, he would be dead. As he recovered, Roy and Martha Tolles tried to cheer him up by bringing him a copy of Playboy magazine, but he was too weak to hold it himself and had Susie turn the pages for him. Warren complained, however, that she flipped the pages too fast. Yet even after this encounter with his own mortality, back home in Omaha he remained as fixated on business as ever. Retirement, in Buffetts special sense, meant no longer acting as a fiduciary. He would be investing as long as he was breathing. He could not help but be competitiveso much so that recently, when six-year-old Jonathan Brandt, son of his friends Henry and Roxanne Brandt, had taken him on in chess, Warren couldnt bear it when it looked as though he was losing. As the game neared its conclusion, he began Buffetting little Jonny until he won.48 By the time her husband had vanquished little Jonny Brandt, Susie had cultivated an attitude of ironic detachment about Warrens stubbornness. Whatever Warren wants, Warren gets, was her way of describing the man who, as his little sister Bertie had observed all those years ago, always got his way.49 On a visit to Des Moines with a friend to hear the writer and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel speak at one of the local synagogues, Susie had spent hours talking to Milt Brown, who now lived there, at a dessert party at somebodys house.50 For some time she had been filled with feelings of regret about that interrupted relationship; she now wondered openly to close friends whether it was too late to go down a different path. While she rarely talked about her problems or showed self-pity, she acknowledged being depressed about the state of her marriage. But despite her unhappiness, she made no move to address her issues directly or to leave; rather, she rekindled her relationship with Milt. And increasingly she seemed drawn to California. She had fallen in love with the place they had been renting at Emerald Bay in Laguna Beach, perched fifty feet above the ocean among a group of other luxury vacation homes.51 Warren particularly disliked buying houses, considering money spent on them as lying fallow, not earning its keep. Susie needled him about money. If we were rich, she said, you would just go up to that house, and ask the owner how much she wants for it, and pay however much she asked. But I know were not rich. In their perpetual tug-of-war, however, Susie was usually able to dislodge the cash from him in the end. Buffett eventually sent Roy Tolless wife, Martha, a canny bargainer, to negotiate for the house. She dickered the owner down to $150,000,52 and when Roy Tolles called to tell Warren, he said, I have bad news. You bought it. 35 The Sun Omaha 19711973 Susie set to work decorating the place in Emerald Bay with casual rattan furniture. She installed a separate telephone line for Warren, who spent most of the time when he was in California watching business news on television and talking on the phone. The personal concerns and Joe Rosenfield were drawing her husband in the opposite direction from Californiatoward Washington, and electoral politics. The Buffetts hosted a dinner in Omaha for Senator George McGovern, the 1972 Democratic candidate for President. And Warren had given money to Allard Lowenstein, a former Congressman known as the pied piper of liberals, who resembled Gene McCarthy in his power to galvanize young people into activism over civil rights. He had also backed John Tunney, the Kennedyesque son of heavyweight boxer Gene Tunney, in his successful Senate run in California;1 Tunneys golden-boy political career became inspiration for the movie The Candidate, about a charismatic politician who is too young, too handsome, too liberal, too perfect to win, so can afford to tweak the Establishment. The Candidate was the kind of politician for whom Buffett consistently fellmen with the ineffable magnetism of Hollywood stars, men whose presence stirred voters emotionsexcept that he wanted his candidates to win. He had an idea that he thought would be helpful to politicians, about what he called the discomfort indexthe inflation rate plus the unemployment ratewhich he passed on to Harold Hughes of Iowa, to whom Rosenfield had introduced him.2 Hughes had been a truck driver and a drunk. He was big physically, had a big voice, and was one of the most significant orators in decades. He looked a lot like Johnny Cash and had that kind of voice. He arose sort of from nowhere as a truck driver to become governor of Iowa and prominent in the Democratic Party. Joe was a good friend of his, and he had become a big force in the Senate. So we were helping him and gave modest amounts of money to a presidential exploratory effort. The war was his big issue; he was very anti-Vietnam, very eloquent. A college dropout, messianic Christian, and reformed alcoholic who was sometimes described as the Iowa Populist, Hughes would skip a scheduled meeting at the drop of an empty vodka bottle to help someone with a drinking problem through a crisis. Several times he had successfully saved colleagues from suicide, and onceto his deep regrethe had failed. With a magnetic personality, he was considered both a dark horse and a rising star, the kind of candidate who would attract the young, the blue-collar voters, and the insurgent liberals who had voted for McCarthy; in other words, he was the great hope for a populist resurgence among a field of uninspiring candidates. At the time, no other Democratic candidate was attracting significant support. McGovern, the leader of the pack, was getting only five points in national opinion polls.3 In the spring of 1971, Hughes summoned six of his closest advisers and aides, including Buffett and Joe Rosenfield, and directed them to present every possible argument why he should or should not seek the nomination.4 At the end of May 1971, we had this meeting in a hotel in Washington. They were ready to go ahead on a big scale, although it was one of those meetings where its already predetermined what youre going to do, but you have to hold it to get organized and feel good, rally the troops. About a month before this meeting, Hughes had been on Meet the Press. At the very end of the show Larry Spivak said, Senator, there has been some talk about your interest in extrasensory perception and the occult. Would you clarify your beliefs on this? Hughes had just started to answer, and then the program got cut off.5 So when the Washington meeting was just about done I said, Senator, I watched that program about a week ago. If you ever get asked a question like that again, I would suggest that initially, before you even answer, point out to the questioner that theres a significant difference between ESP and the occult. Dont let the questioner, by linking those two things, nail you, so that by answering, six months from now theyll say you talked about the occult when you were really talking about ESP. The floodgates opened. Hughes said, Ten years ago, I woke up in a bathtub in a fine hotel. I didnt know where I was. Didnt know where my family was. I didnt know how Id gotten there, and I was of no use to anybody. Then on this earth, at that moment, I became aware, and thats what made me want to feed the hungry. Then he said, That experience came from visions that I have. He went on, I believe in precognition. My daughter had a vision of the spots on these kittens before they were born, and she described them to me. And they were born that way. And somebody else had seen a remote vision of a fire that was happening. I said, Now, Senator, if Im Larry Spivak, the next question Im going to ask you is this. If your daughter tells you she has a vision of Soviets preparing to launch ICBM missiles at the United States, are you going to order a preemptive strike against the Soviet Union? And he said, I would have to give that serious consideration. I said, Now, Senator, Im Larry Spivak, and youre sitting there at that table, and youve got that glass of water in front of you, and I say, Do you believe somebody can make that glass of water move across the desk through the powers of their mind standing some feet away? And he said, Yes, I believe that can be done. There were these people around the roomsome of them who had their whole careers invested in the guy, like his chief of staffand they saw themselves in the White House. And they started denying what they were hearing. They were waving their hands and saying it didnt mean what it meant. As I kept going, they were just dying. They were bursting in and saying, That isnt what hes saying, and, Dont worry about this; it can be taken care of, and that Abraham Lincoln had believed some of the same things. Obviously they knew some of this already. The whole thing was going down the tubes. I have never seen anything like it. It was just fascinating because of the years of preparation and these guys who had been dreaming of working for a U.S. President. Finally, at one point, Joe said, Senator, tell Warren if he asks another question like that, youre going to make him disappear. So, I said, Senator, lookit. There are all kinds of phonies in American politics. You know, they profess to believe in God, and they say they go to church every Sunday and everything. They dont believe a damn word of it, you know. But it works. You, on the other hand, believe something very sincerely, and youve got your reasons for it, you know, but I will promise you that theres ten percent of the normal Democratic vote or some significant percentage of the votes that you cant have, just because of something you honestly believe, whereas the other guy is getting the vote because of something he doesnt believe. Thats just a reality. Meanwhile, all these guys are saying Dont pay any attention. What does he know? But Hughes said that he would go away and when he came back, he would do something that would end his candidacy.6 And so it came to pass that ten days later Hughes gave an interview to the Des Moines Register in which he said that he had recently spent an hour talking to his dead brother through a medium.7 Thus ended the presidential ambitions of Senator Harold Hughes.8 *** The episode with Harold Hughes would prove to be the peak, the nadir, andthanks in part to Richard Nixons eventual reelectionfor many years the end of Buffett as would-be kingmaker. But throughout it, Buffett paid careful attention to the overwhelming influence of media in politics; he wanted some of that. A childhood throwing newspapers, his friendship with Fortune reporter Carol Loomis, the purchase of the Sun, a search for other newspapers to buy, and his investment in the Washington MonthlyBuffetts interest in publishing had grown and compounded. He had seen the overwhelming power of television to capture attention throughout the tumultuous 1960s, from the JFK assassination to the Vietnam War to the civil-rights movement. Now, as the profitability of television became apparent, he wanted a piece of that business too. Then Bill Ruane set him up at a dinner in New York with an acquaintance, Tom Murphy, who ran Capital Cities Communications, a company that owned broadcasting stations. Murphy, the son of a Brooklyn judge, had grown up in the spicy chowder of New York politics before joining the Harvard Business School class of 49. Jowly, balding, easygoing, Murphy had started by managing a bankrupt TV station in Albany so frugally that he painted only the sides of the building that faced the road. Then he started to buy broadcasters, cable companies, and publishers, creating a media empire. Before long he moved to New York and recruited another HBS classmate, Dan Burke, brother of Johnson & Johnson CEO Jim Burke. After their dinner, Murphy strategized with Ruane about how to get Buffett on his board of directors. Ruane said the way to Buffetts heart was to visit him in Omaha. Murphy promptly made the pilgrimage. Buffett plied him with a steak dinner, then drove him home to meet Susie. She must have known by now what to expect: Her husband had met another new object of infatuation. Buffett liked to show new people his totems: the office, Susie, and sometimes the train set. After the tour he and Murphy played a couple of games of racquetball in the Buffetts basement court, Murphy running around in his oxford dress shoes. Buffett saw where he was headed before Murphy could pop the question. You know, Tom, he said, I couldnt become a director because Id have to have a major position in your company, and your stock is too high.9 Even though the rest of the market was stumbling downhill, investors were excited about television stocks. Cable television was new, and local franchises were consolidating into newly visible public companies, whipping up investors excitement about the medium. Lookit, he said, you can have me for nothing, you dont need me on the board.10 So Murphy started calling Buffett every time he made a deal. Buffett, just over forty, was flattered and made unlimited time for Murphy, then in his mid-to late forties, even though he thought, This guy is old. But he understands the whole world, and I was in awe of Murph, Buffett says. I thought he was the ultimate businessman. One evening, Murphy phoned him at home and offered him first shot at a Fort Worth TV station that was for sale.11 Buffett was interested but, for reasons he doesnt recall, turned Murphy downwhich he later called one of his greater business mistakes.12 What Buffett really wanted was to be a publisher. In fact, he thought he had a hot scoop, but when he gave the editors at the Washington Monthly the idea, they pooh-poohed it. Im just sure in my heart, says Charles Peters, the Monthlys publisher, that the editors were offended at the idea of having an investor call them up and tell them to do a story. They told Peters it was no real story for the Monthly and Peters did not push back. Then Buffett turned to the Omaha Sun, which might not have a national platform but was better than no newspaper at all. As matters turned out, says Peters, I could have shot everybody on my staff. What Buffett had heard was that Boys Town, one of Omahas sacred cows, had turned into a hog. A refuge for homeless boys, Boys Town was founded in an old mansion near downtown in 1917 by Father Edward Flanagan, an Irish priest who wanted to save orphans and rejected children from wasted lives as drifters, criminals, or addicts. Father Flanagan was famous around town for getting five bucks at a time, says Buffett, and as soon as he got it, he spent it on a kid. Then he got ninety dollars and he put twenty-five kids in a house.13 In its early years, Boys Town had always struggled financially, but it grew nonetheless. By 1934 it occupied a 160-acre campus ten miles west of Omaha complete with a school, dormitories, a chapel, a dining hall, and athletic facilities. With help from Howard Buffett, Boys Town set up its own post office in 1934 to assist in fund-raising.14 It became an incorporated village in 1936. Then a 1938 Oscar-winning film starring Spencer Tracy and Mickey Rooney brought it national fame. When Ted Miller, a professional fund-raiser, saw the movie, he recognized how to transform Boys Towns fund-raising appeals into a huge national campaign. Every year at Christmas time, Boys Town, which now called itself The City of Little Men, sent out millions of letters that began, There will be no joyous Christmas season this year for many homeless and forgotten boys. and bore the picture the movie made famous of a street urchin carrying a tot with the legend He aint heavy, FatherHes mbrother. People sent in as little as a dollar, but even small amounts coming from a tiny percentage of the tens of millions of letters that had been sent out added up to a lot of money.15 Boys Town, then awash in contributions, expanded to a 1,300-acre campus with a stadium, a souvenir shop, a farm where the boys worked as hired hands, and vocational training facilities. Father Flanagan died in 1948, but the money kept rolling in under his successor, Monsignor Nicholas Wegner. It was now a virtual shrine that was the states biggest tourist attraction. I used to hear these stories about how the U.S. National Bank put on extra people for weeks and weeks before Christmas just to handle the Boys Town money that was coming in. Meanwhile, of course, I saw the boy count coming down. In its early years, Flanagan had searched court records and taken in a certain number of hard-core delinquents, even a few murderers. But by 1971, the home screened out the emotionally disturbed, mentally retarded, and serious juvenile offenders; it tried to limit its occupants to homeless boys who had no other significant problems.16 Built to house a thousand, Boys Town now employed some six hundred people to care for its six hundred and sixty-five boys.17 However, its gigantic institutional approach of housing boys in a same-sex facility, isolated from the surrounding community, with a custodial, even prisonlike atmosphere, had begun to seem out of date.18 The boys moved to the signal of bells: They prayed at the first bell in the giant chow hall, sat down to the second, ate at the third, put down their forks at the fourth whether they were finished or not, stood and prayed at the fifth, and dashed out of the chow hall at the sixth. Their mail was censored and they were allowed only one visitor a month, chosen by the staff, not themselves. They worked at menial jobs and had little recreation and no contact with girls. Boys Town emphasized low-grade vocational training: picking beans and making birdhouses. So one evening in July 1971, at a meeting at the Buffetts house, Warren and Sun editor Paul Williams discussed the Boys Town rumors and decided to commission a story on how the institution raised and spent its money. The Sun had already made a couple of runs at this story and was told by Boys Town, We dont discuss our finances.19 Now Williams took three city reporters, Wes Iverson, Doug Smith, and Mick Rood, and set them to work on the confidential Project B, planning an elaborate investigative reporting project. 20 Having noticed that the Boys Town marketing material said it got no money from any church or from the state or federal government, reporter Mick Rood pawed through records at the Nebraska state capitol in Lincoln and found out that this was false.21 That made them suspicious of Boys Towns other claims. Through other basic reporting, they got the institutions property-tax records, educational records, and articles of incorporation. They found out that Boys Town had a history of strained relations with the state welfare department; Monsignor Wegner, who currently ran Boys Town, had refused to participate in program reviews by outside agencies despite the advice of his own staff.22 Williams used a Congressional source to get a report on the Boys Town post office and learned that it sent between thirty-four and fifty million pieces of fund-raising mail a year. This was a staggering number; fund-raisers for other organizations told them that, based on such numbers, Boys Town must be taking in at least $10 million a year. Using his financial knowledge, Buffett figured out that its operating costs could be no more than half of that.23 Boys Town was accumulating money faster than it could possibly spend it. It had undergone a major expansion in 1948. Assuming it had piled up $5 million a year ever since, Buffett thought it must have at least $100 million in excess funds. But so far, there was no proof. Buffett had joined the board of the local Urban League, and from that connection knew Dr. Claude Organ, a local surgeon, the only black man on the Boys Town board. Buffett thought the doctor was a decent guy. We had breakfast over at the Blackstone Hotel right across the street. And I talked and talked and I tried to get him to tell me. He wouldnt give me details, but he also told me I wasnt wrong. He did even better than that. He let me know there was a story there, although I couldnt get any numbers from him. Dr. Organ began quietly steering the reporting team, helping them stay on track without disclosing confidential information.24 The reporters had started talking to people around town but were not getting anywhere; most of the Boys Town employees were too afraid to talk. Buffett, playing newshound, roamed Omaha in his beat-up old tennis shoes, moth-eaten sweater, and pants covered with streaks of chalk.25 It was a high, he says. Whatever was the male equivalent of Brenda Starr, Girl Reporter, well, that was me. By now Warren had also adopted Susies friend Stan Lipsey, who remained the Suns publisher, as one of his new people, going jogging with him and playing racquetball in the Buffetts basement. Then Warren had a brainstorm. He knew that Congress had passed a law that, among other things, required nonprofit organizations to file a tax return with the IRS. I was sitting there in the family room doing the Form 990 for the Buffett Foundation, and it just hit meif I had to file a return, maybe they did too.26 The reporters tracked down the Form 990 to the IRS in Philadelphia and waited impatiently for twenty days for the IRS to dig it out of its files.27 Two days later, the package arrived in Omaha. Paul Williams had hired Randy Brown, a new assistant managing editor, in part to help coordinate the Boys Town story, bringing the team to four reporters. My first day at work, this 990 plopped down on my desk, says Brown.28 Buffett, who had just bought Sees and was still mailing out boxes of candy to friends all over North America, nonetheless was so enthralled by Boys Town that he threw himself into helping Brown figure it out. Sure enough, Boys Town had a net worth of $209 million, which was rising at the rate of about $18 million a year, four times faster than the amount it spent to fund its operations. Buffett was elated. All his life, he had been waiting for a nun to commit a crime so he could expose the culprit by whipping out her fingerprints. Now he had used a tax return to nab a monsignor red-handed. They moved desks, file cabinets, and three phones into Williamss basement recreation room. In the end, we tracked everything, says Lipsey, except, I think, two accounts in Switzerland. We couldnt break through those. The Suns reporters were stunned to find that Boys Town had an endowment three times the size of the University of Notre Dame. Conservatively stated, it was worth more than $200,000 per boy. Mick Rood took to calling it the City of Little Men with a Large Portfolio.29 The money machine was bringing in $25 million a year and could easily cover its costs out of investment income without raising another nickel.30 As the story came together, the reporting team held a meeting in a room at the Blackstone Hotel, across the street from Buffetts office. Coincidentally, the Boys Town board was meeting at the same time in a room down the hallway. The reporters tiptoed in and out, hoping they werent seen.31 The intrigue heightened as they worked on the obvious questions: What was Boys Town going to do with all that money? Why did it need to keep raising more? The last phase of the investigation meant to find that out. As administrator of Boys Town, seventy-four-year-old Reverend Monsignor Nicholas H. Wegner was in charge of fund-raising. The monsignor knew by then that the Sun was asking questions; Boys Town had already started putting together a hasty program of reforms. But the reporters were confident that as yet he had no idea they had obtained Boys Towns tax return. Their fear was losing the story to the Omaha WorldHerald, which might swoop down with its greater resources once it realized that a juicy bit of news was waiting to be served up to the readership. An even greater risk was that Boys Town might work cooperatively and exclusively with the World-Herald to launch a preemptive strike with a friendlier story.32 The reporters plotted how to get to Wegner and to Archbishop Sheehan, his superior in the archdiocese. Rood, a thirtyish badass with shoulder-length wavy hair and a handlebar mustache, went to see Wegner. His first reaction was pity for Wegner, whose bald, wrinkled skull craned from his cassock like the head of an ancient tortoise. The monsignor was obviously frail, the survivor of fifteen surgeries, some of them major. As the interview proceeded, however, he rambled on incautiously and also denied receiving state funds. Asked to justify the exhaustive fund-raising, he said, Were so deep in debt all the time. Knowing that nothing of the sort was true, Rood went straight back to Williamss basement with the tape of the interview. After it was transcribed, Williams put it in a safe-deposit box. While Rood was interviewing Wegner, Williams was trying to nail the archbishop. They had tried to schedule his interview simultaneously with Wegners but were unable to get both on the same day. Sheehanpossibly cued in at that pointconfirmed statements Wegner had made but declined to add anything more. With confirmation in hand, however, the team, accompanied by photographers, showed up at the fund-raising office, which was a separate operation located in an Omaha building marked Wells Fargo rather than in Boys Town. They walked in the door uninvited and snapped photos of long rows of women typing solicitation letters and thank-you notes to donors. They also managed to talk to some of the fund-raisers, who said, Please dont mention the fund-raising operation in your article. Its easy for the public to get the wrong idea. People will think were rich, and We want people to think the boys send out the letters.33 Meanwhile, the other reporters descended on the board of directors. It was made up mostly of people with little incentive to tip over the sacred cow. They included the banker who ran the Boys Town investment portfolio, the son of the architect who built the place and who ran the firm that stood in line to do any current building work, the retailer who supplied all the boys clothing, and the lawyer who handled Boys Towns legal affairs. Apart from the financial interests many of them had in it, all the directors enjoyed the prestige of sitting on the board of Nebraskas most respected institution while doing very little work on its behalf. Wegner considered them a nuisance and had told Rood, Theyve never been of much help, and They dont know anything about social welfarethey dont know anything about education.34 According to Williams, whatever they may have actually known, the boards reactions to the reporters questions ranged from dismay to innocence or downright ignorance.35 Another Boys Town official would later put it this way with hindsight: The board has not been all that good in serving Father Wegner. The board could have advised him about slowing down on the fund-raising.36 And that was indeed the irony. It was Boys Towns background of Depression-era poverty that had probably led Wegner to accumulate money as if the wolf was at the door, as Randy Brown put it.37 This same background had very likely lulled the board into overseeing Wegners activities without questioning whether they made sense. But Warren Buffett, a product of the very same environment, who had the very same impulses, was going to bust them for it. The crime, in his eyes, was not just accumulating the money. It was piling it up mindlessly without a plan to use it. Boys Town didnt even have a budget.38 The sin to Buffett was an abdication of fiduciary responsibility, the failure to manage money responsibly on others behalf. The reporters worked feverishly on the story all weekend, Buffett and Lipsey reading copy as it progressed. We were this little nothing weekly paper, says Buffett, but they intended to meet the journalistic standard of a top national daily. Finally they all trooped over to Paul Williamss living room, spread everything out on the floor, and tried to figure out headlines and captions. The storys banner lead asked: Boys Town: Americas Wealthiest City? An eight-page special section with sidebars, it led off with a kicker in the form of a Bible verse, Luke 16:2Give an account of thy stewardship. On the Wednesday afternoon before publication, Williams sent the story to the Associated Press, UPI, the Omaha World-Herald, and television stations. The next day, March 30, 1972, would be recalled by Buffett as one of the greatest of his life. The story not only fulfilled his wish to run a business as a church, but the section opened with a Bible-quoting headline about a favorite concept, stewardshipthe lens through which he now viewed duty, moral obligation, and the responsibility that went along with a position of trust. By the end of that week, the wire services had broken the Boys Town story across the country and exposed a national scandal.39 On Saturday, the Boys Town board held an emergency meeting and decided to cancel all fund-raising, including the spring mailing for which envelopes had already been partly stuffed.40 In a new era of investigative reporting, the drama was of such magnitude that it gave an immediate push to reforms in the way nonprofits were governed all over the United States. The story was picked up by Time, Newsweek, Editor & Publisher, and the LA Times, among others.41 An informal survey of twenty-six boys homes showed that immediately after the expos, more than a third of them said that their fund-raising efforts were affected.42 But Monsignor Francis Schmitt, an understudy of Wegners who had begun assuming some of his duties, quickly circulated a letter to Boys Town supporters calling the Sun a kind of Shoppers Guide. It said, There can only have been yellow journalism, prejudice, jealousy, and, for all I know, bigotry involved in the story, suggesting that the motive was anti-Catholic bias. In fact, the reporters had bent over backward to avoid such a bias. Moreover, Schmitt said, the story was full of snide innuendos that cut into his vitals all because of a cheap editor of a cheap paper, whose owner is himself a millionaire many times over.43 Wegner also remained unrepentant. Boys Town, he said, will still be here when that yellow rag, whats it calledthe Sunis forgotten.44 To people who wrote asking about the Boys Town story, Wegner was sending out a form letter saying the Sun story was spreading sensational views of local issues, and that while at the present time, Boys Town was not seeking donations, as our properties and facilities have multiplied in valueSO HAVE OUR COSTS.45 The letter was printed on the usual stationery, with your contribution is an allowable income tax deduction and we employ no solicitors or fund-raising organizationwe pay no commissions at the bottom. *** A couple of months after the Suns coverage appeared, the Omaha Press Club put on its annual show. A team of singers got up and entertained the Whos Who of Omaha (and more than a few from out of town). Their song satirized Monsignor Wegner and Boys Town: We started up a home for boys, Bout fifty years ago; We asked for contributions And the dough began to flow. We asked for all the charity The traffic would allow; Our homeless waifs were finally Quite liberally endowed. But then we had a tragedy, Our bankroll was exposed, And thanks to Warren Buffett All those pocketbooks were closed. (chorus) Who threw the monkey wrench In Father Wegners poor box? Now were as popular As if we had the smallpox. Its a dirty trick, you know, Why did Warren Buffett throw The monkey wrench in Father Wegners poor box? Some folks came out from Hollywood, To make a movie show; Mickey Rooney showed the people Where their cash should go. Spencer Tracy played his part With Roman piety; We made enough off popcorn sales To buy AT&T. We passed the tin cup all around To land on Easy Street; Then Warren Buffett came along And read our balance sheet. We built palatial cottages, To give our boys some class; Instead of fish on Friday We had pheasant under glass. We talk a lot of poor mouth But were never in the red; It figures out to something Like 200 grand a head. Buffett blew the whistle On a spiteful, jealous whim; He must have figured we were getting Just as rich as him!46 Buffett had never had so much fun reading a tax return, and wanted to keep the momentum going to make sure that, contrary to the monsignors prediction, the Sun would not be forgotten. The thought of a Pulitzer, the grandest prize in journalism, started my adrenaline flowing, he said.47 He got Paul Williams working on the papers submission for the prize. Williams prepared a detailed outline for Buffett, who had some strategic thoughts of his own, drawn from a long history with the newspaper business. In a country where economics inevitably lead to one-daily towns, Buffett wrote, the Suns submission should stress the necessity for another printing press. Another paper, even a weekly suburban, adds value in terms of worrying Goliathswhereas the dominant paper may fear to do so, because it may look silly.48 Mick Rood wrote a follow-up piece about Boys Towna good story that was also meant to keep worrying the Goliaththat drew on some racially bigoted comments Father Wegner had made in his interview, as well as certain disclosures he had made about the boys growing marijuana at Boys Town down by the lake. Paul Williams spiked it, saying the Sun had to take the high road, in part not to jeopardize future stories and in part to avoid looking anti-Catholic. Also, at this time the Pulitzer was pending. Too bad, wrote Rood in a note to himself.49 The Sun team knew it had strong competition for the Pulitzer. It would be up against the series of articles penned by Washington Post investigative journalists Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward, who had followed what appeared to be a minor burglary inside the Watergate offices of the Democratic National Committee during the 1972 Nixon-McGovern election campaign, and uncovered what turned out to be an enormous political spying and sabotage operation. But the Sun would fare very well in the prizes awarded for 1972 journalism. In March 1973, Sigma Delta Chi, the national journalism society, gave the Sun its highest award for public service; the Washington Post won for investigative reporting. During the cocktail hour before the awards ceremony, as Stan and Jeannie Lipsey milled among the guests, waiting to catch a glimpse of Woodward and Bernstein, Jeannie nudged her publisher husband in the ribs and said, Ill make you a bet. Ill bet you a hundred dollars that youll win the Pulitzer. A few weeks later came the phone call. The Sun had won a Pulitzer for local investigative specialized reporting, sending the newsroom into a jubilation of cheers and applause.50 This time it had swapped awards with the Washington Post, which won the Pulitzer for public service. Susie Buffett threw a party to celebrate, fixing an oversize pretzel that spelled out Sun Pulitzer to the paneling in the family room. In part they were also celebrating some tangible results. Boys Town had started throwing money at projects and quickly announced a center for the study and treatment of childrens hearing and speech defects. It was something, and it would do some good. Boys Town from now on would have a budget and would disclose its financial status publicly. Instead of the annual Christmas fund-raising letter that year, there was only a Christmas card expressing thanks, as well as a letter from Archbishop Sheehan, announcing with deep regret that Monsignor Wegner would retire due to his failing health. While he was genuinely frail and ill, some cynic at the Sun circled this before filing it and added, due to something he read.51 The following Easter, 1974, Jet Jack Ringwalt sent Warren a copy of the letter he had received from Father (no longer Monsignor) Wegner. Instead of whining that there would be no joyous Christmas for the homeless, abandoned boys, the letter talked at length of the costly new projects that Boys Town had just built and was going to build and the experts who had been hired to assist us in planning for our future.52 While down from previous highs, the contributions that rolled in after the letter was sent came to $3.6 million, never mind the scandal. Thus, the story ended as such things usually do: a mixed triumph with a certain amount of ass-covering and reforms that came about because of public embarrassment rather than an institutional change of heart. While Boys Town eventually turned over its board of trustees and management, it did not happen easily or overnight, and the conflicts of interest on the board also did not disappear, at least not immediately. And even the Suns glory proved short-lived. It was failing financially, and its muckraking editor, Paul Williams, retired not long after the Pulitzer. One by one the investigative reporters dispersed to other papers and the wire services. Unless Buffett was willing to run it as a money-losing hobby, the economics of the Sun couldnt support a future like its past. And the Washington Monthly had already proven thateven for great journalismBuffett would not do that. In a sense, the Sun was one of his cigar butts, from which he had been able to enjoy one huge personal puff. In another sense, the temporary boost of fame he had gotten from the Sun was a sidebar compared to something else. Buffett had recently exploded in investors minds for a different reason. Under the pen name Adam Smith, a writer named George Goodman had published Supermoney, a fire-and-brimstone critique of the 1960s stock-market bubble, which sold more than a million copies.53 It demonized the fund managers who had ascended to the stratosphere almost overnight and then crashed, in a parabola as dramatic as if their engines had suddenly run out of rocket fuel. They were featured as devil-horned, pitchfork-bearing tempters of the ordinary Joe Investor. But when it came to Ben Graham and his protg Buffett, Goodman knew he had met a couple of very different characters, and he devoted an entire chapter to the two of them, in which he captured them brilliantly. Goodman respected the Latin-and French-spouting Graham and had been highly entertained by him, but when Graham was quoted in Supermoney, he sounded painfully affected, speaking in a style that bordered on self-satire. Buffett, however, appeared as a blue-ribbon, All-American, Pepsi-quaffing, investing fundamentalist, one who plied his trade in glorious solitude, far from the Lucifers of Wall Street. Presented alongside Graham this way, Buffett came across like a two-inch-thick T-bone next to a dab of goose liver pt on a plate. Everyone went for the steak. One hundred percent of the books reviewers mentioned Buffett. John Brooks, dean of the Wall Street writers, described him as a Puritan in Babylon among the greedy, sideburned young portfolio wizards.54 Overnight, he was a star. Even in Omaha, Supermoney created a minor sensation. Buffett had been crowned as the king of investors in a best-selling book. After fifteen years, the jury had come in. He was now the Warren Buffett. 36 Two Drowned Rats Omaha and Washington, D.C. 1971 Buffett had craved a niche in the publishing big leagues for quite some time. Since newspapers, which were mostly family-owned businesses, had recently gone through a spasm of selling themselves and now looked cheap, he and Charlie Munger had worked ceaselessly to buy one. They had tried, unsuccessfully, to buy the Cincinnati Enquirer from Scripps Howard,1 and Buffett had tried to buy another Scripps company, the New Mexico State Tribune Company, which published the Albuquerque Tribune,2 for Blue Chip, but that bid failed too. In 1971, Charles Peters, publisher of the Washington Monthly, had gotten a call from Buffett, asking him to introduce Buffett and Munger to Washington Post publisher Katharine Graham. Buffett said that he and Munger had bought some stock in the New Yorker and wanted to buy the whole magazine. They had talked to Peter Fleischmann, chairman of the New Yorker and a large shareholder, who was willing to sell, but they wanted a partner in the purchase and thought the Washington Post might be the right choice. Peters wasnt surprised to get the call. Aha, he thought, Buffett must be interested in the Post stock now that the Graham family is taking the company public. Perhaps all the recent public offerings of newspapers were why he continued to own the Washington Monthly. If the Monthly turned out to be an entry point for making a killing on the Post, then the failed investment could be justified financially. On the brink of the Posts initial public offering in 1971,3 P eters set up the meeting to explore a partnership to buy the New Yorker. Buffett had never bought public offerings, which he felt were overhyped and overpromoted; they were the opposite of the unloved cigar butts or great-company-at-the-right-price choices like American Express or Sees Candies that he and Munger sought. So Buffett had no plans to buy Post stock, but he and Munger flew to Washington and went to meet Kay Graham at the Washington Post headquarters, a monolithic eight-story 1950s white building with the papers name in its distinctive Gothic-style typeface above the door. Though publisher of the Post, Kay Graham had come late in life to running a newspaper. When she took it over eight years earlier, at age forty-six, she was a widow with four children and had never worked in a business. Now she found herself preparing for the challenge of running a public company under the unremitting scrutiny of investors and the press. Charlie and I met her very, very briefly, for twenty minutes. I had no idea what she was like. The idea that shed be frightened of her own businessI didnt know any of that. It was raining like hell, so we came in looking like a couple of drowned rats, and you know how we dress anyway. As they sat in her office, She couldnt have been nicer to us. Then she suggested we go see Fritz Beebe, the chairman of the board, who was really the guy kind of running the place up in New York, which we did. But we werent going anyplace with it. At the time, Graham had no interest in the New Yorker purchase that had prompted the visitand there was nothing in the meeting to suggest that she and Buffett would one day be great friends. He made no impression on her whatsoever. For his part, he did not find her particularly attractiveeven though she was a handsome womanfor she lacked the soft femininity and caretaking qualities of his ideal, Daisy Mae. Moreover, their backgrounds were worlds apart. Katharine Graham, born just before the twenties started to roar, was the daughter of a rich father, investor and Post publisher Eugene Meyer, and a self-absorbed mother, AgnesBig Ag, as the family called her behind her back because of her imposing stature and, as the years passed, increasing girth. Agnes, who had married her Jewish husband at least in part for his money, was passionate about Chinese art, music, literature, and other cultural interests, but indifferent to her husband and their five children. The family shuttled among their pinkish-gray granite mansion in Mount Kisco, overlooking Westchester Countys Byram Lake; their full-floor apartment on Fifth Avenue in New York City; and a large, dark, red-brick Victorian house in Washington, D.C. Katharine spent her early years under the rule of Agnes at the Mount Kisco estate, which the family referred to as the farm because it contained a large orchard, garden, dairy, and an old farmhouse where the farmhands lived in bachelor quarters. Every vegetable and piece of fruit on the dining table came from the surrounding fields and orchards. Kay ate meat from the farms own pigs and chickens and drank milk from its Jersey cows. Lavish bouquets of flowers appeared on the tables of each of the familys houses every day, even in Washington, sped there from the Mount Kisco gardens. The Westchester mansions walls were covered with magnificent Chinese paintings; it boasted every status symbol of the era: an indoor swimming pool, a bowling alley, tennis courts, a massive pipe organ. Kay chose her riding horses from a stable of steeds handsome enough to draw Cinderellas carriage and was taken on incredible vacations, once visiting Albert Einstein himself in Germany. When Agnes took the children camping to teach them independence, they roughed it accompanied by five ranch hands, eleven saddle horses, and seventeen packhorses. But the children had to make an appointment to see their own mother. They gobbled down their meals because Agnes, served first at the long dining-room table, began eating as the footmen moved around serving everyone elseand had the others plates snatched away the instant that she herself had finished. By her own admission, she did not love her children. She left them to be raised by nannies, governesses, and riding instructors; she sent them off to summer camps, boarding schools, and dancing class. Their only playmates were one another and the servants children. Agnes drank heavily, pursued flirtatious and obsessive (although apparently platonic) relationships with a number of famous men, and treated all other women as inferior, her own daughters among them. She compared Kay unfavorably to Americas sweetheart, Shirley Temple, the singing, dancing, smiling child star with golden blond ringlets.4 If I said I loved The Three Musketeers, Graham recalled, she responded by saying I couldnt really appreciate it unless I had read it in French as she had.5 Kay was trained like a hybrid orchid, beautifully pampered, savagely critiqued for her show potential, and otherwise largely ignored. Still, by the time she reached the Madeira School in Washington, D.C., she had somehow managed to learn the skills of popularity and was elected head of her classmost surprising at that time and in that place because she was half Jewish. In Protestant Mount Kisco, the family had been socially shunned. Since at Agness insistence the children were raised as Protestantsalbeit nonobservant ones, for the most partand were not even aware that their father was Jewish, Graham did not understand the reason for their isolation. Indeed, she would later be stunned at Vassar when a friend apologized because someone had made a bigoted remark about Jews in front of her. She reflected with hindsight that this clash in her bloodlines leaves you either a good survival capacity or a total mess.6 Or, perhaps, both. From her mother, Kay learned to be ungenerous about small things, fearful of being cheated, unable to give things away, and certain that people were trying to take advantage of her. By her own description, she also grew up inclined to be bossy.7 Yet others saw in her qualities of naivet, candor, generosity, and open-heartedness that she herself seemed unable to acknowledge. She felt closer to her awkward, distant, yet supportive father. To Eugene Meyer, she attributed her zeal for tiny economiescompulsively turning out lights, never wasting anything. Her fathers talent for such economies, along with great infusions of time, money, and energy, had been crucial in keeping the ailing Washington Post alive while Kay was growing up, when the paper ranked fifth in a field of five in the capital area, far behind the dominant paper, the Washington Evening Star.8 But when Meyer began thinking of retiring in 1942, Kays brother, Bill, a doctor, had no interest in running an unprofitable newspaper, so the duty fell to Kay and her new husband, Philip Graham. Kay was besotted with Phil, and so convinced of her own lowliness that she accepted as a matter of course her fathers decision to sell Phil nearly two-thirds of the Posts voting stock, giving him absolute control. Meyer did it because, he said, no man should have to work for his wife. Kay got the remainder.9 Despite Meyers zeal in keeping the paper alive, when Phil Graham took it over, matters were out of hand. Certain people in the newsroom and the circulation department spent most of the day playing the horses and drinking. When Meyer was out of town, the first thing the office boy did every morning was bring one man a half pint of booze and the Daily Racing Form.10 Phil Graham got the place shipshape, gave it an identity by fostering vigorous political coverage, and stamped its editorial page with a strong liberal voice. He bought Newsweek magazine and several television stations, and proved to be a brilliant publisher. But over time, drinking binges, a violent temper, unstable moods, and a cruel sense of humor showed themselves, with particularly devastating effects on his wife. When Katharine gained weight, he called her Porky and bought her a porcelain pig. She thought so little of herself that she found the joke funny and put the pig on the porch for display. I was very shy, she said. I was afraid to be left alone with anybody because Id bore them. I didnt speak when we went out; I let him speak. He was really brilliant and funny. Marvelous combination.11 Her husband played on her fears. When they were out with friends, Phil would look at her in a certain way when she was talking. She sensed that he was telling her that she was going on too long and boring people. She was convinced that she occupied some lesser sphere and could never meet the expectedbut impossible standard of living up to Shirley Temple. No wonder that, over time, she ceased speaking in public and let Phil take center stage.12 She grew so insecure that she vomited before parties. And by some accounts, the way Phil treated her in private was even worse.13 Her four children grew up seeing their father tear their mother apart. He would drink and build up to a violent rage; then she froze and shut down. She never confronted Phil, even when he embarked on a series of affairs with other women that supposedly included swapping mistresses with Jack Kennedy.14 Instead, she defended him, swept away by the force of his personality, wit, and brains. The more cruelly he behaved, the more she seemed to want to please him.15 I thought that Phil literally created me, she said. My interests were better. I was surer of myself.16 He thought she was lucky to have him, and she did too. When he finally left her for Newsweek staffer Robin Webb, she was stunned by the response of one of her friends, who said, Good! It had never occurred to her that she might be better off without Phil. But then he began trying to take the paper away from her, since he controlled two-thirds of the stock. Kay was terrified that she would lose her familys newspaper. In 1963, in the midst of her battle to keep the paper, Phil Graham suffered a spectacular public breakdown, was diagnosed with manic depression, and committed himself to a mental institution. Six weeks later, he talked his way out of the hospital for a weekend leave. He came home to Glen Welby, the Grahams sprawling rural Virginia farm retreat. On Saturday, after eating lunch with Kay, he shot himself in a downstairs bathroom while she was upstairs taking a nap. He was forty-eight. His suicide left Kay with the paper, no longer threatened with its loss. She dreaded being in charge, but even though some suggested that she sell, she was absolutely determined to keep it; she saw her stewardship as a holding action until the next generation was ready to take over. I didnt know anything about management, she said. I didnt know anything about complicated editorial issues. I didnt know how to use a secretary. I didnt know big things and small things and, worse still, I couldnt tell them apart.17 While Graham could project a determined confidence at times, at work she began to rely on other people as she constantly rethought and questioned her own decisions. I just kept trying to learn the issues from the men who were running things, she wrote. And of course, they were all men. She never trusted them or anyone elsebut, of course, no one close to her had ever treated her in a trustworthy way. She would tentatively extend her confidence to someone, then second-guess herself and pull back. Alternately enthused, then disenchanted with her executives, she gained a fearsome reputation in the office. And all the while, she never stopped seeking advice. As decisions would come along in the course of a day where she was very uncertain how to proceed, says her son Don, she was literally reinventing the wheel. She would be called upon to be a top manager of a company when shed never been a bottom manager of a company. She hadnt watched people who were CEOs, except the way you watch your husband or your dad. And so she had the great habit, when she faced what she thought of as a difficult decisionit usually was a difficult decisionshe would call directors, she would call friends whom she thought might have a relevant experience. It was partly getting advice to help her handle the problem. And it was partly trying out the friends as advisers to see who seemed to make sense and whom shed call the next time.18 Early on, Graham began to lean on Fritz Beebe, a lawyer and the chairman of the Washington Post Company, finding him a strong source of support as she struggled with her new job.19 By then, the Post was the smallest of three remaining Washington newspapers, with $85 million in yearly revenues and $4 million in profits. Gradually she grew into her role. She and her managing editor, Ben Bradlee, had a vision of a national paper that would set a standard to rival the New York Times. Bradlee, born the WASPiest of Boston WASPs, a Harvard graduate whose Brahman of a first wife was the daughter of a U.S. Senator, had worked closely with intelligence agencies before turning to journalism. He was funny, brilliant, had an unexpected saltiness that belied his background, brought out the best in Grahamand encouraged reporters to thrive in an informal atmosphere of ambition and competition. Before long, the Post had developed a reputation for solid journalism. Three years after taking over the paper, Graham made Bradlee executive editor. In 1970 Kay was freed from the tyranny of her mother, Agnes, who died in bed while Kay was visiting Mount Kisco on Labor Day weekend. Kay went up to her mothers bedroom to check on her after the maid told her that Agnes had not rung for her breakfast, and found her in bed, weirdly inert and already cold, Graham wrote in her memoir. She did not cry; while superficial books and movies could turn her into a weeper and she sometimes cried when angry or hurtas she explained in her bookshe never cried when anyone died.20 And while the death of Agnes Meyer relieved Graham of a burden, it did not cure her insecurities. In March 1971, amid continuing protests of the Vietnam War, the New York Times was leaked a copy of the Pentagon Papersa top-secret and ruthlessly honest history of the decision-making that led the country into and through Vietnam that had been commissioned by former Defense Secretary Robert McNamara.21 Comprising forty-seven volumes totaling seven thousand pages, the Pentagon Papers showed conclusively that the government had perpetrated a vast deception on the American public. The Times published its account of the scheme on Sunday, June 13. On June 15, about two weeks after Buffett and Munger had gone down to Washington to meet Graham in her office, a federal district court enjoined the Times from publishing most of the Pentagon Papers. It was the first time in history that a U.S. judge had restrained publication by a newspaper, raising a major constitutional question. The Post, mortified at having been scooped, was determined to get its hands on the Pentagon Papers. Through informed guesswork and contacts, an editor tracked down their source, Daniel Ellsberg, an expert on the Vietnam War. The editor flew to Boston with an empty suitcase and brought the Pentagon Papers back to Washington. By then Graham had mastered some of the basics of being a publisher, though she remained deferential and ill at ease. Further, we were in the middle of going public [but] we hadnt sold the stock, she recalled. It was a terribly sensitive time for the company, and we could have been very badly hurt if wed been to court or criminally enjoined. The business people were all saying either dont do it or wait a day, and the lawyers were saying dont do it. And the editors were on the other phone saying youve got to do it. I would have had to quit if we hadnt published it, says Ben Bradlee. A lot of people would have quit. Everybody knew we had those papers, Graham wrote later. It was terribly important to maintain the momentum after the Times had been stopped, because the issue was the governments ability to prior-restrain newspapers. And I felt what Ben said, that the editors would really be demoralized, that the news floor would be demoralized, that a great deal depended on our doing it. Notified on the terrace of her Georgetown mansion that beautiful June afternoon that she had a call, Graham went into her library and sat down on a small sofa to pick up the phone. Post chairman Fritz Beebe was on the line. He told her, Im afraid you are going to have to decide. Graham asked Beebe what he would do, and he said that he guessed he wouldnt. Why cant we wait a day? said Graham. The Times discussed this for three months. Now Bradlee and other editors joined the call. The grapevine, they said, knows weve got the papers, journalists inside and out are watching us. Weve got to go, and weve got to go tonight. Meanwhile, in the library, Paul Ignatius, president of the Post, was standing at Grahams side, saying, each time more insistentlyWait a day, wait a day. I had about a minute to decide. So she parsed Fritz Beebes words and his lukewarm tone when he said that he guessed he wouldnt and concluded that he would back her if she chose a different course. I said, Go ahead, go ahead, go ahead. Lets go. Lets publish. And I hung up.22 In that moment the woman who reached for the advice of others on every decision realized that only she could choose; when forced to reach inside to form her own opinion, she found that she did know what to do. Before the afternoon was out, the government filed suit against the Post. The following day, June 21, Judge Gerhard Gesell ruled in the newspapers favor, refusing to grant an order restraining it from publishing the Pentagon Papers. Less than two weeks later, the Supreme Court upheld him, saying the government had not met the heavy burden required to justify, on the grounds of national security, restraining publication. With the Pentagon Papers, the Post transcended its status as a decently run business that produced good local journalism and began its transformation into a great paper of national importance. Her skill, wrote reporter Bob Woodward, was to raise the bar, gently but relentlessly.23 37 Newshound Washington, D.C. 1973 Nearly two years later, the Post was deep into reporting the Watergate story, while in Omaha, the Suns reporters were basking in the glow of the Boys Town expos. Reporting on Watergate, which began in June 1972 when the break-in occurred, had gradually picked up steam as Woodward and Bernstein linked a check made out to one of the burglars to the Nixon re-election campaign. The scandal unfolded over many months as a secret FBI informant, Mark Feltcode-named Deep Throat and known to no one but Bob Woodward until thirty-three years laterfunneled information to them about CREEP, the Campaign to Re-elect the President, and about various CIA and FBI officials involved in funding and aiding the burglars. But other papers largely ignored the scandal, as did the public. Nixon was re-elected by a huge majority that fall, having vehemently denied any knowledge of or involvement in the break-in. The Nixon White House, which was already actively hostile to the Post because of the Pentagon Papers episode, dismissed Watergate as a third-rate burglary attempt and kept up a barrage of threats and harassment against the paper. Attorney General John Mitchell, who had managed Nixons election campaign, told Woodward and Bernstein that Katie Grahams gonna get her tit caught in a big fat wringer if the Post continued to report the story. A Wall Street friend with administration contacts advised her not to be alone. In early 1973, a Republican fund-raiser who was a friend of Richard Nixon challenged the renewal of the Posts two Florida television licenses. The challenge, which was probably politically motivated, threatened half of the companys earnings, an attack on the heart of the business.1 In response, WPO stock plunged from a high of $38 to as low as $16 a share. Yet even with a Pulitzer in hand, the Watergate burglars convicted and sent to prison, and a growing body of evidence linking top Nixon administration officials to the break-in, Graham kept second-guessing herself about whether the paper was being set up or misled.2 Most of her time and attention now went to fighting these fires. Her chairman, Fritz Beebe, was ill with cancer and declining rapidly,3 and still in need of an authority figure to rely upon, she increasingly turned toward another of her board members, Andr Meyer, senior partner of the investment bank Lazard Frres. Vindictive, ruthless, secretive, snobbish, and sadistic, Meyer crushed other peoples personalities. He was known as the Picasso of Banking and a man with an almost erotic attachment to money, and called the greatest investment banker of the twentieth century, a genius of the art of acquisitiveness, according to his colleagues.4 He was also the well-connected man who had warned Graham during Watergate not to be alone. He had an ability to relate to people at times of distress in a way that created loyalty and exposed him to grand opportunities in the future, said a former Lazard executive.5 He soon took up Graham socially as well and was seen with her at restaurants, parties, and the theater. Beebe died on May 1, 1973, and a week later his lawyer, George Gillespie, who was also Grahams personal lawyer and one of her advisers, began settling his estate. Gillespie got wind that a big investor out in Omaha had been buying Post stock, so from his summer house in Maine, he called Buffett and offered a block of fifty thousand of Beebes shares that needed to be sold. Buffett snapped it up. If he could, at the right price, Buffett would have bought almost any newspaper in sight for Berkshire Hathaway. When the bankers from Affiliated Publications, publisher of the Boston Globe, were struggling to place its deal, Buffett broke his unwritten rule against buying public offerings and took four percent of Affiliated at a discount price. Berkshire wound up its largest shareholder. He grabbed stock in Booth Newspapers, Scripps Howard, and Harte-Hanks Communications, a San Antoniobased chain. The Suns elevated status as a Pulitzer Prize winner enabled him to network his way through the newspaper world, talking with publishers as one of their peers. He chatted up the owners of the Wilmington News Journal, hoping to buy the paper. Alas, while newspaper stocks were cheap because investors failed to see their value, newspaper owners were not so blind. Competing with them, Buffett and Mungers efforts to buy whole newspapers had all come to naught. Still, by late spring 1973 Buffett had accumulated more than five percent of the Washington Post stock.6 He now sent a letter to Graham. She had never lost her terror that somehow her company would be taken away from her, even though Beebe and Gillespie had structured the Washington Posts stock in two classes so that an unfriendly buyer could never do that.7 Buffetts letter told her that he owned 230,000 shares and meant to buy more. But instead of legalistic boilerplate, he wrote a highly flattering, personal missive that linked their common interest in journalism and stressed the Suns Pulitzer. The letter began: This purchase represents a sizable commitment to usand an explicitly quantified compliment to the Post as a business enterprise and to you as its chief executive. Writing a check separates conviction from conversation. I recognize that the Post is Graham-controlled and Graham-managed. And that suits me fine.8 Nonetheless, Graham panicked. She reached out for advice. At times, Jim Hoagland, one of her reporters, wrote, Graham was capable of being taken in by mountebanks of the moment, and particularly if they were adroit at a certain kind of kidding flattery.9 She was a pretty dreadful snob and too easily impressed by people with big titles, according to another reporter.10 Moreover, while she instinctively pursued womens equalityshe had given the seed money to Gloria Steinem for Ms. magazine, she was known to chide men for referring to professionals as if all members of the class were men, and she once hurled a paperweight at a Post executive who refused to allow girls to deliver papersdeep inside she still thought that only men knew anything about business. Thus, when Andr Meyer was irate and told her that Buffett meant her no good, she took him seriously.11 And it also carried weight when another of Grahams acquaintances, Bob Abboud, a fellow trustee at the University of Chicago, warned her away. Andr Meyer really wanted to think he controlled everything. And it was easy when he got a woman like Kayhe would make her feel like shed better not go to the bathroom without checking with him. He had that style. Andr kept referring to me as her new boss because I bought this stock. You had all these guys who could see their power being diluted if I got in the inner circle. She was very sensitive to the idea that anyone would manipulate her, for political purposes or for the paper, which is understandable. She was used to everybody in the world trying to use her. But what you could do with Kay is you could play on her fears. If you wanted to work her over, you could make her feel so insecure. And she knew you were doing it to her, but she couldnt resist it. She would second-guess herself, says fellow Post board member Arjay Miller. She would fall in and out of love with people. She could be bullied. She would get overwhelmed by certain people in business. She would meet somebody and be sort of dazzled with them for a little while and think they knew all the answers. She thought men knew all about business and women didnt know anything. At the bottom, that was the real problem. Her mother told her that and her husband told her that, over and over and over and over again.12 Graham tried to find out what she could about Buffett. She barely remembered him from their brief encounter two years earlier.13 She and her colleagues bought copies of Supermoney and devoured the chapter on him, wondering what the man from Nebraska had in store for them. Those unfriendly to Buffett made sure she also saw an unsigned article in the September 1 issue of Forbes about Buffetts purchase of stock in San Jose Water Works, which cast a shadow on the sunny portrait that Supermoney had painted of the mystery man. This Forbes piece struck a very different tone than the glowing article the magazine had published two years before. It described a San Jose Water Works shareholder who wanted to unload his stock. He went to a company director who sent him to Buffett. The article insinuated that Buffett must have known that a deal was brewing for the city to take over the water works at a higher price than he was paying for the stock simply because a director had referred a seller to him. He had connections, so he must have known something right? The article ended: the American Stock Exchange and the San Francisco office of the Securities Exchange Commission are making inquiries and asking questions.14 But there was nothing illegal about a director referring a seller of stock to a buyer.15 Indeed, no deal ever took place. Yet to anyone checking him out, this would be the most prominent, public, recent mention of his name apart from Supermoney.16 Buffett felt like a cats scratching post. If this cascaded into a series of expanding stories, it could wreck his newly gilded reputation even though the story had no substance to it. He was not the type to storm and shout, however, but to brood and plan. Thus, while angry, he was too clever to confront the magazine and denounce its nameless reporter. He wanted retribution and vindication, so he used the opportunity to bring himself to the attention of magazine publisher Malcolm Forbes, writing him an artfully worded letter in which he talked of the pitfalls of journalism, complimented him on the magazines good batting average in investigative reporting over the yearsto which the article on San Jose Water Works was some kind of unfortunate exceptionand mentioned the Suns Pulitzer.17 On the same date he wrote a crisper letter, sans the flattery, to the editor, stating the facts to support his innocence. Sure enough, Forbes ran a correction. Buffett knew, however, that corrections were rarely read and had no impact as compared to the initial story. So he also sent one of his proxies, the loyal Bill Ruane, to talk to the editors, not to complain but to position Buffett as an expert who could write an article about investing.18 The attempt failed, at least initially. Buffett now had a new causeoutrage at bias in news reportingwhich wound itself around his sense of justice and his interest in journalism in general. That a reporter could lie by inference or omission without any accountability drove him wild. He knew that even well-intentioned news publications flew into a state of high dudgeon and defended their reporters dubious behavior on the premises of newsroom morale and press independence. This stance, he would later learn, was referred to at the Washington Post as the defensive crouch.19 Eventually, he would end up helping to fund the National News Council, a nonprofit organization that arbitrated complaints of journalistic malpractice. The councils position was that media had become dominated by monopolies and concentrated in a few hands; this lack of competition meant that the First Amendments right of freedom of the press gave publishers power without responsiblity. The council offered redress to victims who had been traduced, misquoted, libeled, held up to unjustified ridicule, or whose legitimate views have been ignored in a one-sided report. Unfortunately, those very monopolies and the few publishers who dominated the media had no interest in publishing the News Councils rulings, which exposed their biases and the carelessness and incompetence of their reporters. The News Council eventually folded after its findings were spiked, time and time again, by the free and independent press that was supposed to publish them.20 The National News Council was a worthy crusade, indeed perhaps ahead of its time, like many of the causes on which Buffett spent his energy. But by 1973, Susie Buffett had seen him expend a tidal wave of energy on each new crusade or obsession, sometimes changing entire coastlines in his wake. While many people shift their interests over time, the shy, insecure man she had married seized on one obsession after another. From his childhood hobby of collecting license-plate numbers to reforming the jiggery-pokery of journalism, three roles invariably interested him. The first was the relentless collector, expanding his empire of money, people, and influence. The second was the preacher, sprinkling idealism from the lectern. The third was the cop, foiling the bad guys. The perfect business would allow him to do all of these at once: preach, play cop, and collect money to ring the cash register. The perfect business, therefore, was a newspaper. That was why the Sun had been a sliver of something that he wanted more of, much, much more. But he and Munger had struck out at trying to buy major city newspapers. Now here was Katharine Graham, unsteady on her feet when it came to business, manipulated by those around her, flailing, seeking a lifesaver ring from anyone she could find. Yet despite her insecurities and vulnerabilities, because of her position at the helm of the Washington Post, she had become one of the most powerful women in the Western Hemisphere. And Buffett had always had a strong attraction to powerful people. Graham was afraid of him. She asked George Gillespie whether he was crooked. She could not afford to make a mistake. For several years the Nixon administration had been waging an all-out war to discredit the Post. The Senate Watergate Committee was holding hearings. Woodward and Bernstein had unearthed Nixons enemies list. A set of newly discovered tapes implicated the President, who had refused to hand over information he claimed was privileged, information that could answer the question of what happened and who was involved. Graham labored every day over the Watergate story. In a sense, she had staked the Posts franchise on it. She relied heavily on the opinion of the devoutly religious, utterly respectable Gillespie. He had served the Graham family ever since, as a twenty-eight-year-old trust lawyer at Cravath, Swaine & Moore, he had drafted Eugene Meyers final will, witnessing the signature of the fading old man. Hes going to take over the Washington Post, she said about Buffett. Kay, he cant take over the Post, Gillespie said. Forget it. Its not possible. It doesnt make any difference how much B stock he owns. He has no rights. All he could do would be to elect himself to the board if he owned the majority of the B stock. Gillespie had called a San Jose Water Works director and was convinced that Buffett had had no inside information. He made it clear that he disagreed with the powerful Andr Meyer, going out on a limb, given Meyers position and connections. He told her to talk to Buffett, that he would be good for her to know.21 Graham wrote Buffett, quaking as she dictated the letter, suggesting that they get together in California, where she would be traveling late that summer on business. He agreed eagerly, and when she arrived at an office provided by the Los Angeles Times, the Posts West Coast news-service partner, she looked exactly as she had two years before: impeccably tailored shirtdress, her pageboy hairdo lacquered into place, lips pursed in a small smile. When she saw Buffett, Graham said, his very appearance surprised her. The great blessing and curse in my mothers life, says her son Don, was she had very high standards when it came to taste. She was used to traveling in high-falutin circles. She thought there was one right way to dress and eat and one circle of people to be paid attention. Warren violated all her standards when it came to these things, yet he didnt care.22 Wearing a suit that looked tailored for some other man, the hair no longer crew-cut and beginning to float up slightly at the ends, he resembled no Wall Street figure or business tycoon Id ever met, she later wrote. Rather, he came across as cornfed and Midwestern, but with that extraordinary combination of qualities that has appealed to me throughout my lifebrains and humor. I liked him from the start.23 But at the time, that certainly didnt show. Instead, she came across as frightened, unsure of both him and herself. When I first met with Kay, she was wary and scared. She was terrified by me, and she was intrigued by me. And one thing about Kay was that you could tell. She was not a poker-face type. Buffett could see that Graham knew nothing about business and finance and that she thought her board and managers outclassed her in running the business despite what was by now a decade of experience. He told her he thought Wall Street did not see the value of the Post. Graham relaxed her guard slightly. In her patrician accent, she invited him to meet with her in Washington a few weeks later. Warren and Susie arrived November 4, the evening before the meeting, drove up in a taxi to the Madison Hotel, directly across the street from the Post headquarters, and, as they were checking in, found that the newspaper was in the middle of a printers union work stoppage. Federal marshals were evicting the mutinous printers amid rumors of pressmen carrying guns. Commotion, glaring lights, and television cameras carried on until dawn. Given what was happening in the political sphere, it would be hard to find a worse time to shut down a newspaper, which of course was exactly what the union intended. Vice President Spiro Agnew had been under criminal investigation but suddenly pleaded no contest less than a month ago to a tax-evasion charge, then resigned. The Watergate scandal had reached an explosive crisis. Two weeks after Agnews resignation, U.S. Attorney General Elliot Richardson and Deputy Attorney General William Ruckelshaus resigned in protest rather than execute President Nixons order to fire special prosecutor Archibald Coxwho had been appointed to investigate the unfolding scandaland abolish his office. Nixon did so anyway, in what became known as the Saturday Night Massacre.24 The Presidents interference in the supposedly independent judiciary branch of government marked a turning point in the Watergate affair by shifting public opinion decisively over the course of the past two weeks against him. Pressure was mounting rapidly on Congress to impeach. The morning after the Buffetts arrival, Graham, exhausted from working with most of her managers until six a.m. to get the paper out, was embarrassed at the introduction her new shareholder had received to her paper and nervous about how the days meeting would proceed. But she had arranged lunch for Buffett with Ben Bradlee, Meg Greenfield, Howard Simons, and herself. Graham considered Meg Greenfield her closest friend, yet referred to her as a lone fortressno one ever really got to know Meg. Editorial-page editor of the Post, Greenfield was a short, chunky woman with cropped dark hair and a plain no-nonsense face. She exemplified humor, honesty, toughness, good manners, and modesty.25 Howard Simons, the Posts managing editor, was known for his sharp-witted way of twitting Graham. Howard Simons used to say that you dont have to be dead to write obituaries. He was a great guy, but he was wicked. He used to tease Kay so much.26 We were eating lunch, talking about acquisitions and media properties. I could see that even though she had all the A stock, she was afraid of me. I mean, they had spent their whole life dreaming up and putting defenses around the stock. So I said something about how the amortization of intangibles made it harder for the media companies, because they paid so much for goodwill, which caused problems if they were conscious of valuation.*27 Buffett was trying to reassure Graham that it was hard to take over media companies because the accounting made it burdensome to would-be acquirers. And Kay was showing off. She said, Yes, the amortization of intangibles caused us a problem or something like that. Howard looked her right in the eye, and he said, Kay, what is the amortization of intangibles? And at that moment, I mean, I loved it. She was just frozen. She was paralyzed. Howard was enjoying it. So I jumped in and explained what amortization of intangibles was to Howard. And when I got through with this description, Kay said, Exactly! Buffett loved outthinking Simons, short-circuiting the game, and comingindirectly and subtlyto Grahams defense. Grahams tight little smile began to ease. From that point forward, we were the best of friends. I was Sir Lancelot. That was one of the greatest moments of my life. Turning defeat into triumph for her.27 After lunch, Buffett met with Graham for about an hour, then he reassured her in writing. I said, Kay, George Gillespies arranged for the A shares to give you control. But, I said, I also know that it is so important to you in this world that youre going to worry about it no matter what youve got. Its your whole life. And so I said, Im telling you that even though these teeth look like Little Red Riding Hoods wolf fangs to you, they really are baby teeth. But well just take them out. Just have the orders come up this afternoon, and well white out*28 some things, and Ill never buy another share of stock unless youre okay with it. I knew that was the only way that she would ever be comfortable. That afternoon, Buffettwho had spent $10,627,605 to buy twelve percent of the companysigned an agreement with Graham not to buy any more of the Post stock without her permission. In the evening, the Buffetts were due at Grahams for one of her famous dinners, this one for forty guests honoring Warren and Susie. Despite Grahams personal insecurity, she was considered Washingtons greatest hostess, above all because she knew how to help people relax and enjoy themselves. This evening, despite her exhaustion and the temptation to cancel, She had a little party for me. That was her way of reciprocating. And when she had a party, she could get anybody she wanted. Anybodythe President of the United States, anybody. She traveled widely in the world, so found occasions to give dinners, says Don Graham. If she had gone to Malaysia, when the prime minister came to town, shed give a dinner for him. The ambassador would look up what they did last time, and there was always a meal at Mrs. Grahams house, so there would be another one. Someone would publish a book, someone would have a birthday, and shed give a dinner because she loved to give a dinner. Graham used the dinners as a way of making new friends and as a way of getting people to know one another. She would sort of adopt people in different administrations, says Don.28 This particular administration, however, was Richard Nixons. Graham had made few friends there, other than Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, and he had to defend socializing with her. So all of a sudden Im at the Madison Hotel with Susie, and about five oclock somebody slips something under the door and it describes the party, which I had been invited to weeks before. At the bottom it says black tie. Well, I didnt have that, needless to say. So heres this pathetic guy from Nebraska, and he shows up with a business suit. Hes going to a black-tie dinner in his honor and hes going to be the only one without black tie. So I called her secretary, panicked. Her secretary is a very nice gal. She says, well, lets put on our thinking cap. While Im trying to cross the street to find a store that was open to rent me something, and nothing was open, Grahams assistant, Liz Hylton, called another local store, however, and found something suitable.29 The Buffetts left the Madison Hotel and were driven past mansion after mansion on Embassy Row. The taxi turned onto Q Street, past the historic Oak Hill Cemetery where Phil Graham was buried. Around the corner, they passed a row of historic nineteenth-century town houses with tiny manicured gardens. It was early November; the leaves glowed with traces of russet, amber, and gold. The taxis passage into Georgetown was like crossing a border into a Colonial-era town. Tucked into the corner of the cemetery and sprawling down its tree-swagged hill stood Dumbarton Oaks, the ten-acre Federal estate where the conference at which the United Nations had been planned took place.30 The taxi swiveled left at the corner, between a pair of stone gateposts. The sight ahead was breathtaking. As the taxi began to crunch its way up the wide sweep of white pebbled drive, the Buffetts saw in the distance a dignified three-story cream-colored Georgian mansion with a green mansard roof. The broad lawns that surrounded it lapped all the way to the top of Georgetowns Rock of Dumbarton, so that the house looked down on the cemetery. To the right, down the hill past a deep colonnade of trees, were the neighborhoods leading to the old Buffett house in Spring Valley not far away, and just beyond that, Tenleytown, where Warren had delivered papers at The Westchester and stolen golf balls from Sears. The Buffetts were ushered through Grahams front door to join the other guests, who were having cocktails in the living room. Asian art from her mothers collection hung everywhere on eggshell-white walls swagged with blue velvet curtains, along with a Renoir painting and Albrecht Drer engravings. Graham began to introduce the Buffetts to her other guests. She told them nice things about me, Buffett says. Kay was doing everything in the world to make me comfortable. [Yet] I was so uncomfortable. He had never attended a gathering of such formality or grandeur. When the cocktail hour ended, crossing the hallway to the huge dining room where Graham held her famous parties, its paneled walls lit by the glow of tapered candles in bronze sconces, did nothing to make Buffett feel more at home. This setting intimidated even more than the living room. Crystal candlesticks and armorial porcelain gleamed on the round walnut dining tables, although the guests whom Graham had invited outshone the splendor of the surroundings. The room at any given time could be filled with a selection of U.S. Presidents, foreign leaders, diplomats, administration officials, Congressional members of both parties, senior lawyers in town, and people chosen from her group of perennial friendsEd Williams, Scotty Reston, Polly Wisner,31 Roy Evans, Evangeline Bruce, Joseph Alsop, along with people like the Buffetts who, for one reason or another, suited the occasion or were interesting to her. Buffett found himself seated next to Edmund Muskies wife, Jane, an obvious dinner partner, since the Buffetts had entertained her husband in Omaha. On his other side was Barbara Bush, whose husband was the U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations but would soon become the Chief of the U.S. Liaison Office in Peking, with the important role of steering the United States through the delicate process of renewing its diplomatic ties with China. Graham pressed a button to signal the kitchen, and waiters began to move around the antique Georgian tables and serve. Warren tried not to gape at the protocol. Susies over there sitting next to some senator. And hes trying to make out with her, hes got his hand on her leg and all these things. But me, Im dying, because I dont know what to talk to these people about. Barbara Bush could not have been nicer. She could see how ill at ease I was. The waiters began to follow an American version of service la russe, serving the first course followed by a fish course, then the main course, all borne on trays from which the diners served themselves. On and on the courses went as wine was poured to the sound of Washington chatter. The waiters added and removed unfamiliar sterling implements like fish knives. As they offered him food that he would never eat and wines that he would never drink, he found the meal increasingly more complex and intimidating. Grahams other guests were relaxed and comfortable, but by the time dessert was served, Buffett was thoroughly cowed. Then came coffee he did not drink. His discomfort increased to terror when, as at the end of every evening, Graham stood up and read an articulate, witty, polished, personal, and original toast to her guest of honor that she had obviously put considerable thought into writing, however lacking in confidence her delivery. The guest of honor was supposed to stand and toast his hostess in kind. I didnt have the nerve to stand up and offer a toast, which youre supposed to do. I blew it totally. I was so uncomfortable. I even thought I might throw up, actually. I could not stand up there in front of half the cabinet and talk. I wasnt up to it. All he wanted to do was escape. Afterward, as he and Susie made their goodbyes, they had the feeling that the hicks from Nebraska would be the talk of Georgetown long after they left. This Senator was still trying to score with Susie as we were leaving and was so concentrating on explaining how she should come down to the Senate and see his offices as we were leaving that he opened the door to a closet and walked in. That was my introduction to Washington. Yet while it was true that the formal, glittering society that surrounded the powerful Mrs. Graham may have unnerved Buffett and made him ill at ease, he had never been one to hide his enthusiasms. And so it must have soon become obvious to Susie Buffett that her husband wanted more of this world. 38 Spaghetti Western Omaha 19731974 By the time he dined with Katharine Graham in 1973, Buffett was no longer just an investor who was buying newspaper stocks. He was becoming a business mogul on a small scale. Berkshire Hathaway and Diversified were his bailiwick. Charlie Munger was the czar of Blue Chip Stamps. The interlocking ownership of these three companies had tightened the business relationship between Buffett and Munger, and resembled the embryo of an empire built by another investor whom Buffett in particular admired, Gurdon W. Wattles.1 His company, American Manufacturing, was like a Russian doll; open it and inside was another company and another and another: Mergenthaler Linotype, Crane Co., Electric Auto-Lite. These stocks were all publicly traded, because though Wattles controlled them, he did not own one hundred percent of any of them. From early in his investing career, Buffett admired the Wattles model. He considered how best to profit from the same stocks Wattles was buying. He talked about Wattles all the time to his friends. The only way to go is coattail-riding, he would say.2 Wattles had this little closed-end investment company called Century Investors, which had to report to the SEC. He did this chain thing where he would be buying stock in a company at a discount, which would be buying stock in another company at a discount, which would be buying stock in another company at a discount. The big company at the end of the thing was Mergenthaler Linotype, which was two-thirds owned by American Manufacturing. In those days, you didnt have to file with the SEC to publicly reveal that you were buying, so nobody knew and he just would keep buying until he got control. He bought control of Electric Auto-Lite, partly through Mergenthaler, and he was doing the same thing with Crane Co., not the stationery but the plumbing supply. Somewhere in the chain was Webster Tobacco. They were all cheap statistically. Everything sold at a discount, and you could just keep buying all of them and make more money every time you made a purchase. Usually I would buy some of all of them. I owned Mergenthaler, I owned Electric Auto-Lite, I owned American Manufacturing.3 What would cause the value to come out, that was always the question. But you just had a feeling you were with a smart guy and eventually it would. Early on, he went to see Wattles at his office at White, Weld & Co. in Boston.4 I was a little apprehensive and said something like, Mr. Wattles, I hope I can ask you some questions. And he said, Shoot. Right away, I had to start thinking of questions. He was very good with me. For ten or fifteen years I followed him. He was very Graham-like. Very Graham-like. Nobody paid any attention to him except me. He was sort of my model as to what I hoped to do for a while. It was so understandable and so obvious and such a sure way of making money. Although it didnt make you huge money necessarily, you knew you were going to make money.5 What interested Warren about the Wattles model: the way one company could legitimately buy cheap stock in another. You dont have to think of everything, you know. It was Isaac Newton who said Ive seen a little more of the world than others because I stand on the shoulders of giants. Theres nothing wrong with standing on other peoples shoulders.6 Eventually Wattles had merged his empire into one company, Eltra Corporation, created through the merger of Mergenthaler Linotype and Electric Auto-Lite. This stock was now a favorite of Bill Ruanes, because the companys earnings were compounding at fifteen percent a year.7 The Buffett-Munger companies were beginning to look a little like Eltra before its combination: Berkshire Hathaway was Diversifieds largest shareholder and also owned Blue Chip stock. Each of them also acted as a holding company for businesses that were not traded publicly. Most notably, Blue Chip owned Sees Candies, which was so profitable that it more than offset the losses from the rapidly shrinking trading-stamp business. Munger now followed up by buying twenty percent of a near-defunct investment firm, Source Capital, for Blue Chip. We bought it at a discount from its asset value, says Munger. And there were two assholes who were the sellers. We had a no-asshole rule very early. Our basic rule has always been that we wont deal with assholes. And so Warren, when he heard about Source Capital, said, Now I understand the two-asshole exception to the no-asshole rule.8 Twenty percent is influence, not control. Munger went on the board of Source Capital with a new set of talented managers who were not assholes, Jim Gipson and George Michaelis, and started straightening out its portfolio. Source Capital, however, was small change. Buffett and Munger were both always on the lookout for anything new they could acquire, especially something bigger that would give Blue Chip the kind of boost that Sees Candies had. They had found a sleepy West Coast savings-and-loan company, Wesco Financial. When a broker called Buffett offering some cheap Wesco stock, after a brief conversation with Munger, they grabbed itand bought the shares for Blue Chip Stamps.9 Then Wesco announced that it was going to merge with Financial Corporation of Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara was a hot stock, with an aggressive approach that Wall Street liked. Analysts thought Santa Barbara was paying too much for Wesco.10 Yet Buffett and Munger saw the opposite. They thought Santa Barbaras stock was overpriced, and Wesco was handing over its stock too cheap.11 Buffett went nuts. He read the terms and couldnt believe them. Have they lost their minds? he asked.12 Founded by the Casper family, Wesco was located in Pasadena, Mungers hometown. It owned Mutual Savings, a savings and loan that had prospered when the GIs came home from the Asian theater during the post-WWII building boom. Even so, Wesco had never exploited its opportunities for growth. But it was extremely profitable because it kept its costs so low.13 Betty Casper Peters, the only member of the founding family both interested and able to serve on the board, felt that Wescos managers condescended to her and dismissed her suggestions that they could grow the company. Instead, they used her familys legacy as a ticket to ride at the head of the Rose Bowl parade.14 Peters, an elegantly dressed, high-cheekboned former art history student, had school-age kids, no business background, and spent much of her time tending the family vineyard in Napa. Now she drove back and forth to Pasadena on Wednesdays to attend board meetings. Running a savings and loan, she found, was hardly a black art. She subscribed to everything relevant she could get her hands on and sat down and read and figured it out. As Peterss frustration grew, she pushed for a merger. She knew the Santa Barbara offer wasnt great, but all of the companys executives were in their mid-forties and they were bright and aggressive. Although they hung around the country club too much for her taste, they were vigorous, acquiring branches and doing things that she thought should be done. Blue Chip already owned eight percent of Wesco when the merger was announced. Munger thought that if it kept buying Wesco, it could accumulate enough stock to defeat the Santa Barbara deal. But then he discovered that it would take fifty percent of the stock, a much higher obstacle. Munger had a greater incentive than Buffett to keep going, since Blue Chip was his partnerships most important investment. He urged going ahead; Buffett thought fifty percent was too high a threshold and held back. 15 Soon thereafter, Munger went to see Wescos CEO, Louis Vincenti, and tried to persuade him to abandon the Santa Barbara deal.16 And Vincenti brushed Munger off like a flake of dandruffnot an easy thing to do. Munger and Buffett had no intention of launching a competing hostile bid, however. Further, Munger could not imagine that such a thing might be necessary. He wrote Vincenti, appealing to his higher values.17 Surely his superior reasoning could bring Vincenti around. It was wrong that Wesco should sell itself too cheap; Vincenti should simply see that. So Munger told Vincenti that he liked Wescos management and that Vincenti was Buffett and Mungers sort of fellow. He told Vincenti something like, Youre engaged to this other girl, so we cant talk to you, but if you were free, youre the kind of man we would like.18 Mungers old-fashioned, Ben Franklinesque sense of ethics and his noblesse oblige notion that gentlemen in business should agree upon the right conduct among themselves must have sounded like Sanskrit to Vincenti. But at least Vincenti did let slip that Betty Peters was the shareholder pushing for the merger. Munger sent Don Koeppel, CEO of Blue Chip, down to see Peters. She viewed him as a minion and sent him back empty-handed.19 So it was time for the big gun. Within ten minutes of Koeppels departure, Buffett called her. Peters had just finished reading the chapter on him in Jerry Goodmans Supermoney, which her husband had given her for Christmas. Are you the same Warren Buffett thats in Supermoney? she asked. Buffett admitted that he was the man who, according to Jerry Goodman, represented the triumph of straight thinking and high standards over flapdoodle, folly, and flimflam. Peters willingly agreed to meet Buffett with her three children at the TWA Ambassador Lounge at the San Francisco airport twenty-four hours later. At the meeting, Buffett, with Pepsi in hand, underplayed his talent and record while asking questions in a warm, unthreatening manner. They talked for three hours, mostly about Omaha, where Peterss mother had grown up. They talked about politics. Peters, a lifelong Democrat, was pleased by Buffetts views. Finally he said, with considerable understatement, Betty, I think I can do better with Wesco than this merger. Inasmuch as youre giving up the company, why dont we give it a try? Peters was taken with Buffett and thought he might be right about doing better than the fast young men from Santa Barbara. In fact, her concern now became that something might happen to Buffett if she swung her vote to him. He told her he had a partner, however, someone who would be in charge of Berkshire and the Buffett familys stockholdings if the proverbial truck mowed him down. On her next trip to Pasadena, Peters sat down to breakfast with Buffett and Munger at the grand old Huntington Hotel so that she could get to know this mysterious partner. The two of them asked for a meeting with the Wesco board. Peters then did something brave, allowing herself to look capricious in front of the board rather than let the company make a serious mistake. She went to the next board meeting and asked the board to reverse course and meet with Buffett and Munger. The board waved her off, however, and voted at a special meeting to use every effort to complete the merger with Financial Corporation of Santa Barbara.20 Forgetting who actually owned the company was their mistake. Peters now took Munger and Buffett to meet her brothers to secure their votes. By the time the board met again a week later and reaffirmed their position, Peters had made a decision and, behind the scenes, brought her whole family around to voting against the Santa Barbara deal. And then my task, says Peters, was to go back into that little hermetically sealed Pasadena boardroom and tell all these buttoned-down gentlemen, including the management, that were not going forward with the Santa Barbara savings deal. When she returned to the Spanish-style building, she was thinking about the plaza outside the boardroom windows with its tile-lined fountain. If the windows had been open, she says, they would have thrown me out of them. I knew that what was going on in everyones mind was My God, is this what happens when you let a hormonal woman on the board?21 Wall Street thought so; it sent Wesco stock nosediving from a high of above $18 to $11 on the news. Wescos management was old and not very aggressive, one analyst said. Another claimed Santa Barbara was paying too much for Wesco, a sleeping company for years, with old management. Another referred to it as garbage.22 For her courage, Buffett and Munger now felt indebted to Peters.23 They had also decided they wanted to own Wesco themselves and felt it would be possible to engage Vincenti and win his cooperation. However, by then it must have been apparent that Lou Vincenti would not gambol along behind them like a lamb after its mother. Accordingly, they loosened the purse strings and told their brokers, for once, to bid liberally on the stock. Blue Chip paid $17 for Wesco sharesthe price at which they had traded before the deal fell through. I will admit we were eccentric, says Munger. We deliberately paid more than we had to, but we felt wed scuttled the damn merger and we didnt like taking advantage of it by buying at the market price. We thought it was kind of the right thing to do. Well, nobody could understand that. They thought something must have been dishonorable about doing that. We really thought wed make a better impression on Louie Vincenti if we didnt scuttle the merger, then buy the stock cheap. That would look pretty God-knows-what, and we wanted Louie to be our partner for the long term. We were trying to behave well.24 By March 1973, Blue Chip owned a quarter of the Wesco stock. And Buffett, who had never stopped buying Blue Chip, continued his drive to get hold of more. The year before, he had exchanged Diversifieds Thriftimart shares for still more Blue Chip stock. Including the thirteen percent of Blue Chip he owned outright as well as his share of the stock owned by Berkshire and Diversified, which owned another thirty-five percent, Buffett was now effectively the largest Blue Chip shareholder. Blue Chip began to formally tender for Wescos shares, this time paying $15 a share in cash, until it owned more than half.25 Within weeks, Munger outlined for Lou Vincenti a vision for the company26 that, not surprisingly, resembled the way Buffett thought about Berkshire Hathaway and Diversified. Wesco, with Munger as chairman, would be another new doll among the rest27this one residing inside Blue Chip. Then, no sooner had Blue Chip bought the majority of Wesco than the whole stock market fell apart.28 Buffetts stake in the Washington Post lost a quarter of its value.29 Ordinarily he would have bought more. However, he had promised Graham that he wouldnt. Instead, he recommended it to his friends.30 So instead of buying more Post stock, Buffettwho had always believed in concentrationlooked for new opportunities and began filling his basket faster than an Easter egg hunt with huge quantities of a handful of other stocks: National Presto, maker of pressure cookers and popcorn poppers,31 and a huge chunk of Vornado Realty Trust, which put him on its board.32 Buffett had a set of legacy shareholders at Berkshire Hathaway who understood his investing approach and would never question his judgment. Thus he had earned the luxury of ignoring Mr. Market, which had marked down the value of his portfolio to a fire-sale price. Others were not so lucky. Bill Ruanes Sequoia Fund was headed for a terrible year, and Ruanes main financial backer, Bob Malott, was apparently unhappy. Malott knew Ruane from Harvard and they had shared an apartment when Ruane was working at Kidder, Peabody in New York. But Malott was sold on Buffetts approach and track record; he asked for Buffetts help with the pension fund of FMC Corporation, the company he now headed. So Buffett went to San Diego and spent several days interviewing investment managers and explaining his thinking to FMCs investment people. In the process, he converted them to Grahamites with what would eventually become powerful results. At first he said no to the request of managing the portfolio himselfthen eventually agreed to manage a portion.33 Along with his acceptance, however, he gave a warning: FMC would come last among his priorities, after Berkshire and Diversified, and Warren and Susie Buffett. The canny Malott jumped at the opportunity anyway, not mistaking the larger point: That Buffett was willing to do it at all meant that he would do it well.34 *** Between his duties at FMC, Vornado, Blue Chip, and Wesco, and regular trips to New York, Buffett was now traveling much of the time. He was also busy courting Katharine Graham and had made such a good impression on her that she began to call him for advice. Susie made the rounds of Omaha, busy with the board of the Urban League, still giving out her scholarships, and taking on her latest crusade, the Future Central Committee, which was trying to save her alma mater, Central High School, from forced busing.35 As 1973 progressed, even Hamilton the dog must have noticed the silence and emptiness descending on the Buffetts crazy, noisy home.36 Howie was two hundred and seventy-five miles away from Omaha at Augustana College. Susie Jr., unhappy with Lincoln, had transferred to the University of California, Irvine, where she was majoring in criminal justice.37 Peter, the child who had never required attention, was now a sophomore in high school. Thinking of moving to California, Susie had taken him to look at schools in Orange County. They stayed in Omaha, however, and now Peter spent much of his time in the basement, where Susie, who had gotten him interested in photography, had built him a darkroom.38 Often now Susie stayed up late at night alone, listening to music that transported her to some different place.39 She loved the jazz guitar of Wes Montgomery and great soul music, like the Temptations, who sang of a world in which it was men who felt all the longing.40 She read books like I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelous autobiographical account of overcoming the forces of racism, sexual abuse, and repression that made her early years a prison. The idea of being confined in a place not of your choosing ran deep for her, Peter saysnot surprising after her childhood shut away in a sickroom, and growing up with a sister who was disciplined by being locked in a closet. Susie longed for romance, but now knew that she and Milt were never going to get married. Nevertheless, she could not bring herself to give up her connection to Milt. She was also spending more time with her tennis crowd of younger people at Dewey Park. One, John McCabe, a coach with a subdued personality, a sadness somewhat like her own, and a certain fragility, resembled most of her other lonelyhearts, but she seemed particularly drawn to him.41 Now that Susie had reasons to be away from the house most of the time, the hubbub began to dim, her hangers-on hung out with Susie elsewhere, and the rhythm of the house slowed from its all-day carnival atmosphere. Peter, never much attuned to his parents lives, noticed only the growing silence, not its cause. When he got home from school, he petted Hamilton, made something for himself for dinner, and headed downstairs to the darkroom.42 Warrens conception of his marriage had never changed, even though the marriage itself was changing inexorably. When he was home, Susie still seemed just as devoted to him as ever. He saw how active and busy she was and wanted her to be fulfilled, as long as she continued to take care of himwhich he assumed was fulfilling to her. As far as he knew, the balancing act that had always worked for them still did. *** The retired Warren was investing at full throttle ahead in late 1973, in the midst of a market swoon. Between Cap Cities and the Washington Post and his growing friendship with Kay Graham, his interest in media over the past few years had permutated into a deep understanding of the subject at all levels. One night at dinner in Laguna Beach, he and Carol Loomis started strafing Buffetts friend Dick Holland, who worked in advertising, with questions about the advertising business. Whenever he did that, Holland recalls, I always knew something was cooking. The four of them talked business while Susie and Mary Holland, in purdah, entertained themselves. Sure enough, as a secondary way to play media, Buffett got on the phone to his trader and plunked down almost $3 million for the stocks of advertising agencies Interpublic, J. Walter Thompson, and Ogilvy & Mather, stocks so distressed he paid less than three times their earnings. While he was buying, however, most of the stocks that Buffett had accumulated were faltering. As 1974 began, stocks for which he had paid $50 million had lost a quarter of their value. Berkshire, too, started to slide, down to $64 per share. Some of the former partners who had kept the stock began to worry about whether they had made a mistake. Buffett saw it just the opposite way. He wanted to buy more Berkshire and Blue Chip. But Id run out of gas. I had used all the $16 million of cash I got out of the partnership to buy stock in Berkshire and Blue Chip. So all of a sudden I woke up one day and had no money at all. I was getting $50,000 a year salary from Berkshire Hathaway and some fees from FMC.43 But I had to start my personal net worth over again from zero. He was now very, very rich but cash-poor. The companies he controlled, especially Berkshire Hathaway, had cash to buy stocks, however. To move some of Berkshires money to Diversified, Buffett set up a reinsurance companya company that insures other insurers44in Diversified. This company, Reinsurance Corp. of Nebraska, agreed to take part of National Indemnitys business, receiving premiums and covering losses. Because National Indemnity was so profitable and generated so much floatpremiums paid ahead of claims, i.e., cashsending part of its business to Diversified was like sending a pipeline into a river of money. As time passed, it would give Diversified millions more dollars to invest.45 Buffett began to buy stocks for Diversified. Principally he followed the Wattles model and bought stock in Blue Chip and Berkshire Hathaway. Soon, Diversified owned ten percent of Berkshire. It was almost as though Berkshire was buying back its own stockbut not quite. Diversifieds owners and Berkshires werent the same. Buffett still forbade his friends to buy Berkshirewhereas he, Munger, and Gottesman were partners in Diversified.46 At the time, even though the three did each other business favors and swapped stock ideas on occasion, their interests didnt necessarily align. Asked later under oath if he was Buffetts alter ego, Munger said no. He acknowledged similar mannerisms and ways of speech. But Ive never chosen a role of being a junior partner, he said. I like the idea of having a sphere of activity of my own.47 On one occasion, Munger said, he had found a block of Blue Chip stock that he and Gottesman wanted to buy for Diversified. Buffett wanted to take the block away from them and buy it for Berkshire Hathaway. After a discussionclearly about who needed it morethe combined strength of Munger and Gottesman had somehow overpowered Buffett, and Diversified got the stock.48 At least that way they kept a little share. Still, Buffett did own forty-three percent of Diversified, so its purchases of Berkshire had added almost five percent to his personal ownership. Buying through Diversified was particularly attractive in that it tended not to ratchet up Berkshires stock price. Hardly anybody was paying attention.49 But why did he want it at all? Berkshire was not worth more than forty bucks as a business. You couldnt have sold the textile mills and insurance business for more. And half the money was in a lousy business, I mean a really lousy business: twenty bucks a share of the forty bucks. And I didnt know what I was going to do, I literally didnt. I mean, I was rich enough already. But in effect, I was betting that I could do something. I was betting on myself. And though it sounds egotistical, anybody who might have thought it was worth more than forty bucks was purely paying for me. Because the company was not worth that. He didnt know what he was going to do, except invest. Verne McKenzie, who had returned from New Bedford to become Berkshires controller, thought that to Buffett, it simply looked like an interesting game. All he was doing was solidifying his control. That he was, and doing so in the manner in which he always approached investingas a collector, one who bought in secrecy to avoid tipping off other bargain hunters. But as the chairman of Berkshire Hathaway and Diversified, he was once again mostly buying from sellers who had been his former partners. Although perfectly legal, it was not exactly sporting conduct. But their willingness to sell, in his mind, ended his special obligation to them. Buffett had also been buying Blue Chip Stamps all along, though so far, Blue Chip had remained primarily Mungers province. It owned the best of the businesses, however, namely Sees. Now Buffett began to pursue Blue Chip stock like a great white shark after a well-fed seal. Since he had far greater financial resources, Buffetts ownership percentage of Blue Chip quickly surpassed the combined interest of his partners in that stock, Munger and Rick GuerinMungers associate from the Pacific Coast Stock Exchange, who now ran an investment partnership of his own. Buffett bought Blue Chip wherever he could get it. He bought from Blue Chips management and from other directors. One of these, Z. Wayne Griffin, asked $10.25 to Buffetts bid of $10. Reaching an impasse on the phone, Buffett recalls that Griffin suggested they flip a coin. He was taken aback by Griffins willingness to do this, sight unseen. From that fact alone, Buffett realized not only that Griffin trusted him, but that he had already Buffetted himself. Griffin called it heads. Obviously, if he made such a bet, he was willing to take the ten bucks, which he did. Buffetts accumulation of all these stocks, however, differed from his buying in the era of cheap cigar butts. Two large question marks hung over Blue Chip, Diversified, and Berkshire. As Buffett solidified control, all that money pouring in to both Berkshire and Diversified from the insurance business would have to be put to good use. And the bet on Blue Chips legal problems would have to work out. By year-end 1973, Blue Chip had settled eleven lawsuits.50 All that remained was the Justice Departments ruling that it divest one-third of its business. That would not be easy because the Presidents freeze on food prices is another knee in the groin for us, Don Koeppel wrote. The grocers are screaming, predicting huge losses, bankruptcy in some cases.51 Inflation had run rampant, President Nixon had frozen prices on commodities to try to halt it, and commerce had entered a new era of trying to match rising costs to frozen consumer prices. The stamp business was dead, but Buffett, the implacable acquirer, had his stock. After this series of trading gyrations, Blue Chip had Wattled its way into the set of Russian dolls. It was the same principle, Buffett says. Including all the pockets in which he had bought shares indirectly, he owned more than forty percent of Berkshire and more than twenty-five percent of Blue Chip Stamps. Even though these stocks traded at depressed prices, he could fund more deals and buy more stocks because all of the dolls had their own self-charging batteries, float, cash that could be invested in advance of paying claims. This innovation dramatically improved the deal. The operating businesses themselves had also improved since the dismal days of windmills and fire maps. Along with Sees, Berkshire owned not only the whopping float-generator National Indemnity but also a clutch of little insurance companies that Buffett hoped would eventually turn into small power-houses, even though he was struggling to whip them into shape. Meanwhile, the deadweight of Hochschild-Kohn had disappeared and Buffett kept shrinking the textile mills. But in the bigger picture, what Berkshire, Diversified, and Blue Chip really possessed were two things. The first was the homeostatic business modelthe idea of grafting float onto a holding company so that it could respond internally to the changing environment. The second was the power of compounding, as float and investments doubled and redoubled over time. The novelty and strength of Buffetts model cannot be overstated. Nothing else like it existed, or would for years to come. That was the golden period of textbook capital allocation, he says. The timing was stupendous. Capital from the insurance companies was pouring into Berkshire and DRC at the same time that the market was collapsing, the environment that Buffett liked best. While he had not yet decided exactly what to do with the collective enterprise he had built by the end of 1974, of two things he was certain. One was the business models power, and the other his skill in using it. Above all, he had confidence in himself. Always, he says. Always. 39 The Giant Omaha and Los Angeles 19731976 Howard Buffett was one of those rare people who prospered in the aftermath of the 1929 stock market crash. Now his sons star was rising during the second great crash of the century.1 But the world had changed; stardom, even in business, now meant fame. Buffett had closed his partnership during a media explosion in the United States in which cable had transformed television, newspaper companies were going public, and advertising was still in a golden age of selling to a monolithic audience in which virtually the whole nation sat down together on Tuesday nights and watched Happy Days. Buffett had entered the media world as an investor drawn to the business by a natural affinity. But as he embarked on a new, post-partnership phase of life, through the publicity he got from the Forbes story in 1969 and then from the Supermoney profile, he began to enjoy the fruit of the discreet use of profile-raising press. Now he was a subject of media interest, not just a media investor; and no less a personage than Katharine Graham was paying him attention and taking him seriously, which had brought him into the orbit of one of the most important newspapers in the United States. As was her habit with powerful men, Graham reached out to him for help. Buffett needed little encouragement. The first time she was going to speak to the New York Society of Security Analysts, I went over there to her apartment in New York on a Sunday morning to help her write her speech. She was a basket case. She was terrified that all these men were going to be there and she was going to have to stand up in front of them. Public speaking was something that was very hard for her always. The funny thing is, she had a great sense of humor, she was smart, but she tended to freeze in front of a crowd. Particularly if she thought they were going to question her about numbers. As Robert Redford had said in an interview after first meeting her to discuss the Watergate movie All the Presidents Men, Graham had a tight-jawed, blue-blooded quality that demanded that her privacy not be invaded. Why, therefore, Redford asked himself, did she keep making speeches and accepting awards?2 particularly since it terrified her to do it. Buffett sat down in the living room of Grahams large apartment situated on an upper floor of the modern UN Plaza, overlooking New York Citys East River. Surrounded by Asian art and antiques from Agnes Meyers collection, they started to work. She kept imagining these questions they were going to ask, like how much are you paying for your newsprint per ton? She thought it was a quiz. And I said it doesnt make any difference. Youre paying what other people are paying for newsprint, so what? But that was a big thing. She was just convinced. I kept trying to get her away from trying to remember facts. Just have a theme. Graham wanted to say that good journalism makes good profits. Buffett snorted to himself over this notion and refocused her. You know, good journalism is not inconsistent with good profits, or something like that. The hell with all the other stuff. I just tried to convince her that she was a hell of a lot smarter than all those dumb males that were out there. Thats what really sort of bonded us initially. In an ironic turnabout, Buffett became Kay Grahams personal Dale Carnegie instructor. He, of all people, could sympathize with someone who tended to freeze in front of a crowd. Moreover, thanks to Susies gentle tutelage over the years, he had learned a subtler way of dealing with people. He knew how to anticipate their reactions and to phrase things in a nonthreatening way. His letters, which had always been self-conscious, were now more deftly worded and empathetic. He had learned to listen and show interest in other people and to converse on topics other than stocks. It helped that he was genuinely fascinated by Graham. After they finished preparing and rehearsing, Graham said she was going to a party at the Agnellis that night. You might find the sightseeing entertaining, she said. Why dont you come with me? Buffett always stressed how uncomfortable and out-of-place he felt at glamorous events and how uninterested he was in attending them. So he told Graham that, yes, he would go. That evening he left his room at the Plaza to pick up Graham and ride to the Upper East Side. We were this very improbable coupleher mid-fifties, me early forties, and we got to this apartment, which was more than an apartment, it was like a triplex, it was huge. And everybody was bowing and scraping to Kay. There was every character from the party scene in the film La Dolce Vita. I was the required walk-on, the potted plant. You wanted it to go in slow motion so you could see everything. Gianni Agnelli, the head of Fiat, and his wife, Marella, werent there. It was almost like a costume party, except it wasnt. Buffett returned to Omaha afterward having seen a new side of Graham. As he continued getting to know her on a personal level, he saw her as a bundle of paradoxes. Fearful but willful. Patrician but democratic. Wounded by the people she cared most about. He was surprised how much she still talked about her former husband a decade after his suicide. When you first met her, she would often get off on the subject of Phil very quickly, almost like Charlie getting off on a subject. And she described him in terms that were sort of hard to believe, considering how badly he treated her. But after I got to know her better, she told me everything about him and the relationship. She had found it impossible to conceive of herself as being in the same league as him. She felt she was a fraud, almost, even pretending to be in the same room with him. They used to hang out a lot with the Kennedys, and she just felt that she shouldnt be there. Anything he said was funny, anything he did was right. When he used to chop up the children right in front of her, she wouldnt stop himI mean, the whole thing. That he and Grahamwho showed the aftereffects of an upbringing by a cruel, neglectful mother and years of abuse by a sadistic husband with untreated bipolar disorderwould be mutually attracted seems almost a foregone conclusion given Buffetts own childhood experiences. He knew how to behave around her in a way that wasnt threatening. By the spring of 1974, she began to switch her allegiance from her other advisers to him. In turn, he seized the chance to tutor the CEO of the Washington Post Company about business as if he had been waiting to play Pygmalion all his life: his very own Eliza Doolittle. More patient than Henry Higgins, he coached her gently and sent helpful, interesting articles to Kay and to her son Don. As Buffetts influence grew stronger, Graham noticed that the words Warren says brought shudders from some of her board members.3 But Buffett himself was hoping to be invited onto that board. When Tom Murphy had approached him to join the Cap Cities board, Buffett told him no, he was holding out for the Post.4 Murphy dutifully spilled this news to Graham, who felt dense for not having figured it out herself.5 Susie thought that instead of taking on more business responsibilities, her husband should sell some of their stock and use it for a higher cause. Riding with him in a taxi in Washington, D.C., she pointed out philanthropist Stewart Mott, who was running the Stewart R. Mott Charitable Trust, which gave money to peace, arms control, and population and family-planning causes. The Buffetts were now richer than Mott, who had started with $25 million. Why dont you quit? Susie said. Stewart Mott is doing all these other things now and he doesnt have to work every day. But Warren was incapable of quitting; he fell back on his philosophy that $50 million today would be worth $500 million someday. Nonetheless, he was not entirely disengaged from his family nor insensitive to his wife. He had picked up some vibrations from Susie, a sense that she wanted more from her life. With Peter moving along in high school, Warren told her, Susie, youre like someone who has lost his job after twenty-three years. Now what are you going to do? Photo Insert Two Image 24 In 1945, Warren and Lou Battistone lusted after Abbye Pudgy Stockton, the pioneer in womens weight-lifting. Image 25 Warren sang and played the ukulele every morning before work at an employee pep rally in the basement of JC Penneys, where he sold menswear and mens furnishings in 1949. Image 26 Warren pretends to pick the pocket of his fraternity brother Lenny Farina in 1948. Image 27 In 1951, Warren dated Vanita Mae Brown, who was Princess Nebraska in the 1949 National Cherry Blossom Festival, as well as Miss Nebraska 1949. Image 28 Susan Thompson and Warren Buffett beaming at their wedding, April 19, 1952. Image 29 Susie Thompson as a preschooler. Image 30 Warren posing as a prisoner on his honeymoon, April 1952. Image 31 An undated photograph of Graham-Newman partners Jerome Newman and Benjamin Graham. Image 32 Warren teaching one of his early investing classes, probably Sound Investing in Stocks, at the University of Omaha, 1950s. Image 33 Susie Buffett in New York City, holding daughter Susie Jr. during a visit with Ben and Estey Graham. Estey is holding the Buffetts new baby, Howard Graham Buffett. Image 34 Susie with, clockwise, Peter, Howie, and Susie Jr., in the mid-1960s. Image 35 Charlie Munger as a baby in his father Al Mungers arms, already wearing his trademark skeptical expression. Image 36 Buffett and his partner Charlie Munger in the 1980s. Buffett calls them Siamese twins, practically. Image 37 First meeting of the Graham Group at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, 1968. Left to right: Buffett, Robert Boorstin (a friend of Grahams), Ben Graham, David Sandy Gottesman, Tom Knapp, Charlie Munger, Jack Alexander, Henry Brandt, Walter Schloss, Marshall Weinberg, Buddy Fox (in profile), and Bill Ruane. Roy Tolles took the photograph and Fred Stanback could not attend. Image 38 The Buffetts in the mid-1970s. Left to right, Howie (holding Hamilton), Susie, Peter (behind Susie), Warren, Susie Jr. Image 39 Susie Buffett glows in sequins before one of her singing performances at Omahas French Caf, shortly before she moved to San Francisco. Image 40 The Buffetts celebrate the Pulitzer Prize awarded to the Sun Newspapers after the Boys Town expos. Image 41 Susie Buffett Jr. at her November 1983 wedding to Allen Greenberg, who later became executive director of the Buffett Foundation. Image 42 Buffett and Washington Post publisher Kay Graham began a close, lifelong friendship in 1973. Image 43 Astrid Menks in 1974, age 28. Four years later Susie Buffett encouraged her to take care of Warren, and she ended up moving in with him. Image 44 Russian immigrant Rose Blumkin overcame hardship to build the largest furniture store in North America. She worked until age 103, a benchmark Warren often cites for himself. Image 45 Buffett at home in his kitchen, wearing a favorite threadbare sweater. Image 46 Buffett playing bridge with George Burns in 1991, at Burnss 95 birthday at the Hillcrest Country Club in Los Angeles. Not shown: Charlie Munger and a sign reading: No smoking by anyone under 95. Image 47 Throwing out the first pitch before the Omaha Royals home opener, April 11, 2003. The answer, she said, was sing. Her nephew Billy Rogers had made her some instrumental guitar tracks so that she could tape herself and listen to her performances. Rogers had been playing jazz guitar at Mr. Toads, Spaghetti Works, and other clubs in Omaha, and along with him, Susie was now a familiar face in the local music scene. But when she first started practicing, I was scared, really scared, she said. I was bad. The last time she had performed in public was ten years before at a charity benefit at Central High. So she got coaching and worked on contemporary love songs and ballads. Susie first debuted as a chanteuse that July, before a friendly audience at a private party at Emerald Bay. People seemed to like it pretty well, she said.6 And it thrilled her husband to see his friends applauding his wifes talent. *** While the Buffetts were in Emerald Bay that summer, Warren invited Graham for a visit in connection with a trip she was making to speak to an analysts meeting in Los Angeles. Sensing that Graham was going to talk to him about joining the Post board, Buffett had been dancing around his office at Kiewit Plaza for days ahead of time, happy and excited as a kid on Christmas Eve.7 The Buffetts house at Emerald Bay, down a steep driveway set well back from the beach, still had the feeling of a modest rental house; it lacked most of the personal touches that spoke of a family. Warren had no sense of what kind of impression the place might make on Graham, who owned several enormous, impeccably decorated and maintained mansions, including the farm at Glen Welby and a vast, shingle-style waterfront estate on Marthas Vineyard. Apparently, however, he must have impressed upon his wife that they would have to make an unusual effort for Graham. The first morning after Kay arrived, Susie rose at an unheard-of hour and feigned domesticity: She cooked a full breakfast for the three of them, which both of the Buffetts pretended to eat. Her husband spent the rest of the day wrapped up in Graham, talking to her about newspapers, journalism, politics, and bringing up every opportunity for her to invite him on the board. At some point, he put down his newspapers, donned a bathing suit purchased specially for the occasion, picked up a brand-new beach umbrella bought in Grahams honor, and left the house with Graham to walk the hundred or so yards down a steep path to the shore to join the family. Previously, his attitude toward the ocean had been: I think having the ocean nearby is an attractive feature, and fun to listen to at night, and all that kind of stuff. But actually getting in itI feel Ill save that for my old age. But now, after sitting on the sand for a bit, looking at the water, he waded gamely into the Pacific. By all reports, Susie and the Buffett kids went into convulsions of laughter at the odd sight. What Susie thought about this extraordinary gesture is not known. But Warrens explanation of it is on record: Only for Kay, he says. Only for Kay. On Sunday morning, they dropped their company manners and Susie sleepwalked through cooking bacon and eggs for Graham, eating nothing herself, while Warren sat nearby spooning chocolate Ovaltine from a jar.8 After breakfast, he and Graham resumed their tte--tte. At some point, Graham told him that she wanted him to join her board but was waiting for the right time. She knew that some of her board members, such as Andr Meyer, would not welcome Buffett. But he asked, When is the right time? thus forcing her to make up her mind. And so in short order it was done; they agreed that Buffett would join the board of the Washington Post Company. He was elated. That afternoon, Buffett left his family at Emerald Bay and drove Graham to the Los Angeles airport. On the way, all of a sudden, she looked at me like a three-year-old kid. Her voice changed, and her eyes, and she said, basically pleading, Just be gentle with me, please dont ever assault me. I learned later that Phil and some people at the paper, to get their own ends or for sheer enjoyment, would push her buttons just to watch her fall apart. It was cruel on the part of Phil; it was manipulative on the part of the rest. It was very easy to do; the button still worked. At summers end, on September 11, 1974, Buffett officially joined the board, which catapulted him from a star investment manager from Omaha to official adviser at one of the most important media companies in the world. Even at that first meeting he could see that Graham had a habit of pleading with the board for help. Buffett thought, This wont do. You cant put yourself in that position as a CEO. But he didnt yet know her well enough to say anything. Instead, he educated himself about the Post board, which was full of many prominent and influential people, and began to tiptoe his way through the powerful, jockeying men who were used to dominating Graham. He was a quiet board member, however, and used his skills behind the scenes. Buffett at the time was preoccupied with far more than just Kay Graham and the Washington Post. The market, which investors had expected to rally in 1974, instead was in the full throes of collapse. Pension-fund managers had cut back their stock purchases by more than eighty percent. Berkshires own portfolio looked as though someone had given it a severe hedge trimming, shearing off nearly one-third in the second Great Crash, the kind that comes along only a few times in a century. Munger had kept his partnership open after Buffett had shuttered his. Now its value was plunging. His performance had always been more volatilein both directionsthan the markets. For the past couple of years he had managed decent though unspectacular returns. But by 1974 Munger found himself in trouble, his partners losing nearly half of their money.9 Like Ben Graham half a century earlier, he felt obliged to make their money back. If youre put together properly, you have a fiduciary gene like Warren and me, he says, and if youve told people, I think I can get you extraordinary results, then you really hate the idea of not delivering for them. As for himself, Certainly the quoted value of my capital went down. I didnt like it, but just think about how many years could go bywhat difference does it make at the end whether I have X dollars, or X minus Y? The only thing that bothered me was that I knew how hard it was on the partners. That was what killed methe fiduciary aspect of my position.10 Munger still had about twenty-eight limited partners, including some family trusts. To earn back losses of half his capital, he would have to more than double the remaining stake. The value of Blue Chip Stamps would have a significant bearing on whether he could accomplish that. Bill Ruanes Sequoia Fund was also in trouble. It had started with $50 million from Buffetts former partners and invested its money well by taking large positions in undervalued stocks like Tom Murphys Capital Cities Communications. This was not the kind of stock that money managers who had piled into glamour television and electronics stocks a few years earlier were buying now. They had galloped all at the same time straight the other way, into the arms of the Nifty Fifty, a small group of the largest, best-known companies.11 In this business, Ruane said, you have the innovators, the imitators, and the swarming incompetents. The imitators and the swarming incompetents were now at the wheel, and the stocks that Ruane and his partner Rick Cunniff had bought in 1970 had been cut in half. Compounding their problems, they had bought a seat on the New York Stock Exchange just before prices for seats fell over a cliff.12 The timing of Sequoias opening was obviously inauspiciousRuane had agreed to start up just as Buffett was shutting down due to lack of opportunities. Sequoia had underperformed the market every yearcumulatively by a dramatic amount.13 The Sequoia Funds worst year yet was 1973; it had lost twenty-five percent, compared to the markets loss of fifteen percent. It was on its way to another terrible year in 1974. Ruanes largest backer, Bob Malott, was incensed. He was already known as a ballbuster around the halls of Ruane, Cunniff for his habit of calling to complain about minor discrepancies in his familys accounts. Now, he berated Ruane for buying a seat on the exchange and for his poor performance with such persistence that Ruane feared he would pull his capital out of the firm.14 Buffett, however, remained serene in the knowledge that Mr. Markets opinion of a stocks price at any time had no bearing on its intrinsic value. He knew which stocks Ruane and his partners had bought and was confident that they had made good decisions. If not exactly an ego booster, because of the snooty staff, Buffetts 1969 meeting of the Grahamites at the Colony Club had at least provided mutual support in a challenging market. Since then Buffett had named them the Graham Group; Ed Anderson had planned the third outing in Williamsburg; Charlie Munger the fourth in Carmel, California. In 1971, Buffett made the meetings biennial. Out of loyalty, he let Ruane invite Malotta favor normally verbotenand Malott and his wife, Ibby, became members for the next meeting in Sun Valley in 1973, planned by Rick Guerin. Malott, mightily impressed by the whole affair, stayed in Ruanes fold, even though his complaints continued at a frequency and volume that still made Ruane fear his defection. By the end of 1974, however, while the market was down by more than twenty-five percent, the Sequoia Fund had at least managed to produce a smaller loss than the markets. Nonetheless, the markets cumulative toll on the Sequoia Fund was such that Henry Brandt and John Loomis, Carols husband, both of whom had gone to work there, feared the worst and cast off from what seemed a sinking ship.15 Forbes captured Buffetts attitude in an interview that November, which opened with a juicy quote: Asked how he felt about the market, Like an over-sexed man in a harem, Buffett replied. This is the time to start investing.16 He went on to say, This is the first time I can remember that you could buy Phil Fisher [growth] stocks at Ben Graham [cigar butt] prices. He felt this was the most significant statement that he could make, but Forbes didnt include it; a general audience wouldnt understand the references to Fisher and Graham.17 When Forbes asked for specific stock ideas, instead of mentioning what he was buying or had bought, Buffett turned impish and did one of his little experiments to see how well the reporter had researched him via other Forbes articles. A water company is pretty simple, he said, adding that Blue Chip owned five percent ofSan Jose Water Works. The reporter took the bait; San Jose Water Works went in the story with no reference to the earlier piece insinuating hed bought it using insider information. But despite his enthusiasm for the market so far in 1974, he had invested at a trickle, and mostly moved money around into Studebaker-Worthington, Handy & Harman, Harte-Hanks Newspapers, and Multimedia, Inc., and added to his Coldwell Banker position. He bumped up a few of his other shareholdings by ten or twenty percent. He had also bought 100,000 shares of Blue Chip from Rick Guerin. He sold me at five bucks because he was getting squeezed, Buffett says. That was a brutal period. The harem comment had a double meaning: While it was, indeed, the time to start investing, Buffett, for the most part, could look but not touch. One of National Indemnitys business partners, an aviation broker, had run amok, selling money-losing aviation-insurance policies. The company had tried to stop the agent by revoking its authority but for several months was unable to shut it down.18 The accounting records were a shambles and the losses were unclear. National Indemnity had no idea how high the bill for the Omni affair would run, but worst-case estimates ran as high as tens of millions of dollars. The hope was that they were much less, because National Indemnity did not have tens of millions. Buffett was sweating.19 Within a couple of monthsby early 1975his problems compounded monumentally. Chuck Rickershauser, a partner from Mungers law firm, now renamed Munger, Tolles & Rickershauser, called him and Munger to say that the Securities and Exchange Commission was considering pressing charges against them for violating securities laws. What had seemed like a brewing but manageable problem had now exploded into a full-scale emergency. Rickershauser had first started doing legal work for Buffett and Munger during the Sees transaction. More recently he had been fighting a rear-guard action, ever since an SEC staff lawyer had called him and said he had some questions. Under the assumption that the matter was routine, Rickershauser had directed the man to Verne McKenzie, Berkshires controller. When McKenzies phone rang in Nebraska, he picked it up to find the head of the SECs Enforcement Division, Stanley Sporkin, the much-feared tough cop of the business world, on the other end of the line. Sporkin looked as though he spent his evenings hunched droopy-eyed under a desk lamp, personally drafting the charges against large corporations that for the first time in American history had frightened a remarkable number of them into settling with the SEC without ever setting foot in court.20 On the phone, he interrogated McKenzie on a wide range of subjects, from Wesco to Blue Chip to Berkshire and beyond. His tone was not friendly, but this, McKenzie had assumed, was simply his modus operandi. On the other hand, McKenzie did get the impression that Sporkin thought if you were rich, you must have done something wrong.21 When Rickershauser heard that Sporkin, rather than a staff lawyer, had personally called and grilled McKenzie at length, he nearly had a heart attack. Sporkins batting average had made his jowly profile among the most recognizable in American business. In a practical sense he had more power than his boss, the chairman of the SEC. What seemed to have drawn the SECs attention was a project of nearly two years in which Buffett and Munger were trying to delicately untangle the many strands of spaghetti that connected the several companies they owned. Their first step had been to try to merge Diversified, the least essential piece, into Berkshire Hathaway. By 1973, Diversified had become little more than a vehicle for buying Berkshire and Blue Chip stock. But the Securities and Exchange Commissionwhose approval was requiredhad delayed the Diversified deal. Munger had told Buffett that this was not anything serious. He directed Rickershauser to invite anyone in the SEC who had questions to call him directly, if this will expedite his work and clearance of our papers.22 Instead, over the next eighteen months, the SEC staff seemed to have nosed around looking at Blue Chip Stamps and other investments; it concluded that Buffett and Munger had smashed up the WescoSanta Barbara deal deliberately by offering a high price for a quarter of the stock for the purpose of taking over the rest. At least, that must have been how it looked to Santa Barbara, for it had apparently turned in Blue Chip to the SEC.23 For the first time they all realized that Blue Chip was in trouble.24 No sooner had Buffett achieved the glory of joining the Post board than his and Mungers need for legal services was about to grow with stunning rapidity. Rickershauser, who already knew what it was like to work with Buffett, had once explained to a colleague that The sun is nice and warm, but you dont want to get too close to it.25 He would spend the next couple of years testing what could be called Rickershausers Law of Thermodynamics. In February 1975, the SEC issued subpoenas and launched a full-blown investigation of Blue Chips purchase of Wesco: In the Matter of Blue Chip Stamps, Berkshire Hathaway Incorporated, Warren Buffet [sic], HO-784. The commission staff speculated that Buffett and Munger had committed fraud: Blue Chip, Berkshire, Buffet [sic], singly or in concert with othersmay have engaged in acts which have, directly or indirectly, operated as a device, scheme, or artifice to defraud; or included an untrue statement of a material fact or omitted The commissions lawyers zeroed in on a theory that Blue Chip had planned from the beginning to take over Wesco Financial but had not disclosed that fact; that Blue Chips purchases of stock after the Santa Barbara deal dissolved must have been tender offers that were never registered with the SEC.26 This latter charge was most serious and carried with it the risk that the SEC would file, with great fanfare and publicity, civil fraud charges not only against Blue Chip but also against Buffett and Munger personally. In considering action against a target, Sporkin had a choice. He could prosecute or settle. A settlement was a way of allowing the target to say sorry without having to officially admit guilt; it neither consented to nor denied the charge of fraud but agreed to accept a penalty. And in agreeing to a settlement, the SEC could also choose whether to name the individuals involved or simply to make a deal with the company itself without naming anybody. Being named in a settlement might not be the literal end of someones career, but there would be no elephant-bumping afterward. Having so recently been elevated into the high and mighty through Supermoney and Forbes and the board of the Washington Post, Buffett began to fight desperately to save his reputation. Instead, the investigation widened. Under subpoena, Buffett had to open his fileswhich, naturally, represented a huge and comprehensive collection of documents, just as huge and comprehensive as everything he had ever collected. In violation of his cherished privacy, lawyers from Munger, Tolles sifted out trade tickets, information about recent stock purchases, memos to bankers, letters to Sees Candies, notes to Verne McKenzie at the textile mill, and the like and shipped them off to investigators in Washington, D.C. Buffett felt persecuted. He and Munger were being chased in a nightmare by a huge, lumbering giant. To survive, they would have to outrun it. Letters flew back and forth like shuttlecocks between Munger, Tolles and the SEC. Buffett maintained a veneer of calm, but his back problems were plaguing him. Munger did not hide his agitation. By March 1975, the investigation had wound its way to a command performance at the SEC. Betty Peters was hauled in. Is your lawyer here? they asked. No. Do I need a lawyer? she replied. Well, everybody comes with a lawyer, they told her. Dont you just want to know what happened? she asked. They interviewed Peters without a lawyer. Munger was summoned. For two daysalso unaccompanied, for what additional legal counsel could Charles T. Munger possibly need?he tried to defend Blue Chip against the charge that it was trying to bust up the Santa Barbara merger and to explain why Blue Chip had paid more than was strictly necessary for Wescos stock. Yes, Blue Chip had thought about getting control, he said, but those plans were only remote and contingent until the Santa Barbara merger blew up. This discussion became somewhat circular given his and Buffetts role in talking to Vincenti and their admitted wooing of Betty Peters and the Casper familys votes. Munger had a regrettable tendency to interrupt and lecture the SEC staff lawyer, Larry Seidman. We wanted to look very fair and equitable to Lou Vincenti and Betty Peters, he said.27 But the SEC lawyers had never met the intractable Lou Vincenti. They could not possibly understand. What about your Blue Chip shareholders? Seidman asked. Seidman saw no reason for Blue Chip to be so generous to Wesco shareholders; Wescos stock by then was largely in the hands of arbitrageurs. These were people who had bought Wescos stock knowing it would rise to the price that Santa Barbara had offered once the deal closed. They partly hedged their bets by shorting Santa Barbaras stock, much as Graham-Newman had once bought Rockwood stock in exchange for cocoa-bean warehouse receipts. But when the Wesco deal blew up, it was as if the price of cocoa beans had collapsed.28 Why do the arbs a favor by propping up the price? Munger reached for his ultimate weaponBenjamin Franklin. We didnt feel our obligation to the shareholders was inconsistent with leaning over backward to be fair. We have that Ben Franklin idea that the honest policy is the best policy. It had a sort of shoddy mental image to us to try to reduce the price.29 Seidman seemed a little baffled by this argument, and even Munger admitted that the details of what had been done did not look good. He begged Seidman to look at the big picture. As you look at the overall records, we go way beyond any legal requirement in trying to be fair with people to observe the niceties of fair-dealing; I simply hope that you will reach the conclusion that this averages out as not an appropriate case for any sort of prosecution. If theres any defect at all, its not intentional. When Buffett appeared, they asked him why he and Munger hadnt let Wesco go into the tank so they could buy it cheap. I think the general business reputation of Blue Chip would not have been as good, Buffett said. I think someone might have been sore about it. But why should he care? Because, said Buffett, it was important how Wesco management feels about us. You can say, well, we own the controlling interest, so it doesnt make any difference. But Lou Vincenti doesnt really need to work for us. If he felt that we were, you know, slobs or something, it just wouldnt work. Now Buffettwho, like Munger, startled the enforcement lawyers by showing up alonemade himself helpful, venturing back to Washington several times, patiently explaining how Blue Chip worked, expounding on his investment philosophies, and talking about his childhood years in Washington. He made a favorable impression on Seidman, but not on the senior SEC staff lawyer who was in charge of the investigation, and who was known as a tiger whose motto was They shall not pass. He found these arguments unconvincing.30 The senior investigators attitude was that nobody who did anything close to the line would ever get by him.31 The SEC staff kept delving. It seemed fascinated by the intricacies and complications of Buffetts empire. It even started looking into whether he had traded on inside information about San Jose Water Works.32 The staff started kicking around Source Capital, the closed-end investment fund that Munger had bought a twenty percent interest in as a cigar butt and helped turn around. By then, the stock market had recovered. Ruanes Sequoia Fund had made a huge comeback in 1975, up almost sixty-two percent compared to thirty-seven percent for the market. Munger had just about made back his partners money, with a seventy-three percent gain in 1975. He took no fees for himself, and was winding his partnership down. Explaining why their convoluted empire made sense based on the cheap prices paid for stocks at the time grew harder as the market recovered. The investigation kept growing hairy legs like a tarantula. Rickershauser had been studying a chart that showed all of Buffett and Mungers complex financial interests. Buffett sat at the center, buying Blue Chip, Diversified, and Berkshire, Wattling them into so many pockets that it made Rickershauser shudder.33 Everyone knew Buffett, the great white shark, was virtually helpless to stop himself from acquiring these stocks. If he found ten bucks and spied a share of Blue Chip, Berkshire, or Diversified, he charged, grabbed, and threw the stock in the nearest drawer. After he and Munger had bought the first twenty-five percent of Wesco, Rickershauser had finally advised Buffett to buy stock only through formal tender offers to avoid the appearance of impropriety.34 The complex cross-holdings that Buffett had created made it seem as though he was trying to hide something. Rickershauser looked at the crazy diagram and fretted, Theres got to be an indictment in there somewhere.35 He didnt think the SEC would have enough evidence to convict, but it would be awfully easy to accuse. In the greater sense, Munger was a two-bit player, his financial stake minute compared with Buffetts. He had been snared as a petty accomplice. But since Blue Chip was his territory, he was a principal in the Wesco saga and thus played a central role in the SECs questioning.36 He admitted to Seidman, We do have a very complicated set of business affairs, and I think we have learned, to our regret, that that may not be too smart. But we tried to keep all the balls in the air and properly sequenized with the other balls and handle them honorably. Despite the pairs protestations and the fact that it could find nothing wrong with the San Jose Water Works or Source Capital deals, the SEC kept going. The tiger of a prosecutor now recommended to Sporkin that the SEC file charges against Buffett and Munger personally. He was unswayed by Buffetts and Mungers testimony and believed that they had intentionally quashed the Santa Barbara merger by overpaying for Wescos stock. He was unsympathetic to the who was harmed? explanation for paying more for the stock and thought the pair was splitting hairs too fine in its explanations of events.37 Rickershauser wrote Sporkin directly. He pleaded with him not to prosecute Buffett and Munger, individuals who value their good names and reputations as their most priceless possessions, because many people, probably most people, assume evil conduct on the part of anyone civilly prosecuted by the commission. Even if Buffett and Munger consented to a settlement without admitting or denying the charges, merely filing them would cause terrible, irreversible damage because the good reputation of the commission automatically and inexorably destroys the good reputation of the defendants. A giants strength should be used with great discretion, he urged. The risk from inadvertent oversights in business should not become so onerous that people who value their reputations are deterred from participation.38 He begged to save Buffetts and Mungers reputations by offering to consent to an order on minor, technical disclosure violations on behalf of Blue Chip only, as long as the consent decree did not name any individuals. The panic inside Buffetts mind can only be imagined. Within the office, he did his best to maintain an imperturbable facade so as not to alarm his office staff, any of whom might be interviewed by the SEC. Rickershauser worked like a stevedore to portray his clients as upstanding citizens from the perfect model families. He sent in biographies of Munger and Buffett to the SEC, stressing their charitable work, the many boards on which they served, Howard Buffetts tenure as a Congressman, and the millions of dollars of taxes that Buffett had paid to the government since filing his first tax return at age fourteen. Buffett obviously had been grinding away at this document as if his life depended on it. Munger was resigned. If a policeman follows you down the road for five hundred miles, he said to Buffett, youre going to get a ticket. Then Rickershauser made a further proffer to Sporkin, put delicately: The complex financial interests of Mr. Buffett and Mr. Mungerhave apparently raised the impression that compliance with various legal requirements is becoming difficult, he wrote, noting the pair had tried to comply with both the spirit and the letter of the law. They now wish to simplify their holdings as rapidly as they can.39 In their interviews, the SEC lawyers had already explored what simplifying would mean. Sometime in the future, it is certainly possible that we would merge Blue Chip with Berkshire, Buffett had responded to their question, but Blue Chip has a lot of legal problems, and until some of those are resolved, it might be hard to arrive at what we would feel reasonably sure would be a fair exchange ratio. If I had my preferences, it would be that someday they would be merged. So hopefully we would have more or less the same businesses we have now, but less complications. I dont really like these complications. It may look like I like these complications. I dont have a great staff to handle it all. It seemed fairly simple while we were doing it, he said, but not simple now.40 Asked by an SEC investigator if Buffett had contingency plans to simplify things, Oh, does he ever, said Munger. He has about twice as big a contingency plan as before this investigation started.41 In considering the proffer, says Sporkin today, much depended on Rickershauser. He was one of those few lawyers that Ive met in life that, whatever he told you, you could go to the bank on. Sporkin viewed Rickershauser as not only a brilliant lawyer but truthful, straightforward, and upright, incapable of being disingenuous. Rickershauser told Sporkin that Buffett was going to be the greatest person that Wall Street has ever seen and that he was the most decent, honorable person you would ever meet. Coming from almost anyone else, Sporkin would have dismissed this as rhetoric, but coming from Rickershauser, he took these statements to be both sincere and probably well-judged.42 Sporkin felt he had as great a duty to absolve as to convict. He thought that a prosecutor had to differentiate between a fundamentally honest person who had made a misstep and a crook. When it came to crooks, his job was to put em away. His view of Buffett and Munger was that they had certainly misstepped, but that they were not crooks.43 And so the giant tapped Blue Chip gently on the wrist.44 The company consented to an SEC finding in which it neither admitted nor denied that it failed to notify investors it was trying to bust the Santa Barbara merger in buying Wescos stock and that Blue Chip had artificially propped up Wescos market price over the course of three weeks.45 Blue Chip promised never again to do what it had not admitted it had done.46 The consent decree named no individuals. The publicity over the event had been trivial and would fade. Buffetts and Mungers records and reputations stayed clean. Two weeks later, the SEC named Buffett to a blue-ribbon panel to study corporate disclosure practices. It was forgiveness and, above all, a fresh start.47 40 How Not to Run a Public Library Washington, D.C. 19751976 One day in early 1975, Susie Buffetts friend Eunice Denenberg came over to the house and sat on the dog-hair-covered sofa in the family room. Susie turned her back so she wouldnt have to face her friend and turned on the tape deck. Then she sang. Denenberg pronounced approval. They talked about Susies dream of singing professionally, which she was too diffident to do anything about herself. Denenberg went home; then she called back the next day and said, This is your agent. She enlisted Bob Edson, an assistant music professor at Midland College, to create a backup band and got Susie a gig at the Steam Shed, a nightclub in Irvington, the tiny town on Omahas outskirts where she and Dottie had once formed the choir in her fathers church. Susie was nervous, but the rest of the family was enthusiastic. Only Doc Thompson, who said, I dont know why you want to sing in bars, had any doubts. The night of Susies first public performance, before a crowd made up of about thirty-five friends, she was so anxious that she asked Warren not to come. Talking and greeting people in a long sequined dress, she stalled until Denenberg pushed her out onto the stage. From Aretha Franklins Call Me, to Sinatras You Make Me Feel So Young, to Blood, Sweat & Tearss Youve Made Me So Very Happy, to what she said was one of her favorites, Roberta Flacks The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, her choice of music was soulful, passionate, and romantic. Susie found that the audience responded to and returned her warmth.1 The same pulse and flow she got from connecting with people individually came through in a wave when she sang to a group in an intimate space. This was her special gift, transmuted and magnified. She wanted to become a cabaret singer. A few weeks later, however, Susie was pulled away from rehearsals for her next performance to go to Carmel, California, to help her sister-in-law Bertie, whose youngest daughter, Sally, was dying of a brain tumor. Berties marriage to Charlie Snorf was crumbling at the same time. When Sally died, Bertie discovered that the tragedy had unlocked her frozen emotions. Sally was a wonderful person, amazing and intuitive and so strangely insightful about people and feelings for a sevenyear-old, Bertie says. Once she told me, Mom, you and Dad are lonely together. I think when someone dies whos very close to you, they will you something. When Sally died, what she willed to me was that I couldnt deny my feelings to myself anymore. It was like a copper wire went straight into my heart, and I couldnt cover up my feelings from then on. Bertie had always had a special relationship with Susie, but when her heart opened after Sally died, suddenly they connected on a different level. Susie was somebody I loved who was so important to me, says Bertie. She was the only person I could talk to about my feelings when there was nobody else in my family whom I could do that with. Her brother, however, reacted differently to his nieces death. He called some friends who had visited the Buffetts in Laguna and told them about Sally. We were so shocked because wed all been together a week or two before, says Mary Holland. I asked him what happened, and he said, I cant talk anymore, and got off the phone. Warren at the time had many distractions to assist him in evading his feelings. He was finishing up the SEC investigation. He was so fascinated with Kay Graham that he literally could not get enough of her. When Warren got obsessed with somethingespecially someone newhe could not stop thinking about it or them; this came across to a new person as a wholehearted, flattering, and even overwhelming attentiveness. When business arose, however, he snapped back to it in a split second with all the fierce intensity his steely mind could muster. As Munger put it, Buffett never let his minor obsessions interfere with his major obsession.2 Katharine Graham, however, was no minor obsession. Some time earlier, he had decided to see what sparks would fly when she brushed up against Munger, the greatest smart-ass he knew. Kay was the kind, if I gave topics of things for her to do, she was very dutiful. If I told her to read some terribly complicated financial statements, she was going to follow my instructions, no matter what. I told her, You have to meet Charlie. I was laying it on thick. Finally, she was out in Los Angeles and went to meet Charlie. So she sat down in that scrubby office of Charlies, and immediately she pulls out a yellow pad so she can take notes on what hes saying. Charlie just loved itthe idea that everything he was saying was so important that the most powerful woman in the world had to be taking it down as fast as he could talk. Munger could not resist this encouragement to show off. He had been corresponding with Graham, and wrote to her, You are taking me back thirty years or more and making me behave like Tom Sawyer with Becky Thatcher, and I figure that Warren is silly enough for both of us.3 But however giddily she might be making Warren behave, he was also taking Kay to business school in a serious way. Kay had had me trying to explain accounting to her on the side. Id bring these annual reports to Washington. And shed say, Oh, Warren, lessons. There I was, teaching again. He considered her son Don unbelievably smart, with as close to a photographic memory as anyone Ive ever run into. As a sign of reassurance to the family, Warren had signed the voting proxy on his shares over to Don. He now stayed at Kays house when he came to Washington for monthly board meetings. She didnt approve of the way he dressed, but I told her, Ill dress as well as Don dresses, Buffett says. He and I had a sort of united front. Buffett felt that Kay was very, very smart, and in many ways wise, as long as you didnt go into those areas where the wounds were. But she understood people well. As they grew more intimate, he felt he could say something to her about the way she presented herself to her board. He knew she was less needy than she herself realized. One day he took her aside and said, You cant plead for help anymore from the board. Its just not the position you want to be in. And so, he says, she quit. The business and personal ties between the Grahams and Buffett had become close enough that Warren invited Katharine and Don to join the Graham Group at their 1975 meeting, at Hilton Head. Don made an immediate impression with his unpretentious manner, while raising its already high average IQ. Many people quickly saw beneath Kays brittle, patrician veneer to the vulnerability and humility that had endeared her to Warren. Thus she fit easily with most of the group despite her queenly presence, worldliness, and connections. She made a sincere effort to get along with everyonealthough her deep belief that men were far superior to women wasnt lost on the women at the meeting. The beautifully dressed, perfectly coiffed Graham, an icon among them, would slide casually into a chair amid the men with a cocktail in her hand; somebody would utter a political opinion, and she would respond Henry thinks thus-and-sospeaking of Kissinger. It was impossible not to be impressed. Susie Buffett sang for the group for the first time at Hilton Head. Bill Ruane brought a chart showing the price of gold, which for five years had surged past Berkshire Hathaways. He asked, the others thought jokingly, whether he should be buying metal. It would turn out that he had, in fact, been buying gold coins, and made a nice bit of money on it.4 Henry Brandt pulled Buffett into a separate room and asked him to promise that Berkshire stock wouldnt drop below $40. By October 1975, the stock had been cut in half after trading at $93 just two years before. Look, I love you, Buffett recalls saying, but I cant promise you that. The world is ending, said Brandt, or words to that effect. Ive got every dollar I own in this stock. The world continued to end. Even though the rest of the stock market was recovering, Berkshire was not. Brandt panicked and called Buffett, who offered him $40 a share. Then Brandt called Walter Schloss and said, Warren will pay me forty dollars and I want fifty. What should I do? Schloss was the last champion of cigar butts. At the Graham Group meetings, the others razzed him about his buggy-whip portfolio of bankrupt steel companies and destitute auto-parts makers. So what, said Schloss. I dont like stress and I sleep well at night. He filled out the simple checklists, applying Grahams philosophy in its purest form. He went home from his desk in the closet at Tweedy, Browne at five oclock every evening, and his results were phenomenal. Now Schloss was dismayed to hear Brandt telling himself he was better off without Berkshire stock in a way that contravened this whole cigar-butt philosophy. Schloss worked on him for two hours, saying, Youve got the smartest guy in the world managing your money, in effect, and Warren doesnt charge you anything, youre making a big mistake to sell. I thought I convinced him, says Schloss. But the U.S. economy by then was in so much trouble that New York City was almost bankrupt; the country was in a mood of such profound pessimism that it affected peoples judgment. On Monday he called his broker, says Schloss, and began sellinghis wifes shares, not his ownuntil half their shares were gone.5 Immediately afterward, President Ford refused a bailout of the New York City economy; the New York Daily News captured the feeling of the times in a huge headline: Ford to City: Drop Dead.6 The partners who had been given Berkshire stock in 1970 when it was trading around $40 seemed no better off five years later. To anybody who held our stock, says Munger, it looked like not much was happening favorably for a long, long time. And that was not the way our partners, by and large, had previously experienced things. The paper record looked terrible, yet the future, what you might call the intrinsic record, the real business momentum, was gaining all the while. Buffetts own net worth, based on where the stock was trading, had likewise been sliced to the level of when he closed the partnership. Yet despite this apparent destruction of wealthwhich would have frightened almost anyone elsehis pulse never seemed to flutter. He just had the companies he controlled keep buying, and buying, and buying. In 1974, before the SEC investigation began, Berkshire owned twenty-six percent of Blue Chip. Although he put the brakes on at Berkshire during the 1975 Omni aviation affair, through Diversified, he bought Berkshire stock. By 1976, he was buying both Berkshire and Blue Chip through Diversified. When all was said and done, Berkshire would own more than forty-one percent of Blue Chipso much that he and Susie owned, personally and through Berkshire Hathaway, thirty-seven percent of the stock all by themselves. And as long as Berkshire was cheap in 1976, he thought of another way to capitalize on the situation, getting his mother, who cared nothing about money, to sell her 5,272 shares of Berkshire to Doris and Bertie. For $5,440 plus a $100,000 note, they each got 2,636 shares of Berkshirepaying the equivalent of $2 a share in cash.7 Buffett, who viewed debt as almost sinful, thought Berkshire was so cheap at $40 a share that he was willing to have his sisters borrow an extraordinary ninety-five percent of the purchase price to buy it. At the rate he obviously thought he could compound the stocks value, buying on these terms would make his sisters rich.8 And it would also avoid an enormous estate tax bill. Its what my mother wanted to do, but it was the perfect time. That was probably the greatest move of all time. It will never happen again. That was a once-in-a-lifetime situation. Valuable properties were being sold everywhere for a pittance. Around the same time, Tom Murphy came to Warren with the chance to buy a television station. Buffett realized it would be a terrific deal but that he couldnt buy it because it would conflict with the Washington Post Company, which also owned television stations. Since he sat on the Post board, it would put the Post over the limit the FCC allowed.9 What am I involved with that I dont own? he asked himself. He actually had to think about it to find something. Then he remembered that he didnt own Grinnell College. The first station they looked at had already sold, but at Buffetts recommendation, Grinnell bought a Dayton, Ohio, station for $13 million, putting down only $2 million. Sandy Gottesman arranged debt financing for the rest. The broker who sold it to Grinnell called it the best deal he had seen in the past twenty years.10 There were some good reasons, however, why stocks were cheap and cities like New York were close to bankruptcy. Along with rampant inflation, out-of-control labor costs and unstable labor relations were strangling the economy. Newspapers were among the most severely affected businesses. Right after the Hilton Head meeting, on October 1, 1975, at four a.m., the Washington Posts union contracts expired. Some of the Posts pressmen disabled the fire extinguishers, drained the oil, stripped the gears, and ripped electrical wiring and operating machinery out of the presses. They slashed the rolls of newsprint, set fires, and left one pressroom foreman bleeding from a gaping head wound.11 Graham arrived within an hour to a building glaring under the lights of television cameras and engulfed with fire engines, police, and hundreds of picketers. The Posts relations with some of its unions were almost literally on a drunk, recalls Don Graham.12 The militant workers viewed management as incompetent, Kay was to later write, yet able enough to deviously make them scapegoats for all of the problems that could more clearly be laid at managements own door.13 After years of surrendering to sabotage and work slowdowns, with nine union contracts set to expire at once, management negotiators armwrestled with labor in an atmosphere of tension and frustration. Most of the unions other than the pressmen had stayed at work, especially the all-important Newspaper Guild of journalists. Using borrowed printing plants and helicopters to move key people past picket lines, the Post started getting out an attenuated paper after only one days disruption. But as the strike ground on, Graham became paralyzed with fears that her paper was committing suicide. The managers and scab workers could produce only half the number of papers at a quarter of their normal size, and advertisers marched steadily over to the Posts archrival, the Evening Star. Within days, the Star was so thick with advertising that we could hardly lift it.14 They called me back because they were actually afraid Kay would fall apart. We crossed the picket line together. Kay was gutsy about that. But I saw her burst into tears when she picked up the Star . The Star was trying to out-Post the Post, copying their format, hiring their people. Shed wake up and call me in the middle of the night. When she felt threatened, the woman that her editor Howard Simons called the Bad Katharine flew down the chimney. It wasnt really the Bad Kay. It was the Insecure Kay. If she got feeling insecure, she could get pretty shrill. Occasionally some incident would set her off, and then she would react like an animal. It was as if she felt nobody was on her side. She felt cornered. And nobody would quite know what to do. Thats when they would call for me. Phil hadnt been on her side, and her mother hadnt been on her side. The executives at the company hadnt always been on her side. And so she always had this sense in the back of her mind that she was in an unfriendly environment and it could be triggered by some incident. But she always knew that I was on her side. That didnt mean I agreed with her on everything or ate everything she wanted me to eat. But I was on her side. And I always would be. The Bad Katharine bore some similarities to Leila Buffett. And Warren took an obvious pride in being the one person who could win Kays trust and keep the Bad Katharine at bay. Buffett had developed so much discernment about peoples motivations by now that he understood what was driving everyone around Graham and helped her gain perspective. It was a measure of what Susie had done for him that he could transmit some of her discernment to others. His antennae for peoples reactions were sharp. He could help a person who felt threatened tell the difference between somebody who was actually dangerous and someone who was simply acting from fear. She thought Warren walked on waterand he did, says board member Arjay Miller. Warren was open, and she had confidence in him. For the right person, Buffett could instill an ability to see all sides nonjudgmentally, an ability that Susie had instilled in him, and this marvelous gift of self-confidence and security could be internalized, so that it was not dependent on his presence. But Kay was so insecure, I dont think he ever really got her to do that, says Miller, although if anybody could have, it would have been him. She needed his actual presence. For the next six months, the Post would continue to publish while navigating fruitless negotiations, threats, violence, a logistical war of nerves, and a constant struggle to keep the torn Newspaper Guild from striking in sympathy. People were tackling all sorts of incongruous jobs to get the paper out; Don Graham worked as a paper handler, pushing huge, heavy rolls of newsprint to the presses. She had people telling her, including some of the people she respected most, Youve got to give in or youre going to lose. They were afraid, they hated not publishing and seeing the Star gain on the Post. So I was the countervailing force. I said to her, I will tell you before the tipping point is reached. The tipping point is the point at which the other guy becomes dominant, and after you go back, he is still dominant. There are fifty variables involved: the attitude of your employees when you come back, the impression that youve left on the community, the degree to which advertising has gotten better results from having shifted over. Youre gauging the likelihood of people changing their habits. They couldnt get our columnists, or our comics, so the question is, at what point does it become more of a habit for them to buy the other paper? Thats probably what did the most for her. She believed me, and she was right to believe me. All I had were her interests at heart, and she believed that I knew enough about the business. But while Warren encouraged her, it was her backbone, not his, stresses George Gillespie.15 Her backbone had to be strong enough to support the whole company. Although nearly all of the Posts employees other than the pressmen stayed on the job, the constant threat of violence hung over those who crossed the picket lines. Their tires were being slashed, and their families were getting threatening phone calls at home. A striker carried a placard that said Phil Shot the Wrong Graham. To keep morale up, Graham and Buffett and Meg Greenfield rolled papers in the mailroom. Buffett loved it, working circulation once again. Two months into the strike, the Post had made a final offer to the pressmen, who rejected it.16 The strike dragged on, unresolved. Graham began to hire replacement workers, breaking the strike. The pressmen carried on picketing as if there was a chance of negotiation. But over the next few months, the paper gradually won back the remaining unions, readers, and advertisers, even though the picketing and bad publicity continued through the spring. Just as Graham was slowly rescuing her company,17 Buffett and Munger had finally reached their settlement with the SEC. Now Buffett invited Munger for a steak dinner down at Johnnys Caf near the stockyards to finalize their simplification plan. He had decided to stop managing money for FMC on the side. Next, Blue Chip would sell its interest in Source Capital,18 and Berkshire and Diversified would refile their merger plan, formerly quashed at the beginning of 1975 by the SEC investigation. At Betty Peterss request, Wesco, owned only eighty percent by Blue Chip, would remain a public company, and Munger would be chairman of that. Munger and Buffett deferred merging Blue Chip into Berkshire Hathaway until they could more easily agree on the relative values of the companies. With both Berkshire and the Post emerging from the tumultuous times that had consumed his attention for so long, Buffetts business routine began to normalize. The Post board meetings lost their edge of emergency, and Graham began thinking of expanding her empire. Newspapers at the time were being snapped up left and right. Kay really wanted to buy newspapers. But above all, she didnt want other people to buy them instead of her, Buffett says. Tell me what to do, she would beg. Buffett had gotten her to stop pleading for help from the rest of the board, but she still pleaded for help from him. I would just make her make the damn decision, he says. He helped her understand that it was always a mistake to pay too much for something you wanted. Impatience was the enemy. For a long time, the Post did very little and grew slowly. Buffett taught the Grahams the immense value of buying their companys own stock when it was cheap to reduce the shares outstanding. That increased the size of each slice of the pie. Meanwhile, the Post avoided making expensive mistakes and became much more profitable as a result.19 Buffett, used to doing the taking, for the first time found himself in the giving role and discovered that, with Graham, he liked it. She would talk to me about some business policy and then shed talk to some other guy back home, and theyd know how to scare the hell out of her. She knew they were doing it, and she didnt like it, but she couldnt get over it. Eventually I told her my job was to get her to see herself in a regular mirror rather than a fun-house mirror. I really wanted her to feel better about what she was doing. Basically, I enjoyed trying to build her up. And I had some success, although I started late in life with her. Yet, wrote Munger to Graham about Buffett, I can see damn well whose ways, predominantly, are actually being mended.20 Buffett began to be seen out with Graham more and more. She made it her job to try to give him some polish. Kay tried to upgrade me a little. It was just very gradual and not so I would notice. It was very funny. She worked so hard to sort of remold me, but it didnt work. She was a hell of a lot more sophisticated than I was, thats for sure. Buffett learned that Graham thought it was uncouth and disgusting to eat out in restaurants. Around Washington your cook was a big point of pride. The highest compliment you could pay somebody at a party was, Im going to try and hire away your cook, or You must have brought your cook over from France. Kay cared about that, like everybody in Washington. So her dinners tended to be quite fancy, except that she would make exceptions for me. Grahams chef found the restrictions imposed by cooking for Warren a challenge. Broccoli, asparagus, and Brussels sprouts look to me like Chinese food crawling around on a plate. Cauliflower almost makes me sick. I eat carrots reluctantly. I