They Told Me Not to Take that Job: Tumult, Betrayal, Heroics, and the Transformation of Lincoln Center (36 page)

There are more than a few trustees at Lincoln Center, and for all I know, at the New York City Ballet, who do not share David Koch’s values or agree with his politics. So what? In the toxic partisan environment that characterizes our divided nation, what purpose is served by infusing such differences into the nonprofit boardroom? The Lincoln Center Board of Directors, in deciding to elect David to its ranks, affirmed the principle that the institution’s mission did not admit of a political litmus test for service on its governing body. David Koch was no less welcome on Lincoln Center’s board than would be George Soros, whose politics were the mirror opposite.

Of course citizens are free to object to the politics of the Koch brothers and to the way Koch Industries is run. Similar objections were directed in their time at the “robber barons,” including Andrew Carnegie and John Rockefeller. But who among us would deny the benefits countless Americans have enjoyed from their benefactions? To cite just two examples from Mr. Carnegie, how about the public libraries and Carnegie Hall? To mention just two illustrations from John D. Rockefeller, how about the University of Chicago and the Population Council?

Try to explain to the first-generation American student studying for a college degree in a well-lit and well-ventilated branch library reading room in the south Bronx, or to a student on full tuition scholarship
at one of the world’s great universities, that he or she is enjoying the tainted philanthropic fruit of the poisonous capitalist tree.

Many institutions and those they serve have received gifts from $20 million to $200 million from David Koch, and I would be very surprised if their beneficiaries would quarrel very much with Koch’s legal (but objectionable to some) activities and with his political proclivities and financial support of them. The roster of grantees is astounding: MIT, the University of Texas M.D. Cancer Center, New York-Presbyterian Hospital, Memorial Sloan Kettering Hospital, Johns Hopkins University, the American Museum of Natural History, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the New York City Ballet, and Lincoln Center.

I like David Koch. He and his wife are friendly people, good conversationalists, patriots, eager to use some of their wealth to help others. I also vehemently disagree with many of his political views.

It has been said that differences of opinion among elected officials should stop at the water’s edge. Likewise, one’s political views should not be allowed to intrude on decisions about who serves on nonprofit boards of directors. Such a course of action is a slippery slope.

From my vantage point, on the battleground of politics, the Kochs and their allies deserve a good drubbing. And if David Koch or his firm violates the law, the remedies of our justice system should be invoked. But his willingness to devote so much of his time, talent, and treasure to cancer research and treatment, to higher education, and to strengthening our nation’s museums and performing art institutions is entirely meritorious.

When it comes to David Koch’s philanthropy, I have four words for him:
THANK YOU VERY MUCH
.

I
T WAS A
good old-fashioned cold call. Everyone on Lincoln Center’s nominating and governance committee knew of David Rubenstein, but no one knew him personally. And all thought that recruiting David to be on the board of Lincoln Center was a terrific idea, even though the chances of succeeding were slim.

After all, he lived in Bethesda, Maryland, regarded himself as a Washingtonian, and appeared to be waiting in the wings to succeed Steve Schwarzman, the cofounder of Blackstone, as the chair of the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.

I dialed the phone. He picked up. I told him we had a lot in common. We both were fascinated by the performing arts. His business took him to my hometown, New York City, with some frequency. In fact, over 125 employees of Carlyle worked in Manhattan, its second largest location.

I wondered aloud. Is that enough for the two of us to become acquainted in my office over a sandwich lunch? Sure, he replied.

We met, and the conversation flowed easily. David said yes on the spot when I suggested that he join the board of Lincoln Center.

Rubenstein is not just a piece of work; he is all work. He is simply indefatigable. No one logs as many hours on behalf of Carlyle, the company he cofounded and dearly loves. In a quarter century he and his colleagues have built a firm that now has over $200 billion under management and is widely admired around the world. It is a world that Rubenstein has gotten to know, as he spends, by his own count, 190 days in the air every year on his private jet, prowling the planet for sovereign wealth funds and other pools of capital that could do far worse than invest in Carlyle.

In the last decade or so, Rubenstein has matched his propensity for business with a passionate commitment to philanthropy and nonprofit institutions. By last count, he serves on the boards of directors of over a dozen nonprofit organizations, including the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and Duke University (he is the chairman of both), Johns Hopkins University, the University of Chicago, the Brookings Institution, the Council on Foreign Relations, and the Smithsonian Institution.

He is no letterhead trustee. He works hard to advance the mission of every one of these institutions. I know. Lincoln Center is among them. David served with determination and distinction as the chair of Lincoln Center’s unprecedented capital campaign for the physical redevelopment of the campus.

Even after associating with David for almost nine years and spending lots of time with him, it is still tough to know what makes him tick. He is highly competitive, for sure. He keeps close track of how Carlyle is faring relative to plan and to competitors. No one is a more successful private equity fund-raiser, and no one has logged more miles, delivered more speeches, and pitched more business to more people.

Rubenstein also loves American history and politics. He has purchased original documents like the Emancipation Proclamation and the Declaration of Independence, both on loan to the National Archives. And his knowledge of US presidents before and after the one he served, Jimmy Carter, is breathtaking. But no one I know who is acquainted with David has been able to locate his “off switch.” He seems “on,” always.

For Rubenstein, food is merely fuel to keep him working. I have never seen this teetotaler and vegetarian truly enjoy a meal or spend more than fifteen minutes consuming one. Clothing is just garb, necessary coveralls. David seems to own about a half dozen of the same navy blue pinstripe suits, and he wears them with Hermes ties and white shirts. He treats his clothing as if he were donning a uniform.

For him, sleep is highly overrated, and if you are longing for a very brief conversation, ask him when he last enjoyed a break from work that lasted more than a few days.

I was a weekend guest in Nantucket at the home of Rubenstein and his wife, Alice. It sits on one of the largest and highest pieces of property on the island. Its promontory offers stunning views of the Atlantic below.

As we were treated to a personal tour by David, my wife, Elizabeth, seeing the dock on the property, asked whether David sailed.

“Elizabeth, Jews don’t sail. The instructions are too complicated, it is too much work, and it takes too much time. Besides, I can’t swim very well, and in the highly likely event that I crash into something or capsize the boat, I’ll be in deep water and in deep trouble.”

Ten minutes later, we were shown a gym on the lower level of the main house. My wife asked whether David used the facility, one that any Four Seasons Hotel would be proud to offer its guests.

“Elizabeth, just look at me. Do I look like a guy who does much more than drop in on this place occasionally to see which equipment my kids and their friends enjoy the most?”

“Well,” Liz wished to know, “how about skiing? Your parents tell us you have a place in Beaver Creek, Colorado. Surely you ski?”

“Elizabeth, I wasn’t meant to put those strange contraptions on my feet.”

When approaching David’s home in Nantucket, there is a huge round stone propped up against a majestic tree that guests circle around
in order to arrive at his front door. On the stone is handwritten in paint these words:

“Honest, I’d rather be working.”

              
—David

One would be hard-pressed to find a human being who is more austere and self-disciplined or less interested in material comforts. Plain and simple, Rubenstein is an ascetic billionaire, at least six times over. He is also as humble and self-effacing a successful businessman as one is likely to find.

After he joined Lincoln Center’s board, Elizabeth and I offered to accompany him on a couple of evenings out at Lincoln Center. Many of his fellow stars in America’s financial firmament came to Lincoln Center frequently. David, of course, knew of them. And leading executives of Carlyle often worked with their counterparts in the firms they founded, owned, or helped manage, but David and they had never met. It was fun for me to introduce him around to other financial and real estate titans.

David was in typical humble form one evening when I arranged for him to have dinner with Gail and Carl Icahn in the Grand Tier of the Metropolitan Opera prior to seeing a performance at Lincoln Center Theater. Icahn, for all of his notoriety in the press, is really a loner, even in the field of activist investing. Being reasonably sure he had never met Rubenstein and that he might need a reminder about his background, I composed a succinct e-mail on the subject and sent it to him before the event.

Over dinner, Icahn regaled us with his then view of Time Warner. He had bought a substantial position in the company. He was no fan of its stodgy management or of its CEO, Richard Parsons.

I asked a few questions about Icahn’s life and learned that his father was a cantor who didn’t much understand or appreciate what Carl was about professionally. Carl’s father would have preferred that he become a physician, or a musician. Striking to all of us was Icahn’s response to my question about what continued to motivate him to work so hard at the age of seventy-four.

“I’ll stop only when I think my dad would have respected me.”

After Icahn’s extended monologue, his wife Gail suggested that Rubenstein might have a point of view about Time Warner. Carl paused over his second martini to ask, “David, remind me of your background and tell me what you do now.” Clearly, my e-mail had gone unread.

Unfazed and unflustered, Rubenstein summarized his professional life this way: “Well, Carl, I began my career as a lawyer at Paul, Weiss, Rifkind. But after a couple of years, I really wasn’t enjoying it, and when I told the hiring partner that I was thinking of leaving, I noticed that neither he, nor anyone else in the firm, nor my clients, protested very much. On the advice of Ted Sorensen, I then relocated to Atlanta to work on the Carter campaign for president, and after his election found myself with a White House job. That experience didn’t work so well either, as I helped bring the United States an inflation rate of 19 percent, an Iranian hostage crisis, prolonged oil shortages, and infuriatingly long lines at America’s gasoline stations. Ever since, I have been trying to build a business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Well, my colleagues and I search for undervalued firms. We buy them at attractive prices, endeavor to fix them, and find a purchaser prepared to offer a premium or arrange for them to become public companies.”

“And what is the name of that business?”

“The Carlyle Group.”

“Oh. Now I know who you are.”

One tycoon met another that night. David, self-deprecating as always, would probably contend that he is not in Icahn’s league, financially or otherwise. But perhaps David would allow himself to be called a mogulette, or at least a low-single-digit billionaire with aspirations to make something of himself.

I
HAD MET
Mayor Bloomberg only once before becoming the CEO of Lincoln Center. He was being honored by the International Rescue Committee when I served as its president. Bloomberg’s interest in Lincoln Center began before he became mayor. He was wooed onto the board of directors by Beverly Sills, an extremely close friend. During his service as a trustee, he came to respect Nat Leventhal. He asked Nat to lead in the transition planning as he was assuming office and to help
him select key personnel for his cabinet. More than a few other Lincoln Center trustees felt entitled to call the mayor Mike.

As I could add little value to such relationships, I kept my respectful distance from the mayor. That ended in a memorable and disquieting conversation one Wednesday morning about a year and a half after I arrived at Lincoln Center. Michael Bloomberg was on the line.

“Good morning, Mr. Mayor.”

“Good morning. Okay, Reynold, who leaked the specifics of my gift?”

His tone was angry, his manner rough.

“I don’t know, Mr. Mayor.”

“Oh, come on. I am furious. I asked for that gift to remain anonymous, and I am holding you responsible for the public disclosure.”

Days earlier, Robin Pogrebin, the
New York Times
reporter, had revealed that before he became mayor, Bloomberg had pledged $15 million for the planning and early “soft” costs of Lincoln Center’s physical redevelopment.

“Mr. Mayor,” I said. “Last week, the New York City Police Department, during a search for illegal drugs, broke down the wrong door in an apartment house in Harlem. A fifty-nine-year-old African American mother and grandmother, shocked by the suddenness of the forced entry, died of a heart attack, on the spot. Immediately you, who knew nothing of the whys and wherefores of the police action, apologized to that woman’s family on behalf of the entire city of New York.