Monday, November 16, 2009

24 Hours With The Hardest Drinking Hardest Living Couple I have Ever Known

In the seventies, some 25% of all the onshore oil and gas produced in the U.S. was produced within 180 miles of Midland, Texas, the capital of hard drink, hard living old fashioned wildcatters. Entrepreneurs to the end. Traveling with any of them was an experience.

Mike was the ultimate hard living oil man. He started his business life as a salesman with a tire company and evolved into a drilling contractor/producer
in the oil business. He lived a lot longer (into his seventies) than I had predicted. He made, lost and remade a fortune. Mike and I spoke a few weeks before he died, and he told me he was happy. "I've lived one hell of a life", said Mike.

I traveled in the U.S. of A in the 70's and early 80's, mostly in Mike's "burner" (aka private jet) after he made his first fortune. Mike's wife at that time,
Edith, was a classic. Great looking gal but one who had too many face lifts...her face seemed frozen in time. Edith was a terrific drinking companion for Mike with an appetite for booze that seemed unquenchable.

One afternoon,
I was "assigned" to baby sit her in the United Airlines lounge in L.A. while Mike was making a phone call. She already had some drinks before we took the cab to the airport. Her taste was simple...chilled vodka (didn't smell, or so she thought). She sipped the vodka through a sterling straw she had made by Tiffany. Mike showed up saying "I'm thirsty". Edith had put away at least five drinks before he arrived. He then inhaled three or four while Edith kept pace with him until our flight was called. On the ride from L.A. to S.F. (50 minutes) both Edith and Mike inhaled, I repeat, inhaled, at least four drinks each. That night at dinner they had after dinner drinks, by the gulps, without eating dinner. They got into a roaring, drunken argument, and we had to go back to the Mark.

The next day Mike and I made a corporate presentation at a North Beach Restaurant in San Francisco. But before the presentation, Mike had at least two Bloody Mary's and then had a couple of belts of booze plus wine at lunch. I was pissing my brains out after consuming what felt like gallons of Perrier water. Mike stayed at the restaurant with two of my friends. They ordered a "
six pack of stingers on the rocks", waiting for the next drink was too tough for them. When I returned to the hotel, Edith phoned my room and asked me where Mike was. I told her and she pleaded with me to go get him as she thought she might be drawing her last breaths. So I did, feeling like an idiot. My two friends and Mike were roaring drunk, and I took Mike back to the hotel.

That evening, we were going out for dinner with some investment friends of mine. Edith came down to the lobby lounge looking regal (she was tall) in a white dress. She announced that she felt like hell and only by drinking two glasses of milk and bourbon was she able to join us. I knew that I was in for a very long night.

There was a great looking hooker sitting by herself, sipping wine and I went over and asked her if she was a "working" girl to which she proudly said "yes". She became my companion for the evening (she saved Mike's life with the Heimlich treatment later in the evening). The hooker was a school teacher moonlighting as a hooker but only giving blow jobs. She was okay, I enjoyed it. More on travel with Mike and Edith in my next blog.....

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Veteran's Day Musings

Today I was remembering being in Leyte, Philippines to practice landings. We had to go over the side of the ship into a landing craft which was a really scary procedure. It was one of the very few times in the service that I was truly frightened. (When you're 20 you mostly think that you are fucking invulnerable and will live forever.). We climbed up and down on Jacob's Ladders which were rope. As you climbed, they slammed ever so little against the slightly rolling ship. Every so often some poor son of a bitch would slip, fall and drown with his back pack, rifle and shoes that weighed a ton. Yeah, it was plenty scary, but God takes care of drunks and fools so I was okay.

The other time that I was scared out of my mind was when
I was flat on my back in a hospital tent after being hit waiting to be transported to a hospital ship.
The Japanese planes flying back overhead were plenty fucking unnerving. Enough to make a grown man piss in his pants from fear. But my pants had been cut from me so I was okay. Nothing to do for those few seconds (which seemed like a life time) but be bone chilling scared...

There were more scary experiences. I was in a hospital/recovery facility on Saipan and had been assigned to a desk job in a tent/office. The Japanese hadn't been totally cleaned out and there were some still holed up in the hills. Every so often they would come out of their caves and attack some American troops. Those bullets from the hills would come into the camp. Everyone scattered and I was under the desk. I had learned by then that bullets could raise hell with me. And every so often, waiting on the
Coca Cola line, those bullets would start raining down on us and we would "fly" into the ditches. We all knew by then, after being hit once, that we could get hit again. Getting back to our units was the prime drive. Very few thought of going home and getting out.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Archbishop Paul Marcinkus, Mayor of Vatican City, President of The Institute For Religious Works (aka Vatican Bank) and The Jew From The Bronx

"Bernie did you see those Swiss guards when you checked into the Vatican? And you know my secretary Mauvi don't you? Well Mauvi and those Swiss guards get paid. Don't bring me deals that don't bring me income."

And so
down the tubes went a proposal that I made to Archbishop Paul Marcinkus, the President of the Vatican Bank and Mayor of Vatican City. I had developed a personal relationship with the Bishop over a 10 year time span and he had agreed to see me regarding an oil and gas royalty deal. The deal was dependent on successful wildcat drilling to generate income. Turned out that the guy in charge of the drilling couldn't find his ass with either hand much less oil or gas with drilling equipment. He didn't find even a mouthful of oil or gas. The author Philip Wylie once said that "the problem with common sense is that it ain't so common".

But the Bishop proved that he did have some common sense (aka street smarts), and he turned down the deal which turned out to be a bad bet on a bad concept. But I stayed in touch with the Bishop. He was a terriffic guy. He loved playing golf and I would send him, from time to time, golf books and boxes of golf balls. He would "try" to convert me. He was "for decades, one of the highest ranking American prelates to the Vatican serving Popes John XXX III, Paul VI and
John Paul II." But at the end of the day, he was in many ways a simple learned priest, from Cicero, Illinois without a financial background. The Bishop also lacked the deep seated cynical trait that is so crucial to being a successful money manager.

Sadly, he became embroiled in two scandals where one principal, a banker named
Calvi, was found hanging beneath a bridge in London. Calvi had been a friend of the Bishop and was convicted of fruad. That association cost the Vatican Bank over $200
million. Previously the Bishop was involved with a shadowy character named Sidona, with Mafia connections, who died in prison in Milan after drinking a cup of coffee laced with poison. That friendship cost the Vatican tens of millions or so it is said.

At one point the Italian government indicted the Bishop, but he confined himself to Vatican City for a few years until the indictment was dropped. The Bishop was, for me a marvelous man who added significantly to the richness of my life, and I cried when I learned of his death from Mauvi, his secretary. It was rumored that he was "banging" Mauvi who was not my cup of tea. And no, in twenty years, I never did do a deal with him which had absolutely nothing to do with my affection for the Bishop.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Living For The Experience and Making No Money With The Bishop And The Vatican Bank

In 1970-1971, I helped found a venture capital group. As it turned out, the enterprise was disaster in spite of my partners being very successful in the venture capital arena. Not only was our basic concept terrible but the business plan really sucked. But the notion took me down a great lifetime experience road with the Vatican Bank (aka The Institute for Religious Works), Archbishop Paul Marcinckus and even The Knights of Columbus. I will be forever grateful to the Bishop for adding to the richness of my life (and I never "sold" him one deal).

One of my partners knew a guy (Lloyd Hand) who had been Chief of Protocol for President Johnson, so he knew everybody and his uncle. We paid him $10,000 ($56,000 today) plus travel expenses which added another $3,000 ($17,000 today) to introduce us to the Bishop who ran the Vatican Bank. The Bishop, we were told, ran the bank and was Mayor of Vatican City as a result of saving the Pope's life in the Philippines when the Pope was attacked by a nut with a knife. More on the Bishop and the Knights of Columbus in a later blog. That trip was, at the end of the day, a wild, booze driven, insane trip. Travel for me back then was a way to get away from a wife who disliked me (though I didn't recognize it at the time), really drink big time and walk around feeling like shit every day.

At that time, one of my kids was on the Mishmar David Kibbutz in Israel. So I thought I would "stop by" and see him before I went to Rome for my business. I thought Rome and Tel Aviv were "kissin' cousins", close by one another. That was a major misconception...almost 5 hours of drinking in the air. So I spent a night at the kibbutz which was memorable but hardly like staying at the Carlyle in N.Y. But this was but a few years after the 67 war and idealism and sacrifice were the mode in Israel. So it was impressive, if uncomfortable.

I went to Rome and the Vatican the following day to meet with the Bishop. The night before the meeting, we went for a horse and buggy ride to get acquainted with Rome. Expensive and a piss poor way to see Rome. Very boring. The next day we went to see the Bishop who was from Cicero. He had been an "advance man" for Pope Paul VI. The Bishop's hands were like ham hocks and he was as tough as nails. Smoked Pall Mall cigarettes like there was no tomorrow. But, at that point I was smoking 4 1/2 packs of Lucky Strikes (no filters) every day with yellow fingers. So the Bishop and I looked like two chimneys and that was right up my alley.

My partner who insisted on doing the major part of the presentation was a very nice, smart guy whose voice never seemed to stop "droning". Your eyes would glaze over as he droned on and on. He could put a sore ass in vinegar to sleep. The Bishop managed to stay awake and while he was not a financial man, he knew a dumb deal when he saw one and turned us down, out of hand. But it was for me, through the booze driven, cigarette haze and yellowed fingers, a fabulous experience and the beginning of a wonderful long term personal relationship with Bishop Marcinkcus...a great person guy in spite of his fruitless efforts to convert me. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. My trip back to SF was out of sight with unreal booze laden memories. More on that later.