Why Should White Guys Have All the Fun? (42 page)

Of all the barriers faced by African-Americans, the most insidious are based on perceptions grounded in misinformation and myth, Lewis believed. Basically, he saw society as having pulled the wool over the eyes of African-Americans by creating a mystique about how difficult it is to achieve and attain affluence. Lewis was on a one-man crusade to obliterate that myth and prove it a lie.

After he reached his goals, there was no chance of Lewis being co-opted by his wealth, station in life, or material possessions. Those things never blunted his sharply honed sense of outrage. “For all my money, if my car breaks down in the wrong place, I’d still have a problem on my hands,” Lewis said. He was always more comfortable in France—and Europe in general—than in his native land. But that didn’t mean Lewis didn’t love the United States, warts and all. He used to wave the flag enthusiastically in France and would defend the United States in the face of Gallic criticism. While the United States was unquestionably not inclusive or egalitarian enough for Lewis, it was still home—and he flew back and forth between Paris and New York often.

Given the strain that the repeated trips were putting on Lewis’s schedule and his body, Lewis felt it made perfect sense for TLC Beatrice to have a corporate jet. However, he was also aware of the tremendous expense associated with operating a jet, not to mention the danger that Lewis might be perceived as having gone “Hollywood.” That last issue was a serious consideration, because above all else, Reginald Lewis wanted to be known as a dedicated businessman, not a showboater or someone fixated on the trappings of wealth.

Lewis decided the best solution was to lease an airplane from the Canadair aviation company in Canada. Kevin Wright was made Lewis’s liaison for the project, and given responsibility for overseeing it. Lewis entered into a program where he would be able to lease a twin-engine jet for two years, then could walk away from it without any obligation if he so desired. The lease cost more than $100,000 a month.

Under the program, the plane’s interior and its avionics package would be built according to Lewis’s specifications. “As with everything
else, Reg did not want to be overcharged,” Wright remembers. So, a consultant was hired to ride herd over the project with Wright. Even with a consultant involved, Lewis was not pleased with the final price of his multimillion dollar aircraft when it was finished. “It was a huge expense—it was clearly something that was going to be his baby,” Wright says.

For several reasons, delivery of the plane had to be taken in Delaware rather than New York or New Jersey. Kevin Wright took care of that duty. Lewis didn’t see his new possession until later. When the two-year lease on the aircraft expired, Lewis exercised his option to buy it.

Lewis absolutely loved his airplane. He viewed it as his reward for his hard work and dedication over the years. Powerful and sleek, Lewis’s corporate jet was unlike the Gulfstreams or Lears or even French Falcons that typically graced the hangars of so many of America’s multinationals. Instead, it was a Challenger, built according to the owner’s specifications at the Canadian Bombardier factory in Montreal. Everything about it was chosen by Lewis with the same painstaking care that he devoted to every other aspect of his life. From the Dallas Cowboy gray with the red and blue stripe that colored its outside to its light blue interior and blond mahogany wood panelling inside. And the plane’s call letters were splashed almost defiantly on its tail—601-RL for the initials of its owner, Reginald Lewis.

Covering the plane’s entire rear wall was an original painting by the noted African-American artist, Ed Clark. This painting had been commissioned by Lewis from Clark, who was his friend, specifically for the plane’s interior. Entitled “Infinity,” it was a kaleidoscope of dark and light blue colors that suggested many things to many people—a towering wave cresting on a beach perhaps, or a dark lunar landscape. The painting was just what Lewis wanted because it conveyed a feeling of airy openness and boundless space. Perfect for the long, lonely, trans-Atlantic flights from New York to Paris and back that Lewis took at least twice a month, commuting from his U.S. corporate headquarters to his vast economic empire spread across western Europe, the 20 or so food companies that made up the heart of TLC Beatrice International.

Butch Meily recalls accompanying Lewis on one of these flights. A tall, svelte African-American stewardess named Pamela Gunter silently
served them a rare French red wine, vintage 1972. Puffing on his beloved Monte Cristo No. 3 Cuban cigar, with headphones on as he listened to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons,” Lewis had a wool blanket with the initials of his company, TLC, draped around him. Sitting in his favorite chair where no one else was allowed to sit, Reginald F. Lewis looked for all the world like the master of everything he surveyed.

“Do you realize how far we’ve come?” he said to Meily as the thick, oddly pleasing aroma of cigar smoke wafted through the cabin. “Oh, you don’t know. You weren’t there during the early days,” he quickly added.

Lewis pulled out a yellow legal pad, a habit from his days as a lawyer, together with his black and gold Mont Blanc pen and his favorite HP calculator and ran through some quick calculations just as he had done a hundred times before. “Ireland, $150 million. France, $600 million. Italy $100 million . . .” On and on he went, tripping lightly from country to country as he totalled up the net worth of each chunk of his Beatrice holdings. His eyes danced with pure delight as he shouted out the total.

“I love this plane.” he then said to no one in particular.

“It’s the ultimate perk.” Meily answered.

“Yes.” Lewis nodded. “That it is.”

“Feel like a movie?” he asked. “Put on ‘American in Paris,’” he instructed Meily without waiting for an answer.

Lewis and his plane had been up and down eight times in the last eight hours, hopskotching from city to city all across Europe. Meily, who was more than ten years younger, was exhausted and nauseous from the many takeoffs and landings, but Lewis seemed to be bursting with energy.

The cabin lights dimmed. Lewis twirled his seat to face the video monitor and on came Gene Kelly dancing through the streets of Paris. Lewis watched silently for a moment, fiddling with his headphones. He was grinning, seemingly transfixed by the images on the screen. Lewis loved movies, especially old movies, and he often mused about someday buying one of the big Hollywood studios.

The stewardess prepared his bed, then cleared out the dishes, and left the cabin. All of a sudden, Lewis burst into song, startling Meily, as Lewis sang along with Gene Kelly.

Lewis loudly warbled the lyrics, glancing gleefully around him.

A few minutes before landing, Lewis headed for the lavatory. He was fastidious about his personal appearance and he never left the plane or appeared anywhere in public unless he was dressed to the T.

He put on a dark suit, brushed his teeth, and splashed himself with cologne from the medicine cabinet. Finally, he put on dark glasses, patted his vest pocket to make sure he had his passport and wallet, and then walked slowly back to his seat, tugging at the window shutters to open them.

“How do I look?” he barked out.

“Good,” Meily said.

“Good? We’re not shooting for good. We’re shooting for great. What’s the matter with you?” he chided Meily in good humor.

Outside, it was dark but in a few minutes, the lights of Paris became visible below them. The sharply etched figure of the Eiffel Tower loomed over everything. The Challenger silently emerged from the night sky and onto the string of lights that marked the runway at Le Bourget Airport. It was a smooth landing, as it almost always was with Lewis’s chief pilot, Captain Brendan Flannery, at the controls. This is where Lindbergh landed on his historic flight so many years ago, Meily thought when they landed at Le Bourget. Then he prayed that he would not have to accompany the indefatigable Lewis to the office that night.

The plane taxied to a stop. A black Mercedes emerged out-of-the-shadows and rolled to a stop on the tarmac at the precise spot where the ramp was being swung into place against the plane’s door. Out jumped Lewis’s French driver, the ever-dependable Patrick Lelong, neatly dressed in a suit and tie.

“Bon soir, Monsieur,” he said with a slight bow to Lewis who was the first one out of the plane.

“Bon soir, bon soir,” Lewis said with a smile and handed him his briefcase which as always was chockful of reports and company prospectuses. “Tout va bien?”

“Oui, monsieur. Tout va bien,” Patrick replied.

He opened the door for Lewis who took his customary seat in the back of the car on the passenger side. Butch Meily slid in on the other side and Patrick ran to start the car, guiding it out of the airport past a pair of French gendarmes who saluted Lewis. Lewis returned their salutes with a friendly wave, even as he grabbed the earphone and
automatically dialed the number for his New York office. It was nine o’clock at night Paris time but only 3:00
P.M
. in New York. Lewis could still check in with his New York staff.

“You ready to go to work?” he said to Meily, who although he felt like anything but work, nodded slowly and replied, “Of course.” Lewis smiled.

Lewis enjoyed traveling in the Canadair jet, but his employees did not. “Flying with Reg was something most employees tried to avoid,” says Kevin Wright, echoing a sentiment other TLC Beatrice employees have voiced. “You’re pretty confined and if he’s flying with you to Europe and he’s mad at you, there’s nowhere to run.”

Nevertheless, Canadair Challenger 601 allowed Lewis to become a more efficient and effective Chairman and CEO. The various asset sales Lewis conducted, in addition to the traveling he was doing to keep tabs on his operations and motivate local management, was having a positive effect on TLC Beatrice’s 1989 financial figures.

We were much smaller and had the debt generated by the acquisition well under control. At the end of 1989, the net debt was down from $1 billion. At that point, the idea of going public really appealed to me. That would have enabled us to take out the preferred stock and also give me a security that I could use to make other acquisitions. John Sheehy suggested Merrill Lynch. We had a big discussion with some people there. The president of Merrill said they were behind us all the way. But when the going got a little bit tough, they just couldn’t do the job.

In the meantime, I got hit with a bullshit lawsuit associated with McCall Pattern that mystified me. So we pulled the deal in 1989. I sort of decided to step back, focus all of my energies on operations and continued to sell off a few small things.

On December 9, 1988, McCall Pattern, Inc. filed for bankruptcy protection under
Chapter 11
of the U.S. Bankruptcy Code, an event that would prove to be a source of frustration and anger for Lewis. Even though he had sold McCall to the John Crowther Group—a British
textile manufacturer based in Leeds, England—in June 1987, the bankruptcy would result in Lewis being made a defendant in lawsuits alleging he was somehow linked to McCall’s weak financial situation a year and a half after he sold the company.

Crowther, the new owner of McCall, borrowed from Shearson Lehman $35 million of the $65 million purchase price they paid Lewis. McCall later issued $35 million in debt notes to Travelers Insurance Co., and used the money from the debt offering to pay off Shearson. Not long afterward, the John Crowther Group was acquired in a hostile takeover by Coloroll, a British conglomerate.

Coloroll decided it didn’t want McCall and tried to sell it but failed.

When McCall began to have trouble making its debt payment to Travelers, Coloroll decided to sever its ties to McCall and have it file for bankruptcy.

In September 1989, the creditors of McCall filed a lawsuit on behalf of the company in U.S. District Court for the Southern District of New York. Several defendants were named, including Lewis and Shearson Lehman. Accusing Lewis of fraudulent conveyance, the suit was basically a desperate attempt by McCall’s creditors to somehow blame Lewis for McCall’s financial woes.

“He was an easy target and he was somebody who had the financial wherewithal to respond to a judgment, so it was a blackmail kind of thing,” says Mark Alcott, an attorney who worked with Lewis during his Paul, Weiss days and who Lewis picked to assist him in the lawsuits. “I think he certainly felt that he was being unfairly attacked and the reason he was being unfairly attacked was because he was successful. The court dismissed the case and it was a great vindication for him.”

Lewis achieved his business successes by playing by the established rules. He was a hard-charger and he maximized the earnings potential of his assets whenever possible, but Lewis was honest and he was principled. So being accused of unethical behavior was more than Lewis could stomach. He viewed the litigation as an unfair attempt to sully his reputation. For Lewis, far more was at stake than driving home legal issues or determining guilt or innocence. “Reg said that before he would settle that case, he would die or go bankrupt,” says Lee Archer, a board member with McCall and TLC Beatrice under Lewis.

In addition, the depositions associated with the lawsuit were infringing on Lewis’s precious time during a period when he was attempting to
shepherd TLC Beatrice through an initial public offering. Furthermore, Lewis was having to pay lawyers to defend him. All of those things displeased him mightily.