Separation : Part 4

The Real Deal: My Life in Business and Philanthropy
by Sandy Weill, Judah S. Kraushaar

(Page 4 of 9)

These were observations that would only hit home in later life as I reflected on my father's business practices. For the most part, I respected my father greatly in those years and felt he could offer me important life lessons. Indeed, during another summer, he arranged a job for me in a pocketbook factory doing piecework installing metal fasteners. All my co-workers were hardworking and friendly minorities who I realized were locked into their menial jobs. My father made a point to tell me, "If you don't do well in school, this is the type of job that will be available to you. If you want more, you have to apply yourself." On another occasion driving back to New York from a stay in Florida, he put us up at the fancy Mayflower Hotel in Washington. Seeing how I enjoyed the hotel's luxurious appointments, my father stressed that "as an adult, you'll only get to enjoy such nice things if you're willing to work very hard." These were simple statements, but somehow the words hit home.

By early 1951, my days at Peekskill Military Academy were quickly drawing to a close, and I knew it was time to think about my future. After a weak start, I finished nearly at the top of my class, which taught me a valuable lesson in the importance of self-discipline. My hard work paid off, for I was accepted at both Harvard and Cornell. I felt my aptitude lay in math and science, as I particularly excelled in those subjects at PMA, and I was also interested in metallurgy thinking that I might eventually join my father in his business. Accordingly, I enrolled in Cornell's well-regarded Engineering School. As a graduation gift, my ever extravagant father presented me with a yellow Plymouth convertible in which I drove off to find my destiny.

My high school years were terrific, but they conveyed a false sense of security. In fact, the following four years were turbulent to say the least. Yes, I'd meet and fall in love with Joanie, but I'd also recognize that I was not cut out for my chosen field of study, and more important, face the crushing news of the disintegration of my parents' marriage. I quickly came to realize that I could never take the future for granted and that attaining one's goals only comes from hard work and self-reliance.

My first experiences at Cornell were deceptively enjoyable. Freed from the rigid restraints of life in military school, I settled into the freewheeling social scene and enjoyed dating and drinking with friends. Cornell had an extensive fraternity system, and I quickly decided to pledge Alpha Epsilon Pi. In the 1950s, fraternities were almost entirely segregated. All I cared about was feeling at home with the members who happened to be Jewish and predominantly from the New York area. I was a skillful Ping-Pong player, which helped boost my popularity with the older brothers. I integrated in no time into the fraternity's social scene, which included great weekend parties with sister sororities. With my yellow convertible and my father's credit card, I found it easy to impress my dates, and I soon learned the joys of weekend road trips with friends to neighboring schools.

The freedom was seductive, but it didn't take long for the reality to set in that Cornell was a place of academic rigor. In my orientation to the metallurgy program, I recall the department head asking us to "look to your left and right because most of you won't be here at graduation." It was an early lesson in how not to motivate people. Before long, I realized firsthand that his admonition was no joke. I may have done well in math and science at PMA but I now was thrown in with truly exceptional students, and I began to struggle.

Things got progressively worse. I'll never forget my physics midterm in which we had to determine where a cannonball would land in relation to a group of hills. Though I wasn't cheating, I happened to notice my neighbor was drawing a landing spot across his piece of paper on a far hill whereas the best I could figure the shell would barely hit the nearest hill. Stumped, I decided to write on my paper that I couldn't answer the question because "my cannon was malfunctioning." When the graded paper came back, I received a zero alongside a sarcastic comment from the professor.

By November, I was doing so poorly that I decided to drop out. I went home for Thanksgiving and told my parents I'd transfer to NYU, an idea they acceded to so long as I'd commit to finishing college. Within weeks, however, Cornell sent me a letter saying that the school had set up a special probationary program for eleven students that would allow me to switch to a liberal arts program to which I might be better suited. I took the opportunity and subsequently went to summer school at the University of Wisconsin and Cornell to make up for my lost semester. Fortunately, the switch was just what I needed. I ended up avoiding science classes and instead focused on economics and government. My grades improved, and I eventually spent my final year taking courses from the graduate business school.

With a more manageable academic load, I began to enjoy college life once more. I took a two-bedroom apartment with three of my fraternity brothers my junior year where we had never-ending bridge tournaments. I figured out how to study just hard enough to get by without sacrificing my active social schedule while my weekend road trips became more regular and far-reaching. By now, Helen was studying at Smith College and had begun dating my roommate Lenny Zucker. He and I often would snag one of our other friends and head off to Massachusetts in search of a good time.

My days of playing the field soon ended abruptly. While I was home for spring recess, my aunt told me of an attractive nineteen-yearold named Joan Mosher whose family had just moved to the neighborhood from California. My solicitous relative suggested I call her for a date. Having just broken up with a girlfriend, I eagerly called Joan to ask her out. I was disappointed when I heard her say, "I have a party that night and won't be able to meet you, but I have a friend who you might like . . ." Undeterred, I replied firmly, "There's no way I'm going out with a blind date set up by a blind date . . . I'll call again."

My steadfastness paid off, and we soon arranged to meet on April Fool's Day 1954. That evening, I was greeted by Joanie's mother, who carefully looked me up and down so she could report to her daughter, who was strategically waiting in her room-the big issue at that moment was to determine my height so Joanie could decide whether she should wear heels. In a flash, I saw an energetic and very beautiful girl in flat-soled shoes come bounding down the hall. On the way to drinks at the White Cannon Inn in Freeport, Joanie ribbed that I was nothing like the fair-haired boys she knew in California and joked that at least I didn't have a New York accent.

Copyright © 2006 by Sanford I. Weill

About the Author

Sanford I. Weill is Chairman Emeritus of Citigroup Inc., the diversified global financial services company formed in 1998 through the merger of Citicorp and Travelers Group. Mr. Weill retired as CEO of Citigroup on October 1, 2003, and served as Chairman until April 18, 2006.

Judah S. Kraushaar, the former director of the Global Financial Services Equity Research team at Merrill Lynch, has been consistently ranked as the banking industry's top securities analyst by investor surveys from The Wall Street Journal, Institutional Investor, and Fortune. He and his wife, Michele, and their three children live in Westchester County, New York.