The billionaire in baggy shorts
I first met Julian Robertson in a private departure lounge at Auckland International Airport in 2008 shortly before he and Josie were about to leave for New York on their $20m Gulfstream V jet.
I was nervous. I had read about Robertson, once dubbed “the Wizard of Wall St” because of his phenomenal success in running his hedge fund firm, Tiger Management. He was known to be extremely competitive, at times fiery, a complex man who could be gruff and at times arrogant on the one hand, and extremely kind and charming on the other. I expected one of those don’t-suffer-fools interviews.
But in fact he was polite, measured, thoughtful, speaking in the slow southern drawl of his native North Carolina where he was born and educated. He was 75 back then, and didn’t look like a billionaire who was about to board his private jet. He was wearing a comfy jumper, his long, spindly legs sticking out of baggy shorts, and was unshaven.
At the time I cheekily wrote: “You could dismiss Julian Robertson as a dear old dad come to see a loved one off at the airport.”
We walked across the tarmac to see inside the waiting Gulfstream. From memory it was surprisingly ordinary. It had comfy cream leather seats but they looked well used, creases earned over thousands of air miles. Robertson probably didn’t think it necessary to have the latest swanky model.
Waiting in the lounge were two excited young Kiwi Robertson scholars, Amir Malek, of Hamilton, and Oliver Wilson, of Dunedin who were joining the flight. They would spend four years at Duke University — Malek studying physics and Wilson studying engineering.
I assume the Herald on Sunday sent me because of the students. Instead Robertson and I talked about politics. Helen Clark was in her third term as Prime Minister and there had been hoo-ha from the Labour Party about a major American donor, thought to be Robertson, funding the National Party to the tune of $500,000 for the 2005 election. In the end the donation, if it existed, wasn’t a winning play. Clark squeaked in just ahead of Don Brash’s National.
Later, it came out that Robertson had also donated $1000 to Te Tai Tokerau MP Dover Samuels towards his 1999 election campaign. Samuels confirmed the donation and said it was because he was friends with the couple.
We talked about Brash, a man whom Robertson described as “an exceptional human being” and a fellow disciple of American Nobel laureate economist Milton Friedman. He thought Helen Clark was “honest and smart as a whip”. He told me he funded good people on their ability rather than politics or the party.
But it was doubtful he would extend that funding to Clark, despite his donation to Samuels.
“Unfortunately, she’s an honest unmitigated socialist and I don’t think that that, in the long run, is the way to go. I mean let’s face it, even the communists have become capitalists,” he said at the time.
Robertson had watched fascinated as the ultra-conservative Brash pitted himself against Clark.
“Both of them were fabulous espousers of their causes.”
He talked about the beauty of New Zealand and his first investments, buying farm land near the Bay of Islands and in Hawke’s Bay that would be transformed into two luxury golf resorts.
“You could get this real estate which was as pretty as any in the world for the price of a very modest New York apartment,” he said.
While he might have got the land for a song, Robertson went on to pour millions of dollars into building guest lodges, establishing wetlands and planting natives. The two resorts were run by his middle son Jay (Julian Robertson III) while his other two sons lived in the US.
Smack in the middle of the global financial crisis (2008) the former Wizard of Wall St urged caution. He gave advice that he would probably give now.
“I think this is one of those times when you have to be awfully careful with your money and look for preservation of capital much more than making money.”
He also thought Kiwis took too many holidays, “more vacations than anybody in the world”.
While we chatted, an art consultant arrived at the airport with a Colin McCahon painting to show Josie. The painting had been in the McCahon family and had never before been offered for sale. But just then Robertson’s PA told him discreetly that it was time for take-off.
“I don’t want to leave,” he said, “I’ve been playing some good golf.”
I never did find out if the Robertsons bought the McCahon but I’ve since learned there is one hanging on the walls of Kauri Cliffs, so they might well have done so.
Unfortunately, she’s an honest unmitigated socialist and I don’t think that that, in the long run, is the way to go. Robertson on Helen Clark