Nicolas Berggruen keeps jet and art collection, Billionaire Nicolas Berggruen harbors a distaste for baggage, real and emotional. Over the decades, he's built a $2.2 billion fortune by snapping up hotels and stakes in companies like German department-store chain Karstadt and Spanish media conglomerate Prisa.
But along the way, he has made a point of shedding the paintings, estates and other trappings that typically keep billionaires occupied. Even ordinary possessions that make other people feel "human," he says, have no place in his life. At 50, Berggruen is without a house, a car or even a wristwatch. He never married, nor does he have any children. He hopscotches around the globe living out of hotels, and on a recent sun-baked Saturday afternoon, home was the Hotel Cipriani, perched at the edge of Venice.
The antique boats gliding by on Venice's placid lagoon give Cipriani a languorous air, but Berggruen is on the edge of his chair, his knees nervously bouncing up and down as he speaks. Europe, his childhood home, is caught in a death spiral. For more than a year, European leaders have been shuttling back and forth to emergency summits, cobbling together half-measures that have failed to douse the flames of the euro zone's sovereign-debt crisis. What Europe needs right now, Berggruen says, is decisive leadership. Instead, its ruling class could barely be called upon to cancel their vacation plans. "It's like a bad cartoon," he says. "All these different leaders . . .
They all want to go on vacation, to their holiday houses, and—argh!—they get dragged back to their offices and have to meet in dreadful places like Frankfurt or Brussels. They agree on something, everybody smiles, shakes hands, and they all go back home. One week later, a new crisis." The perpetual scramble, Berggruen notes, has become a common affliction across Western democracies, including the United States. Publicly elected policy makers no longer have enough breathing room to make effective policy, because they are hemmed in by the pressures of 24-hour news cycles, gyrating financial markets and increasingly populist electorates. The first step to restore sanity, Berggruen believes, is to revive the proverbial smoke-filled room, a place where "eminent" figures can gather behind closed doors and calmly redesign government. So far, the mogul has already poured tens of millions into a committee—comprised of former secretaries of state, governors and business leaders—to revive California.
A second group of Nobel laureates and former European prime ministers is preparing to weigh in on Europe's malaise this fall. "It sounds like a crazy idea. But in times of real crisis—if the people are good citizens—they will sit together and work together," he says.Berggruen grew up in Paris, but he has German roots. His father, Heinz, was a Jewish art connoisseur in Berlin who left Germany during the Nazi regime and later befriended Pablo Picasso, becoming a major collector of his art. As a teenager, Berggruen says he kept busy by writing "utopian" constitutions—and occasionally clashing with authority figures. The budding billionaire was expelled from his Swiss boarding school for insubordination, before finishing his high-school studies in Paris and moving to New York to study finance at New York University. With a few thousand dollars in savings, Berggruen began to dabble in stocks and bonds. As an investor, his tastes were eclectic. He used his capital gains to buy property across the West Village and in Brooklyn's Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood in the 1980s, back when the area's real estate was mostly "bombed-out," he recalls. In 1988, he co-founded a group of hedge funds that he sold to Safra Bank. He acquired hotel chains around the world and the eyewear maker FGX, which he briskly restructured and took public for a sizable profit. A year ago, he bought the insolvent German retailer Karstadt for the symbolic fee of 1 euro, agreeing to inject 70 million euros into the firm and save 25,000 jobs. As Berggruen's wealth grew, however, he became disillusioned with what it could buy. A decade ago, he began paring down his lifestyle, selling an island estate in Florida and an apartment in
New York. His somewhat limited wardrobe is now scattered across the world, stored at his favorite hotels. He loaned his art collection to museums—a move that left him free to drift from one city to the next aboard his private jet, the one item he deems too "practical" to discard. "I felt I was owned by possessions," Berggruen says, the collar of his salmon-colored shirt slightly frayed around the edges. Instead, he is spending his extra time and money on reengineering broken political systems. Berggruen was drawn to California, which is nearly broke and practically ungovernable but has a ballot initiative system that allows groups to propose legislation directly to voters, bypassing the state assembly. The billionaire also had a big social network to draw upon in the state—he plays host to Hollywood celebrities and other notables at the annual thank-you party for all those who have put him up that he throws the evening before the Oscars at L.A.'s Chateau Marmont. A year ago, Berggruen convened a conclave of some of the biggest names in his Rolodex, including former secretaries of state Condoleezza Rice and George Shultz, Google chairman Eric Schmidt, former governor Gray Davis and the man who ousted him in a recall election, Arnold Schwarzenegger. "You had the recaller and the recalled next to each other and singing the same song," Berggruen says. The group has recommended that California build up financial reserves, known as a "Rainy Day Fund," when the state's tax revenues are running high. Working behind-the-scenes, Mr. Berggruen's group says it pushed Rainy Day Fund proposals that are expected to go before voters in a statewide ballot initiative, which is scheduled for 2014. Berggruen manages to sway erstwhile opponents because he wields "the carrot and the stick," explains Gray Davis. "What makes the difference between this and countless other reform efforts is that Nicolas is ready to put up $20 million to begin to go to the ballot." Berggruen recently dipped his toe into Africa. In July, he entered talks with the East African Community, a group of countries that stretches from Kenya to Burundi, to establish Africa's first regional commodities exchange. Berggruen argues that it would give farmers access to prices set by a large centralized market. Farmers could trade futures contracts, guaranteeing a steady flow of revenue to offset local price swings and natural disasters. Berggruen has also been laying the groundwork for a project in Europe. In July 2010, he flew to Borkum, a German island in the North Sea, where former German chancellor Gerhard Schroeder was on holiday. When Berggruen described his nascent efforts in California, Schroeder seized on the idea. "I said, 'Why don't we discuss these issues with other former European heads of state?' " Schroeder recalls. Over the past year,
Berggruen has recruited a group called the Council for the Future of Europe that includes Schroeder, the U.K.'s Tony Blair and Spain's Felipe González, as well as Nobel laureates Robert Mundell and Joseph Stiglitz. Meeting in Berlin and Paris this spring, the group reviewed proposals that many elected officials have bitterly fought over in public. One idea detested by plenty of German taxpayers is a so-called "euro bond," a debt instrument that, with the backing of strong economies like Germany, could be used to dig Greece and other weak economies out of their fiscal holes. Berggruen is also skeptical of the West's sudden embrace of austerity as economic medicine. Austerity measures undercut consumer spending, he says, which is what makes the global economy go round. Berggruen catches himself, aware that his own lifestyle doesn't exactly respect such maxims. "Luckily the whole world is not like me," Berggruen says. "Or else, there would be no world."
But along the way, he has made a point of shedding the paintings, estates and other trappings that typically keep billionaires occupied. Even ordinary possessions that make other people feel "human," he says, have no place in his life. At 50, Berggruen is without a house, a car or even a wristwatch. He never married, nor does he have any children. He hopscotches around the globe living out of hotels, and on a recent sun-baked Saturday afternoon, home was the Hotel Cipriani, perched at the edge of Venice.
The antique boats gliding by on Venice's placid lagoon give Cipriani a languorous air, but Berggruen is on the edge of his chair, his knees nervously bouncing up and down as he speaks. Europe, his childhood home, is caught in a death spiral. For more than a year, European leaders have been shuttling back and forth to emergency summits, cobbling together half-measures that have failed to douse the flames of the euro zone's sovereign-debt crisis. What Europe needs right now, Berggruen says, is decisive leadership. Instead, its ruling class could barely be called upon to cancel their vacation plans. "It's like a bad cartoon," he says. "All these different leaders . . .
They all want to go on vacation, to their holiday houses, and—argh!—they get dragged back to their offices and have to meet in dreadful places like Frankfurt or Brussels. They agree on something, everybody smiles, shakes hands, and they all go back home. One week later, a new crisis." The perpetual scramble, Berggruen notes, has become a common affliction across Western democracies, including the United States. Publicly elected policy makers no longer have enough breathing room to make effective policy, because they are hemmed in by the pressures of 24-hour news cycles, gyrating financial markets and increasingly populist electorates. The first step to restore sanity, Berggruen believes, is to revive the proverbial smoke-filled room, a place where "eminent" figures can gather behind closed doors and calmly redesign government. So far, the mogul has already poured tens of millions into a committee—comprised of former secretaries of state, governors and business leaders—to revive California.
A second group of Nobel laureates and former European prime ministers is preparing to weigh in on Europe's malaise this fall. "It sounds like a crazy idea. But in times of real crisis—if the people are good citizens—they will sit together and work together," he says.Berggruen grew up in Paris, but he has German roots. His father, Heinz, was a Jewish art connoisseur in Berlin who left Germany during the Nazi regime and later befriended Pablo Picasso, becoming a major collector of his art. As a teenager, Berggruen says he kept busy by writing "utopian" constitutions—and occasionally clashing with authority figures. The budding billionaire was expelled from his Swiss boarding school for insubordination, before finishing his high-school studies in Paris and moving to New York to study finance at New York University. With a few thousand dollars in savings, Berggruen began to dabble in stocks and bonds. As an investor, his tastes were eclectic. He used his capital gains to buy property across the West Village and in Brooklyn's Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood in the 1980s, back when the area's real estate was mostly "bombed-out," he recalls. In 1988, he co-founded a group of hedge funds that he sold to Safra Bank. He acquired hotel chains around the world and the eyewear maker FGX, which he briskly restructured and took public for a sizable profit. A year ago, he bought the insolvent German retailer Karstadt for the symbolic fee of 1 euro, agreeing to inject 70 million euros into the firm and save 25,000 jobs. As Berggruen's wealth grew, however, he became disillusioned with what it could buy. A decade ago, he began paring down his lifestyle, selling an island estate in Florida and an apartment in
New York. His somewhat limited wardrobe is now scattered across the world, stored at his favorite hotels. He loaned his art collection to museums—a move that left him free to drift from one city to the next aboard his private jet, the one item he deems too "practical" to discard. "I felt I was owned by possessions," Berggruen says, the collar of his salmon-colored shirt slightly frayed around the edges. Instead, he is spending his extra time and money on reengineering broken political systems. Berggruen was drawn to California, which is nearly broke and practically ungovernable but has a ballot initiative system that allows groups to propose legislation directly to voters, bypassing the state assembly. The billionaire also had a big social network to draw upon in the state—he plays host to Hollywood celebrities and other notables at the annual thank-you party for all those who have put him up that he throws the evening before the Oscars at L.A.'s Chateau Marmont. A year ago, Berggruen convened a conclave of some of the biggest names in his Rolodex, including former secretaries of state Condoleezza Rice and George Shultz, Google chairman Eric Schmidt, former governor Gray Davis and the man who ousted him in a recall election, Arnold Schwarzenegger. "You had the recaller and the recalled next to each other and singing the same song," Berggruen says. The group has recommended that California build up financial reserves, known as a "Rainy Day Fund," when the state's tax revenues are running high. Working behind-the-scenes, Mr. Berggruen's group says it pushed Rainy Day Fund proposals that are expected to go before voters in a statewide ballot initiative, which is scheduled for 2014. Berggruen manages to sway erstwhile opponents because he wields "the carrot and the stick," explains Gray Davis. "What makes the difference between this and countless other reform efforts is that Nicolas is ready to put up $20 million to begin to go to the ballot." Berggruen recently dipped his toe into Africa. In July, he entered talks with the East African Community, a group of countries that stretches from Kenya to Burundi, to establish Africa's first regional commodities exchange. Berggruen argues that it would give farmers access to prices set by a large centralized market. Farmers could trade futures contracts, guaranteeing a steady flow of revenue to offset local price swings and natural disasters. Berggruen has also been laying the groundwork for a project in Europe. In July 2010, he flew to Borkum, a German island in the North Sea, where former German chancellor Gerhard Schroeder was on holiday. When Berggruen described his nascent efforts in California, Schroeder seized on the idea. "I said, 'Why don't we discuss these issues with other former European heads of state?' " Schroeder recalls. Over the past year,
Berggruen has recruited a group called the Council for the Future of Europe that includes Schroeder, the U.K.'s Tony Blair and Spain's Felipe González, as well as Nobel laureates Robert Mundell and Joseph Stiglitz. Meeting in Berlin and Paris this spring, the group reviewed proposals that many elected officials have bitterly fought over in public. One idea detested by plenty of German taxpayers is a so-called "euro bond," a debt instrument that, with the backing of strong economies like Germany, could be used to dig Greece and other weak economies out of their fiscal holes. Berggruen is also skeptical of the West's sudden embrace of austerity as economic medicine. Austerity measures undercut consumer spending, he says, which is what makes the global economy go round. Berggruen catches himself, aware that his own lifestyle doesn't exactly respect such maxims. "Luckily the whole world is not like me," Berggruen says. "Or else, there would be no world."
Title: Nicolas Berggruen keeps jet and art collection
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