A Global Lesson

Reinhard Mohn, legendary entrepreneur and father of the global media giant Bertelsmann, offers penetrating insights into his motives, beliefs, and hopes as one of the world’s foremost businesspeople.

Reinhard Mohn has grappled with the political and cultural changes of recent decades like few other entrepreneurs of his time. In this deeply personal book, Mohn, for the first time, describes his entrepreneurial development in the context of his own fascinating personal experiences.

A Global Lesson plumbs the extraordinary depth of Mohn’s life, from his Protestant upbringing and his time as a German soldier in an American POW camp during World War II to his socially conscious choices as a young businessman.

The hopes and challenges of booming 1950s Germany influenced Mohn’s early years as an entrepreneur in many ways. He quickly understood that to be successful he had to combine economic thinking with social responsibility. Furthermore, as he guided Bertelsmann’s evolution from a medium-sized company to a global media corporation, he realized how important it was to seek dialogue with other cultures. Through it all–from the period of German rebuilding after the war through the age of globalization–Mohn fostered a successful corporate culture that served as a model for business leaders across the globe.

A Global Lesson reveals the motives that guided Mohn’s development, and shares how his family origins and personal experiences shaped his life’s work. His story is also a testament to his leadership. Throughout his life and career, Mohn has promoted a unique and important philosophy: economic thinking and democratic culture cannot be in opposition–and only by standing up for humanity can we master the challenges of global cooperation.REINHARD MOHN, born in Gütersloh, Germany, in 1921, is the great-grandson of Bertelsmann’s founding publisher, Carl Bertelsmann. In five decades under his leadership, Bertelsmann grew to be one of the world’s leading media conglomerates. He is married to Liz Mohn and has six children.

ANDREA STOLL, Ph.D., studied German, philosophy, and journalism in Mainz and Vienna. Since 1992 she has worked as a freelance writer and producer for book publishers, film studios, and television stations and as a lecturer at the University of Salzburg. She has published numerous essays and several books, specializing in biographic and socio-political topics.

Family Origins and Personal Lessons

About This Book

To this day I still enjoy my daily hour--long walks through the forest. I need these moments of solitude. Having time to think without interruption gives me strength and relaxes me. This has helped me in many situations throughout my life. Where am I? What are my next steps? Are my goals realistic? What could I do better? These are the questions that have accompanied me over the decades. They are inextricably intertwined with my journey through life and with the creation of the Bertelsmann Corporation.

I was born in 1921 in Gutersloh, Germany. The turbulent twentieth century presented me with innumerable challenges, and often I wasn't sure how to handle them. When I returned from the war as a young man in January 1946, I never would have dreamt that from the rubble of the destroyed publishing house would grow a media company with offices in more than fifty countries and with more than one hundred thousand employees. How the conditions in our society have changed since then! The political and cultural changes of the past five decades have initiated a process of globalization, challenging the way we think and do things in our daily lives. This process even influences the development of democracy in Germany.

Throughout all those years the Bertelsmann Corporation has had the opportunity to collect manifold experiences, developing its enterprise in shifting political climates in Germany and Europe, as well as in the United States, Russia, India, and China. Considering the challenges of globalization, these experiences seem more relevant than ever. How were we able to establish a dialogue with people of such different origins and beliefs? What entrepreneurial decisions were necessary to successfully manage an international company with more than one hundred daughter companies? Why did Bertelsmann in Germany during my time never see a labor strike? In short: What is the secret of our success? In spite of many setbacks and unavoidable disappointments, I say: It was worth it.

And if today, at the end of my long journey, I'd be allowed one wish, it would be this: Peeking into the future, I would wish that the tried and tested Bertelsmann management style might provide the foundation of a peaceful coexistence of cultures.

All over the world, people tend to cling to habits as if they were eternal and to chain themselves to well--established traditions. Fear of what is new, a resistance toward what is other, toward what is different, has always promoted prejudice and dogma, which have historically found the most significant realization in national states and political systems. But the Greek philosophers already knew that the real challenge of life is to accept the process of constant change, panta rhei.1

History has shown time and again that power and violence cannot uphold any given human world order eternally. This experience is still relevant today. What is it that enables us not only to endure, but also to view the incessant changes in the cultural, political, economic, and national realm as an opportunity to build the future with personal strength and independent action? And what intellectual, political, economic, and social conditions are necessary for success?

These are the questions I have explored over the decades. Looking back on my own personal and entrepreneurial experiences, I now want to reveal the motives that guided my development.

Protestant Traditions and My

Desire for Independence

As far as I can remember, I've always been fascinated with the freedom of one's own thinking. As a sixteen-year--old student whose homework assignment was to discuss "My Thoughts on Choosing a Profession," I was able (much to my surprise today) to single out three aspects: a sense of responsibility toward society, one's natural abilities, and the desire for independence and a meaningful life. 2 What was important to my future then has not lost any significance today.

My upbringing in a disciplined and strict religious household may have played an important role. It provided a frame of reference for my character development, which required an early sense of responsibility and self--discipline. At the same time, my upbringing fostered my spirit of opposition and encouraged my search for my natural abilities and inner motivations, which my Christian education alone could not satisfy.

Anyone growing up with four older siblings and one younger brother is no stranger to the joys and hardships of human society. In my parents' house, my brother Hans Hein-rich played the part of the most respected and loved firstborn. But the part of the youngest remained uncast for five years, until my brother Gerd was born, because a girl who had been born after me did not survive. The sound of the church bells at her funeral is one of my earliest memories.

I was considered a sensitive child. I had inherited my father's predisposition for allergies and was somewhat susceptible to colds. But being ill also meant being alone. My mother Agnes's strict household did not allow special treatment. I clearly was the fifth wheel in our large family, carefully watching the rituals of our family's life and my older siblings' activities without feeling like a participant. If there was something I didn't understand, I rebelled inside and would sometimes withdraw. This was bound to lead to conflicts in a household governed by Christian principles and strict discipline.

As the publisher of Bertelsmann, my father often hosted lunches with authors and business partners at our home to discuss matters of the publishing house. Children had to keep quiet, of course, which was sometimes difficult for me and didn't always make sense. As punishment, my mother would often have me "stand in the corner." After a while, she'd ask me if I was ready to behave. No!, I'd declare (to the amusement of my siblings), I didn't want that at all!, and the whole ordeal would start all over again.

My mother, Agnes, was the daughter of Pastor Seippel of Gutersloh. Due to her mother's early death, she had had to take on the responsibility for her younger siblings. The result was a strong belief in discipline and an uncompro-mising sense of duty, qualities that she passed on to her own children. With loving stringency, she administered our education in a huge household, which included servants, houseguests (school friends of one of my older sibling's), as well as official guests of my father's. When I was young, my grandfather Johannes Mohn and my grandmother Friedericke, nee Bertelsmann, were also part of that household. Both sides of the family lived close by, and we were tightly knit. My sisters graduated from the all--girls high school, while my oldest brother and I attended the Protestant High School in Gutersloh. Even so, we didn't really go to school together; I had just started sixth grade as he was graduating high school, with straight A's.

The great age difference among us siblings led to other experiences. My parents would regularly travel to Switzerland or the Black Forest with my four older siblings, while I was sent to church camps. I didn't understand that at the time. From one day to the next I was left behind, alone among strangers, and, young as I was, I had to rely on myself. This experience was my early training in being alone. But what was painful for the child was a challenge to the youth: Why was this happening to me? Did I agree with it? What would I do differently, what would I do better? If you are suddenly without your family or any sympathetic ear, you learn to engage in conversation with yourself. And you learn that your own thoughts may lead you further than what is brought to you from the outside. Being alone as a child has taught me to talk to, and listen to, myself. And I still do so, to this day.

The traditions of our Protestant publishing house, which had been in family hands since its foundation in 1825 and had been managed by my parents, Heinrich and Agnes Mohn, since 1921, the year I was born, permeated our family's life. My grandparents' stories would bring to life historical anecdotes of the publishing house. Over and over again they'd make us aware of the historical origins of the publishing house founded by the Protestant lithographer Carl Bertelsmann in 1835. His many experiences as church council leader and city official, providing both a religious and an entrepreneurial model to his son Heinrich, were a natural part of our family conversations at the dinner table. My grandfather Johannes Mohn, too, had been active as city official, Presbyterian church master, and curator of the Protestant High School in Gutersloh (cofounded by Carl Bertelsmann). And he had been director of the board of many missionary societies, as well as a board member of the Association of Protestant Book Dealers. All that in addition to his leadership at the publishing house. A Protestant conviction and lived entrepreneurship was as natural to my siblings and me as our daily bread. Through prayers at the table and worship at our home, during which my father would read from his prayer book and accompany the hymns on the piano, our Christian education permeated our private lives. And, of course, church attendance on Sundays was mandatory!

My father's personal leadership style followed in the Protestant tradition established by Bertelsmann's founder, Carl Bertelsmann. In the first half of the twentieth century, the lithographic company had developed to a midsize publishing house, which, after World War I, in 1923, shrunk to only six employees from eighty in 1910. In the wake of an increasing openness to popular literature, the publishing house grew to four hundred and forty employees by 1939. Despite this enormous growth, the company's management style lost none of its patriarchal character: mutual loyalty and compassionate concern were still an undiminished priority. Following the Christian tradition, nobody was to work on a Sunday. My grandmother made sure of this with the threat of cutting off the electricity! Following the family's tradition, the sense of personal responsibility taken by the Bertelsmann publishing house toward its employees extended even to social initiatives. For example, my grandparents and parents were concerned about the betterment of their hometown, so they initiated the foundation of a preschool (in addition to other social initiatives). And, for the benefit of their employees, they established a pension and company health plan.

These various activities, along with the fluctuations of the company's business during the economically unstable 1920s, were an additional burden on my father's high--strung sensibilities, already strained by his asthma. Although we were children, we were quite aware of the terrible unemployment and the suffering of so many people after World War I; not only was this the subject of many conversations, but our own family's sometimes meager meals became unforgettable memories of my generation.

Due to my father's asthma, the family moved to the healthier climate of Braunlage in the Harz mountains in 1923. This is where I started school. But staying in the low mountain range only brought temporary relief for my father's condition, so we moved back to Gutersloh. My father's health declined steadily during the 1930s, and at the start of World War II, he was practically unable to work.

My father had very little impact on me personally; by and large he passed on only a few helpful insights. Without a doubt, the formative personality in my childhood was my mother. If I had problems at school, I talked them over with her. My hay fever, which plagued me from day one all my school years, along with my stress--induced fevers and my dyslexia (undetected at the time), took a high toll on my classroom performance. Consequently, my mother had doubts about my talents and abilities. Eventually I transferred to the branch of our high school that focused on the natural sciences. It was then that I discovered how much I enjoyed sports. My health improved, as did my performance at school. But the fears and insecurities of early years would still echo inside me. As a senior I didn't have the confidence to assume the office of class president offered to me by my classmates. But in 1939 I did graduate as one of the better students.

There is one incident in particular that sticks out from those years, which illustrates my early reflections on personal responsibility. One day we had a spelling test. At the end of the class the teacher collected the notebooks and handed them to me, since I, as the elected student liaison, held the key to the teacher's desk. During the break, one of the students came up to me, saying he had made a mistake on the test, and that I should give him his notebook so he could correct it. His request created quite a dilemma for me. I was torn between my feelings of friendship and my sense of responsibility.

Despite deep reservations, my feelings of friendship won out, and I honored my fellow student's request. That night I couldn't sleep! As soon as morning came, I confessed my mistake to my mother. She discussed the situation with my oldest brother, Hans Heinrich. That same morning, Hans spoke to the principal, who came to the conclusion that giving the key to a ten-year--old student had not been a wise decision.

This experience stayed with me for a long time. I learned one of my life's lessons, and have since avoided difficult situations with improprieties!

Without a doubt, I was a child with an active inner life, a child who thought long and hard about experiences at home and at school. Above and beyond my technical and mathematical interests and talents, I was searching for a deeper meaning. The religious discipline of my parents' home, however, with its daily rituals of worship and prayer, did not offer me true motivation. More memorable by far were the religious teachings of Pastor Florin. His teachings were different because he didn't only want to pass on the well--known themes and contents of the Christian faith; he also wanted to make the biblical stories relevant to us. This, for example, is how he described the Sermon on the Mount: Jesus told his disciples that he'd give a sermon on a nearby mountain. His disciples informed the believers, adding that the endeavor might take a while longer, and that it might be advisable to bring along provisions. And after Jesus had spoken on the mountain for several hours, his disciples reminded him to announce a break for bread, because people were hungry. Jesus followed their advice and broke in half two large pieces of bread the disciples had brought along, letting them distribute it. Everyone in the audience unpacked their own provisions and thus everyone had enough to eat. This vivid and realistic interpretation of a miracle impressed me greatly--told like that, religion was suspenseful and convincing!

My parents, on the other hand, noticed more and more that a purely formal education in religious matters meant little to me. The older I became, the less formal religion touched me. After my confirmation, my mother left it up to me to decide whether I wanted to participate in the family's worship. This had been a long time coming, and I decided to no longer participate.

Because of the large size of our family with its divergent interests, a most important question became ever clearer to me, until I couldn't avoid it any longer: "Who am I? Which way shall I turn?"