{"product_id":"am-i-being-too-subtle-isbn-9781591848233","title":"Am I Being Too Subtle?","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe traits that make Sam Zell one of the world’s most successful entrepreneurs also make him one of the most surprising, enigmatic, and entertaining mavericks in American business. \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Self-made billionaire Sam Zell consistently sees what others don’t. From finding a market for overpriced \u003ci\u003ePlayboy\u003c\/i\u003e magazines among his junior high classmates, to buying real estate on the cheap after a market crash, to investing in often unglamorous industries with long-term value, Zell acts boldly on supply and demand trends to grab the first-mover advantage. And he can find opportunity virtually anywhere—from an arcane piece of legislation to a desert meeting in Abu Dhabi. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “If everyone is going left, look right,” Zell often says. To him, conventional wisdom is nothing but a reference point. Year after year, deal after deal, he shuts out the noise of the crowd, gathers as much information as possible, then trusts his own instincts. He credits much of his independent thinking to his parents, who were Jewish refugees from World War II. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Talk to any two people and you might get wild swings in their descriptions of Zell. A media firestorm ensued when the Tribune Company went into bankruptcy a year after he agreed to steward the enterprise. At the same time, his razor-sharp instincts are legendary on Wall Street, and he has sponsored over a dozen IPOs.  He’s known as the Grave Dancer for his strategy of targeting troubled assets, yet he’s created thousands of jobs. Within his own organization, he has an inordinate number of employees at every level who are fiercely loyal and have worked for him for decades. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Zell’s got a big personality; he is often contrarian, blunt, and irreverent, and always curious and hardworking. This is the guy who started wearing jeans to work in the 1960s, when offices were a sea of gray suits. He’s the guy who told \u003ci\u003eThe\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e in 1985, “If it ain’t fun, we don’t do it.” He rides motorcycles with his friends, the Zell’s Angels, around the world and he keeps ducks on the deck outside his office. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As he writes: “I simply don’t buy into many of the made-up rules of social convention. The bottom line is: If you’re really good at what you do, you have the freedom to be who you really are.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eAm I Being Too Subtle?\u003c\/i\u003e—a reference to Zell’s favorite way to underscore a point—takes readers on a ride across his business terrain, sharing with honesty and humor stories of the times he got it right, when he didn’t, and most important, what he learned in the process.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This is an indispensable guide for the next generation of disrupters, entrepreneurs, and investors. “The notoriously blunt businessman shares the ups and downs of his career and the lessons he’s learned in business—with just a little profanity—in a new book, \u003ci\u003eAm I Being Too Subtle?\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003cbr\u003e --\u003ci\u003eThe Wall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Here we have the real Sam Zell: one of our nation’s most interesting, provocative, and successful practitioners of business and life. He’s a wise man who hates fuzzy thinking. He is a biker, wearer of leathers and jeans and boots and his signature quirky beard. He points his skis straight downhill. You know, all the usual things that the few really smart (but not too smart for their own good) business people do.”\u003cbr\u003e --Steve Roth, chairman and CEO of Vornado Realty Trust\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A highly readable and revealingly personal book filled with unique insights and unvarnished straight talk about business, people—their quirks and potentials—and about life itself.”\u003cbr\u003e --\u003ci\u003eThe Huffington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eSam Zell\u003c\/b\u003e is the chairman of Equity Group Investments, the private investment firm he founded in 1968, and the chairman of five NYSE companies. He is an entrepreneur and investor who is active in a diverse range of industries, such as energy, manufacturing, logistics, healthcare, and communications, and of course real estate. He lives in Chicago with his wife, Helen.Chapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e An Impossible Life\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My father was the first person I knew who had done something      \"impossible.\" At thirty-four, he escaped his hometown in Poland on      the last train out, just hours before the Luftwaffe bombed the      tracks, and then led my mother and two-year-old sister on a      twenty-one-month trek across two continents to safety.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As a result, I grew up believing that anything is possible. And      when you're not aware there are any limitations, nothing stops you      from trying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My parents each grew up in middle-class homes in Polish towns      close to the German border. They were from large families, both of      which were devoutly Jewish and highly educated. They were distant      cousins and met through family, and after they married in 1936      they stayed in the region, settling in a town called Sosnowiec.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My father, Bernard, bought and sold grain throughout Eastern      Europe. By virtue of traveling to different countries and      interfacing with different people and cultures, he had a more      worldly perspective and was more attuned to geopolitics than most      of his family and neighbors. He was also an avid follower of      current events and relied on his shortwave radio for news, since      radio in Poland was censored. He and my mother listened to reports      in different languages, including reports from Germany, Britain,      and America. So he was very aware of the growing danger for Jews      in Poland at a time when many of his more provincial friends and      family dismissed the possibility of extreme scenarios.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My father was a realist, and a man of foresight and action. By      1937, growing anti-Semitism in Poland, and Germany's increasing      aggression concerned him enough to take action. My mother,      Rochelle, sewed jewelry into the lining of some of their clothes      to use as currency, in case they had to escape, but they knew they      would need more funds than they could carry. At the time, Poland      had outlawed the transfer of assets out of the country, and people      suspected of economic crimes were known to disappear. So my father      took an enormous risk by making a clandestine transfer of money to      a bank in Tel Aviv (then Palestine). To avoid detection, he      requested that no confirmation of the deposit be sent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A year later, by the time of the Kristallnacht in late 1938, my      father had made the final decision to leave. But he first wanted      to establish a broader economic base outside of Poland. The plan      was to confirm that the funds he had sent to the Anglo-Palestine      Bank in Palestine were indeed there, send those funds to a bank in      the U.S. and replace them with more money from Poland. This money      transfer operation was organized by a Jewish agency to help Jews      move their assets out of Poland. To make the transfers, however,      my father needed my mother's help, and they had to be very      careful.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He went to Tel Aviv on a three-week tourist visa, and wrote my      mother every day to make his communications back home seem      commonplace. Every letter coming in or going out of Poland was      read by police, so he had to provide inconspicuous clues as to      what he needed her to do. Each of his letter emphasized the number      \"50,\" which my mother knew indicated she was to prepare 50,000      zlotys (about $10,000). (They kept all their money that was in      Poland in the house.) One day, my mother received the typical      envelope, but all that fell out was a tiny piece of torn paper      with just a few words on it. It was odd, and she knew it meant      something but had no idea what. Then, on the last week of my      father's trip a stranger showed up, unannounced, on the family's      doorstep. This was in itself always an anxiety-producing event.      The man said he was the president of the Anglo-Palestine Bank, and      he had a carbon copy of the little torn piece of paper my mother      had received in the mail from my father, so she gave the stranger      the 50,000 zlotys. He could have been from the police or he could      have just kept the money. She had no real way of knowing how      genuine he was. But it all worked out; my father returned home      having completed his mission. He had added money to his account in      Tel Aviv and transferred money to a bank in New York, listing both      his and Rochelle's signatures on the accounts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My parents each had six siblings, and they made numerous appeals      to their brothers, sisters, and parents to leave Poland. But every      one of their family members refused to consider it. Like many      people in the community, in spite of witnessing and experiencing      anti-Semitism, they thought they would be okay if they just stuck      it out, like they had during the Great War. After all, the Germans      were civilized, cultured people. Certainly the prospect of leaving      their entire families behind most certainly delayed my father's      decision to pull the trigger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then, on August 24, 1939, my father was traveling east on a      business trip to Warsaw when his train made a stop at the halfway      point. He saw a newsboy selling papers and stepped off to buy one.      The headline read that Germany and the Soviet Union had just      signed a nonaggression pact. He knew with certainty that Poland,      squeezed in the middle between Germany and Russia, would be      attacked from both sides and divided between the two aggressors.      It was time to get out. My father immediately crossed the tracks      to board a train heading back home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His train arrived in Sosnowiec at 2:00 p.m. It was a ten-minute      walk home, and when he got there he told my mother to pack what      she could carry; they were boarding the 4:00 train out that      afternoon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He took my mother and sister Julie to a relative's house in      Kielce, about seventy-five miles away, and then returned to their      hometown in one last effort to beg their families to leave Poland      with them. It felt like a race against time. But again they      refused. So my parents and sister started out alone on a nearly      two-year odyssey. The Germans invaded Poland at dawn. My father      had caught the last train out of Sosnowiec before the Nazis bombed      the railroad tracks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My family couldn't go west toward Germany, so they headed      northeast, across Poland, into Lithuania. They traveled on foot,      by bus, by horse-drawn carts, and by cattle train. They were often      part of an early wave of refugees to enter each city. Growing up,      I heard many stories of the help my family received along the      way-often from my father's business associates, Jews and non-Jews      alike. For that reason he always impressed upon us the importance      of tzedakah-righteousness, kindness, and giving to others.      Tzedakah saved my parents' lives.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In Vilnius, Lithuania, they rested and my father began selling      grain to local merchants. My mother was tired of running and      wanted to settle there to wait out the war. But my father never      lost his sense of urgency to get out. He was right, of course.      Most of the Jews who remained in Lithuania perished.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His ultimate goal was either Palestine or the U. S., but first      they had to get out of Europe, and for that they needed visas from      a safe country that was willing to accept them. There were few      consulates left in Vilnius, and most were from countries in      Western Europe that were already at war or under German      occupation. However, there was an honorary Dutch consul named Jan      Zwartendijk who lived in nearby Kaunas, and the Dutch-controlled      island of Cura‚ao, off the coast of Venezuela, didn't require      visas to get in. The bad news was that the Dutch government      literally didn't have a process to issue visas for Cura‚ao; no      such visa existed, and the refugees needed something      official-looking to travel through the Soviet Union. So a Jewish      tradesman in the refugee group crafted a fake stamp with the Dutch      crest and brought it to Zwartendijk, who then used it to forge      entrance visas for Cura‚ao.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The island was located fifty-six hundred miles southwest of      Lithuania, on the far side of Poland, Germany, and France.      Clearly, travel through those countries was not an option. The      only way to Cura‚ao was through Russia and Japan, a journey of      eight thousand miles, across the entire continent, to then go      west. An additional hurdle was the necessity of a travel visa for      Japan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A Jewish refugee delegation, including my father, went to the      Vilnius Japanese vice consul, Chiune Sugihara, for these transit      visas. Sugihara wired Tokyo three times for permission to help the      refugees, but was denied each time. The vice consul was a Japanese      career diplomat, but he had also been raised in a middle-class      samurai family. And part of the code of the samurai is benevolence      and mercy, and appreciation and respect for life. Despite the risk      to his career and his family, Sugihara ignored his direct orders      and decided to do as much as he could. For the next month, he and      his wife barely stopped to eat or sleep as they wrote out      thousands of transit visas. My family was among the six thousand      Jews Sugihara saved-the Sugihara Survivors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It's always been remarkable to me that my parents' lives were      saved by a Japanese man disobeying orders, considering the      Japanese culture. When I went to Japan for the first time in the      early 1980s and told this story to the people I was meeting, they      flat out said it couldn't be true-an official in the Foreign      Service would never violate a direct order. But he had. It wasn't      until 1985, when Sugihara was an old man, that his actions were      officially recognized in Israel. He was revered as \"the Japanese      Schindler\" and received Israel's recognition as a Righteous      Gentile by the Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Martyrs' and Heroes'      Remembrance Authority.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Before Sugihara's death, we found out where he was living, and my      sister Julie and her husband went to Japan to meet with him. Julie      asked him, \"How could you have taken that chance, against orders?\"      His answer was \"I'd never had an opportunity to literally save      people before-and then I did. And I had to do it.\" His courageous      act became his legacy-his way to make a difference.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My parents and sister traveled across the Soviet Union on the      Trans-Siberian Railway. Through every one of the fifty-six hundred      miles they were at risk. Jews were being sent to camps in Siberia      for any infraction, real or not, at the time, and my family was      traveling in the dead of winter. But they made it; they were the      second group of what would become thousands of Jewish refugees to      reach Japan during the war.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My family spent nearly four months in Japan, most of it in      Yokohama. My mother spoke fondly of the kindness and warmth of the      Japanese people; it was meaningful, particularly after their      harrowing trip. Later, after my parents had settled in the States,      they struggled to reconcile their experience there with Japan's      actions during the war and with their new country's animosity      toward the Japanese people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My family traveled thousands of miles, through four countries,      over the course of twenty-one months to safety, arriving in      Seattle on May 18, 1941. My mother was pregnant with me at the      time. They had spent almost everything they had except for about      $600 they had sent ahead to the Manufacturers Trust Company bank      in New York.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The evening after they landed, my parents took their first English      class; they were eager to improve their language skills and to      begin the process of becoming Americans. My father's great-uncle      in New York offered him a job, but my father was      independent-minded and saw Chicago as a natural place to settle,      as it was the center of the country's grain business and he      expected to pick up his profession as a grain merchant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first hotel my parents went to in Chicago turned them away. My      father was furious. His immediate reaction was \"Here I thought we      had finally escaped anti-Semitism. But I come to the United      States, try to check in to a hotel, and they won't take us.\" When      he'd tell the story, it was a rare moment of levity for him      because it was a joke. My father couldn't read English at the      time, and apparently the sign outside the hotel had read \"Men      Only.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My parents settled in a largely Jewish neighborhood on the West      Side of Chicago. That's where I was born, on September 28, four      months after my family arrived in the U.S. and two months before      Pearl Harbor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Among the last letters from my parents' families in Poland was one      that told them my mother's brother-in-law, Samuel Moses, had been      shot in the street. (I was subsequently named after him.) Before      long their families disappeared into the ghettos, and then into      the concentration camps. Most all of the family was murdered-their      parents, all but two of their brothers and sisters, and all of      their siblings' eighteen children. Only my mother's brother Isaac      and her sister Ann survived.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My parents' worldview was cast in their survivor experience. And      the imprint of the immigrant was never far from the surface in our      home, even after the war ended when I was four. But I was largely      ignorant of the family story until I stumbled upon it at the age      of six. My parents belonged to an organization called the Harmony      Circle Club, which included a bunch of Polish refugees who met      once a month to share news of the war in Europe and discuss how      their lives were going in America.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I vividly remember the night I snuck out of my bedroom and into      the dark living room where an 8-mm film was flickering on the      wall. My parents and their friends were watching a clandestine      film from the concentration camps. I saw jumpy black-and-white      images of trucks overflowing with bodies, bones protruding from      skin, human beings discarded like garbage-absolutely horrible      stuff. Those unforgettable images were my introduction to the      Holocaust. Looking back, I can see that they accelerated my      maturity and gave me a sober awareness of the world. That film      also went a long way toward helping me understand my parents'      orientation toward life-why they pushed so hard and were so      determined for their children to succeed. Economic success had      been critical in securing their freedom. They had escaped Poland      in part because they had the means to do so-my father's prescience      in storing away money.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The day after my father died in 1986, my mother gave me his pinky      ring. It held the diamond they had hidden in my sister Julie's      shoe during their long escape from Europe. I transferred the stone      to a bracelet that I wear on my right wrist and never take off-to      always remember where I come from.","brand":"Portfolio","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300304113893,"sku":"NP9781591848233","price":33.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781591848233.jpg?v=1767721368","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/am-i-being-too-subtle-isbn-9781591848233","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}