MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD MILKEN
Robert Lenzner, Globe Staff
1,335 words
2 April 1989
The Boston Globe
THIRD
A1
English
(Copyright 1989)
NEW YORK - Call Michael Milken the "Rain Man" of Wall Street.
It is fitting that the superstar Milken should have been indicted on the eve of this year's Academy Awards: The "junk-bond king" made the greatest fortune in Wall Street history by dint of his perfect memory for numbers.
And it is strangely appropriate that this "Rain Man" -- who made $550 million in 1987 alone -- will be arraigned here next week, missing for the first time in recent years the "Predators Ball," the annual get-together of the fraternity of junk bond dealers and takeover artists that is scheduled to be held in Beverly Hills.
For though Milken was by profession an investment banker, he also was in many ways a creature of the show-business culture of Southern California. Milken, the antiestablishment outsider who lived a workaholic existence, often spoke in Hollywoodese, too. His aim, he said, was to be Luke Skywalker, the hero, rather than Darth Vader, the enemy, of "Star Wars" fame.
In 1986, to sell the financial services of Drexel Burnham Lambert, Milken paid the pop star Madonna a packet of money to make a 10-minute promotional film that has since been retired from distribution.
Madonna recruited Ivy League business school graduates and Japanese bond buyers by singing her theme song "Material Girl" with lyrics suggesting that wealth and a flashy life waited at Drexel. The production symbolized the crazy, colorful greed of the mid-1980s. Loaded with flashy jewelry and provocatively dressed, Madonna sang:
"I'm a Double B girl in a high yield world,
"Drexel, Drexel, Drexel."
Interspersed with Madonna's prancing were shots of Milken's most glamorous clients, Steven Ross, Warner Communications chairman; Rupert Murdoch, the newspaper publisher; Steve Wynn, gambling casino proprietor; and Ronald Perelman, chairman of Revlon Corp.
All were conspicuously absent from the full-page "Support Milken" ads taken out by the indicted deal-maker last week. So were Milken's junk bond crowd from Southern California and the arbitrageurs who paid for their Easthampton beach houses with the profits from Milken's deals.
Henry Kravis was not listed either, because Milken stands accused of telling Ivan Boesky to buy shares of Storer Broadcasting common stock during the second week of July 1985. Milken knew Kravis was about to raise his bid for the communications company. Milken did not even split the profits with Boesky on this one, according to the indictment.
Nor was Ted Turner on the list, though he paid Drexel $66 million in 1985 to acquire MGM/UA. That is because Milken has been charged with tipping Boesky off to the Turner Broadcasting deal for MGM/UA in August 1985, which netted Drexel more than $3 million, according to the indictment handed down last week.
The charges brought last week in the US attorney's 108-page indictment could cost Milken about $5.5 billion if he is found guilty. They raise the question of who Milken the superstar really is: a persecuted restructurer of America, an antiestablishment genius, a grandiose crook, a naive financial saint, or some odd mixture of all the above and more.
Though Milken has packaged himself as a man not interested by money, he never reduced his unparalleled take from Drexel -- 30 percent of the revenues he created, or more than $1 billion by the time he was 41 years old.
The devoted family man who is supposed to be more concerned about his children's welfare than a leveraged buyout left for the office at 3:30 a.m. and often returned late in the evening.
The man who wanted to reeducate American children said he trusted the good intentions of the likes of Victor Posner, Ivan Boesky, Meshulam Riklis and Bennett Lebow.
He tells friends he believes "in the good side of every one -- that people are basically good," said Judith Wolin, an old Califiornia friend who has known Milken since they were classmates in third grade. "Michael always looks at the glass as half-full," Wolin said. "He is a believer in people's potential."
The more famous Milken became, the more private, isolated and mysterious he seemed to be. Along the way, he became larger than life. Secretly, he must have enjoyed the notion that he alone created 75 percent of Drexel's profits and was in absolute control of Drexel, though he was neither an officer nor a manager of the firm.
As Milken's reputation grew, he began to be called the new J.P. Morgan. He was the puppet master, the kingmaker of the takeover craze. "Everyone knew he pulled the strings. Everyone knew he was in control of Drexel, maybe the world," said a good friend and admirer. "This is the way he got himself grandiose."
"Why should greed have a cutoff point?" asked a psychiatrist with several Wall Streeet investment banker patients. "This was in excess of anything reasonable."
Milken was not grandiose in the thesaurus sense, which uses "pompous, bombastic, flashy, flamboyant, ornamental and flowery" as synonyms.
He was not interested in fast cars, fast women, big yachts and outsized palaces. Because he did not seek out the spotlight, Milken became even more powerful, looming gigantically over a money-mad era.
When people like Business Week start calling you the new J.P. Morgan, it is easy to believe. And Milkens' secret accretion of wealth from the ages of 36 to 42, which is believed to have reached the $1 billion to $2 billion area, encouraged a hugely inflated notion of himself, a close friend and fellow investment banker said.
"Before Giuliani, before the scandal broke, using inside information was common practice on Wall Street," said this Milken friend. "Mike thought this was the way you operated. I don't think he said, 'I'm above the law.' I don't think he ever preceived there was a line there to cross."
The Milken believers also do not regard their hero as a crook. They see him as a man being persecuted by the establishment for having dared both to challenge it and to restructure a good deal of it.
D. William Carey, chairman of Town and Country Jewelry, a Chelsea, Massachusetts concern with $425 million in sales, calls Milken a "caring, sensitive businessman," but he recognizes that "any superstar makes enemies. All superstars become targets."
Milken was the savior of many medium-sized entrepreneurs who could not borrow unlimited money from their banks. Samuel Krasney, vice chairman of Banner Industries, the largest distributer of aircraft equipment in the world, said he formed "an emotional bond" for the "brilliant, earthy, low-key, intensely directed" young banker whom he described as a combination of Beethoven, Toscannini, and Heiftez -- a composer, conductor and violinist rolled into one.
Town and Country's Carey added: "None of the other major-tier firms would give me the dirt under their fingernails. Mike found a way to get me money."
Milken's greatest admirers at Drexel Burnham are bewildered by the charges against their champion. One said one-third of the allegations "made no sense," another third were "improbable" and the last third "made sense if Mike was a crook."
The financial house that Milken built is hung on his petard. It cannot entirely shed Milken or else its other stars and its clients will leave. So Drexel will pay his enormous legal bills, despite his personal wealth, which rivals the firm's capital. This is yet another note of awkward public relations that will not work will for the image department.
Little does Fred Joseph, president of Drexel Burnham, realize that many of his clients are shopping for a more respectable name to be their investment banker. So much for the Joseph plan to sweep past Goldman Sachs into the high class bracket of Wall Street.
So much for Wall Street's "Rain Man."
LENZNE;03/31 NKELLY;04/03,21:03 WILKEN02
Caption: PHOTO