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Last Stand: Ted Turner's Quest to Save a Troubled Planet
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LAST STAND
Ted Turner’s Quest to
Save a Troubled Planet
TODD WILKINSON
LYONS PRESS
Guilford, Connecticut
An imprint of Globe Pequot Press
Copyright © 2013 by Turner Works, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed to Globe Pequot Press, Attn: Rights and Permissions Department, PO Box 480, Guilford, CT 06437.
Lyons Press is an imprint of Globe Pequot Press.
All insert photos by Turner Works, LLC, unless otherwise noted.
Project editor: Meredith Dias
Layout: Justin Marciano
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wilkinson, Todd.
Last stand : Ted Turner’s quest to save a troubled planet / Todd
Wilkinson.
p. cm.
Includes index.
ISBN 978-0-7627-8443-1
1. Turner, Ted. 2. Businesspeople—United States—Biography. 3.
Capitalists and financiers—United States—Biography. 4. Environmental
responsibility—United States. I. Title.
HC102.5.T86W538 2013
333.72092—dc23
[B]
2012044122
E-ISBN 978-0-7627-9318-1
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
Foreword: A Time to Rally, by Ted Turner
Prologue: Rewilding—Foreplay
PART I: THE MAKING OF A GREEN CAPITALIST
Chapter One: Empire of Bison
Chapter Two: Survival
Chapter Three: My Captain Was Aquaman
Chapter Four: The Songs of the Cranes
PART II: THE GREEN CAPITALIST AT WORK
Chapter Five: Ted’s Side of the Mountain
Chapter Six: Save the Humans
Chapter Seven: Flash Point
Chapter Eight: Ark of the Underdogs
Chapter Nine: Bloodlines
Chapter Ten: Parting Aspects
Acknowledgments
Appendix
About the Author
Photographs
A Time to Rally
Foreword by Ted Turner
Some people may view this book, Last Stand, as me pulling back the curtain that has blocked public view of my “other life”—the one that has existed all these years parallel to my involvement with media and racing yachts. They’re probably right. It does.
But in all honesty, there has never been a master plan, never a strategy for mapping out how to get rich, and I’m not talking in monetary terms. There was no single enlightening moment when I started buying land and building a bison herd in the Wild West, or getting behind the efforts of the United Nations, or aspiring to eradicate nuclear weapons from the face of the Earth, or accepting the fact that as a so-called “plutocrat” and member of the 1 percent, I feel a moral obligation to give back to society.
There are many ways to live a rich life that have nothing to do with the material. The fact is, I never aspired to become a Gilded Age tycoon. I had instincts, sure, but, in large part, I winged the course that brought me here and adapted as more information became available. Ultimately you have to listen to your heart. I wish that I had done that more often, earlier in my life. What I do know is that I’m listening to it now.
Today, as I look back, I can tell you this: Most people don’t become “environmentalists” or “humanitarians” or “eco-capitalists” overnight and certainly not by accident. Just as becoming “successful” and being good at making money involves an evolution in thinking, so, too, does the compulsion to act on your conscience. Trust me: You don’t need to have a fortune to make a difference in leaving the world a little better off. All that’s required is a will and a belief that you can. What money can give you, if you’re willing to part with it, is an ability to operate at scale.
I had a passion for sailing and sought to connect the world through CNN and TBS, which became known as the SuperStation. But I also owned a professional baseball club, the Atlanta Braves. I learned a lot in our (successful) attempt to win a World Series. I learned to put faith in the collective power of good people both on and off the field, to recognize the intangible rewards that come from true teamwork and selflessness. I learned that amazing positive achievements can happen when you join others in digging deep and finding a common confidence that enables you to prevail—when your backs are against the wall and others have sold you short. America and the world love to cheer for underdogs.
One of my biggest discoveries, however—an insight that guides me today—was witnessing the influence that fans can have in changing the momentum of a game. I saw it happen over and over again. When fans believe that great things are possible—yes, please apply the same metaphor to citizens and their governments and to employees and their innovative companies—players feel it and breakthroughs can happen.
We live in an age when we desperately need miraculous breakthroughs. Allow me, then, to invoke a sports analogy that I hope you’ll think about as you begin Todd Wilkinson’s book, Last Stand.
The world is in peril and it’s time for all of us to put our rally caps on. This isn’t a liberal or conservative issue. Don’t believe it when the folks on television try to portray it that way. To set the context, imagine that it’s the bottom of the seventh inning and the home team—that’s the side playing for preservation of Mother Earth and civilization—is down by a couple of runs.
The opposing team has an imposing lineup. The names on the backs of the jerseys are: Apathy, Cynicism, Greed, Sloth, Violence, Cruelty, Hatred, Intolerance, and Selfishness.
All is not lost—yet—but in order to win, we as citizens watching from the bleachers need to rise to our feet. It’s time that we band together, make some noise, suit up and become heroes, and remind others who are trying to mount a comeback that we’re on the same side.
We can’t commit any more serious errors. Instead of doing dumb things, we need to play smarter because this is the one game we can’t afford to lose. If there’s anything that Last Stand does, I hope that it will inspire you to consider that, by working together—as neighbors, as businesspeople, as citizens and inhabitants of the only planet in the cosmos known to contain life—we have the capacity to change the trajectory of the world. Of course, we have no other choice.
Over many years, I’ve given probably thousands of interviews. My first impression of Todd Wilkinson when he arrived on my ranch doorstep in Montana was that he’d probably be just another reporter looking for just another superficial story to tell.
I came to discover that’s not how he works. He’s as tenacious as I am. A good journalist doesn’t come at you with just a single smart question. He is prepared to follow up with a great second and third question, and then, fourth, fifth, and sixth. As the interviewer, he knows that you have to make your subjects feel uncomfortable sometimes.
During our many conversations, he kept after me. He didn’t accept pat responses. “Ted, people say that you’re unreflective. Are you?” he asked.
He delves into terrain that’s never been covered in other books, including some of the most meaningful parts of my life. You’ll read about my painful relationship with my dad, my marriage to Jane Fonda, my mentorship by Jacques Cousteau, and friendships with people like Mikhail Gorbachev. You’ll know why I find power in reciting the verse of Thomas Babington Macaulay’s epic poem, “Horatius at the Bridge,” which serves as a parable for our time.
My first interview with Todd happened back in 1992. I hadn’t been in the West all that long. I remember him asking, “What is your vision?” I explained part of it that day. The rest was a work in progress. I was impressed by his knowledge and command of environmental and political topics. He grasped the big picture I was trying to create, of how it all melded together.
Somewhere between then and now, I started to trust him in ways that I seldom do with writers or even other people. I granted him unlimited access and I agreed that there would be no preconditions set about what he could write or ask me. I put faith in his instincts as a respected old-school journalist and I became curious, frankly, where those instincts would lead him. I opened myself up and the result is this open book.
You’ll notice that the subtitle of Last Stand is “Ted Turner’s Quest to Save a Troubled Planet.” What’s before us now is not my quest; it’s our shared character-defining test and our opportunity. We’re in this together; while the threats are formidable and many, what I like about the subtitle is that it implies there still is hope.
My friend Tom Brokaw routinely points to the sense of shared sacrifice, embraced on behalf of country and the world by members of “the Greatest Generation” during World War II. We can choose to rally together, as they did, or we can sit back, unrustled by the stirrings of our conscience and be remembered by our grandchildren as “the Lamest Generation.” We as a civilization have epic challenges before us; our survival isn’t at this moment assured. I don’t have to tell you that. You feel the dissonance and uncertainty in the air. Given the current path, if it isn’t changed, we will be the first generation in modern times that won’t deliver our kids and grandkids a better world. Throughout my career as a businessman, I’ve come to realize that capitalism isn’t the problem, but it’s how we practice capitalism—how we approach it as a proposition based only on depleting finite resources. Such thinking is wreaking havoc and is the root cause of lots of misery in the world.
Some have described me as a lefty. But I’m pro-business and I’ll flaunt my credentials before anybody: I’ve lectured at some of the nation’s top business schools, regularly attended the World Economic Forum in Davos, I’ve testified before Congress about the need for sensible not overbearing regulation, and I’m a member of Rotary Club, the National Restaurant Association, the National Bison Association, the Montana Stockgrowers Association, and several different chambers of commerce. I also value, equally as much, clean air and water, habitat necessary to sustain wildlife, and open space. I’m a hunter, angler, hiker, horseback rider, mountain biker, military veteran, and sailor. As a bumper sticker on my car says, “I Brake for Butterflies.”
Those who claim that one can’t hug a sheltering tree and simultaneously aspire to have economic prosperity and strive to give all people a decent quality of life are being disingenuous. On my lands, I have set out to prove that the polemic of environment versus economy is a false dichotomy, that you can be a tree hugger and still have your name appear in Forbes.
I’ve always looked to the future as a realm full of boundless possibility. But I’m worried. Never before has humanity confronted so many epic issues—nuclear proliferation, swelling human population, a vast gulf between haves and have nots, the biodiversity crisis, social tensions, environmental degradation, and climate change—converging at once. The chances that we might fail in our endeavor to save ourselves are high. The scientific evidence is clear and putting our heads in the sand doesn’t change reality.
I’ve had the good fortune of living on this planet for three quarters of a century. For all of us, it’s home ground.
Henry David Thoreau, one of my favorite American thinkers, once wrote: “None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.” Another man I studied, as my investments in CNN and TBS started paying off, was the Gilded Age tycoon and philanthropist Andrew Carnegie, who warned against hoarding of wealth. He said, “As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. Just watch what they do.”
I believe in the power of the free enterprise system and the genius of democracy. I believe in freedom and liberty and private property rights. I am a patriot. On so many different levels, the private sector is able to foster innovation and act faster, better, and more cheaply than governments, but governments have a crucial role. And we must remember that, just as humankind is not separate from nature, we are indivisible from government. Nature is us; so too is government.
Those around us who claim that plundered environments are a necessary consequence of wealth creation have it wrong, the same as those who insist that government regulation is the bane of business. Again, we need a new model for thinking about capitalism and our obligation as global citizens.
The noted American actor/director Orson Welles remarked: “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.” Today, in a world surging toward ten billion, one thing is certain about the current narrative being written: We won’t and can’t consume our way out of the mess we’re in.
Long ago, when I was a young man and reeling from my father’s suicide, I embraced the “me-first” ideology of Ayn Rand, who preached that we should worship the self before country and local community. She rejected spirituality and held up greed as a virtue. Rand was wrong, dead wrong, and it is precisely that kind of twisted logic that has sown division in our world. Our strength as a species resides with our ability to empathize—and in using our good fortune to minimize the pain and suffering of others, including other species. How we treat the Earth is the biggest expression of our success or failure as a society.
As a septuagenarian, I believe that responsible grandparents care about what kind of world they are leaving their grandkids. There’s no retirement age that lets you off the hook from that. I don’t say this to sound melodramatic, but the duty of citizenship never goes away, especially when one becomes an elder. We need to lead by example and young people need to step up to the plate. The search is on for new heroes. It’s now the bottom of the seventh and it’s our turn to bat.
PROLOGUE
Rewilding—Foreplay
“Ted is one of the most switched-on environmentalists I’ve ever met. From his understanding of bison and mega fauna to nukes, he is able to grasp the full magnitude of different moving parts like few others I know. Why? Because he’s not a passive participant as a global citizen. He has earned his credibility.”
—TIM FLANNERY, AUTHOR OF THE WEATHER MAKERS
The first vision of the wild wolf comes in a dream. The temporal context: autumn 2008. A stressful time, a period when one of the superstructures holding the world together—the global financial markets—is literally falling apart at the seams.
In his dream, Turner walks through a fog. Wearing a beaver-felt fedora and denim jacket, longer in the tooth and with a few wrinkles in his face, he looks older than some might remember him being. Yet, for a septuagenarian, he still moves at a brisk clip.
Whenever he’s on one of his fifteen ranches scattered across se
ven western states, and no matter the season, Turner leaves his bedroom windows cracked open at night. The years have left him hard of hearing—the result, he says, of chronic exposure to the deafening strikes of waves pounding the hulls of sailboats he raced as a young man. Rest assured, those around him know he takes in far more than he lets on. His antennae pick up natural acoustics, and those sounds from the wilds, he says, fuel imagery that float through his dreams. Last night, while falling asleep, he could have sworn that he detected a succession of sonorous, low-decibel wails. They weren’t the usual yips of coyotes or the bugling of bull wapiti. They were something else.
Within the dream, he climbs across one of the sagebrush-coated hillsides that rise above his Montana home. Wrapped in a low-hanging bank of October clouds, the scenery resembles the moody Munros of Scotland during the rainy season. His old Labrador, Blackie, is nowhere to be found.
The path he’s on, a game trail, cuts between bunches of juniper and treeless meadow. About a mile in, he finds hoofprints of elk and moose in the mud. Off to the side of his route stands the muted form of a bison bull. It lifts its massive head in acknowledgment of the interloper’s approach, and then, following a couple of chesty groans that send steam billowing into the air, lowers its horns to feast again on a multihued salad bar of native brome.
Turner just saunters by, nodding with satisfaction. He gave the beast its home.
Confronting a shifting wind now, the breeze blows directly into his face, and his eyes water. At this senescent stage, thanks to therapy, he is trying to absorb whatever finds him in the moment—forcing himself, often against his stir-crazy habits, to shed his notorious restlessness. To slow down.
Pausing to catch his breath, he peers southward. A weather inversion has pressed cirrus clouds down tight upon the Spanish Peaks. He has never taken these mountains for granted, not since he first spied them. It was in the year leading to his fiftieth birthday, the year he took up fly fishing, the year he courted his third wife, the year that he believes he started to let go of others’ expectations of him.