“Of course.”
“Well, what did you think?”
“You know what? I think you did the right thing. Murdoch will respect the fact that you are facing up to him—a bully never expects people to stand their ground.”
I had been nervous but I felt a bit better about it then. In these situations, Dad was the person I would ring because he always gave me great advice—some I would take, some I would (foolishly) ignore. He was the person I wanted to talk to when something good had happened; when something bad happened; when I needed somebody to quietly show off to. He was right about Murdoch; I’ve met him quite a few times since, and I think there is a sort of mutual respect there. We compete hard in the day but can remain friends after work—as it should be. However, when we challenged Murdoch’s blatantly anti-competitive move with the Office of Fair Trading, the press were eager to pitch a fight between us. I admire him as an entrepreneur, but don’t respect the views of some of his newspapers or TV channels.
Successive British governments had been afraid to limit Murdoch’s dominance because they were afraid he would turn against them in upcoming elections. But on this occasion, the Competition Commission decided it was a deal too far. On 29 January 2008, they ruled that Sky must cut its stake in ITV from 17.9 percent to below 7.5 percent. After no end of appeals and arguments, BSkyB were forced to sell 10.4 percent of their stake in ITV on 8 February 2010 at a loss of about £348 million. And I was just delighted we managed to avoid another day in court.
Rupert Murdoch soon had other issues to worry about. In 2011, the Metropolitan Police informed me that my phones, my kids’ phones and my neighbors’ phones had all been hacked by News Group Newspapers, a wholly owned subsidiary of News Corp. Like many other phone hacking victims, as a matter of principle I brought a claim against News Group Newspapers that was settled on financial terms, which included a compensation payment that I donated to charity. I received a letter from them including an apology for their wrong and unlawful invasion of my privacy and for causing harm, distress and suffering.
After the Dirty Tricks of British Airways, which had included private investigators rifling through my bins, I felt saddened that our family’s privacy had been invaded again.
—
At heart, I am an entrepreneur, which means I love building businesses and creating new things. In order to keep doing this, however, it sometimes means selling stakes in companies or entire businesses.
This is one part of my life I don’t enjoy. I am not a person who harbors regrets, but selling companies has always left me with an empty feeling. I can still taste the tears streaming down my face after I sold Virgin Records in 1992 to keep Virgin Atlantic afloat. Selling 49 percent of Virgin Atlantic in 1999 was very tough, too, but we needed the funds to kick-start the early stages of Virgin Active, the expansion of Virgin Money and the creation of Virgin Mobile. I enjoy the intensity of the bidding process and the heat of the negotiating table. But, as I believe that a business is nothing more than a group of people trying to make a difference, selling always leaves me sad, feeling somehow I have traded people. So when I do have regrets, it is generally about upsetting people along the way, or letting anyone down. Sometimes in businesspeople get hurt. But sometimes, too, doing a deal is the right thing for all parties.
Since our early battles with Sky, Virgin Media had carved out a big share of the UK’s broadband market. But by the late 2000s, that market dynamic was changing rapidly. I was eager for Virgin Media to keep pushing ahead with new developments rather than resting on their laurels, as I knew the landscape could alter so quickly. The best example was landline phones, which had gone from necessity to nuisance in a couple of years. Now, having the best broadband product in the market meant we were perfectly placed to gain customers as data use grew exponentially. Virgin Media’s network infrastructure and brand power were so strong that we were able to outstrip Sky and BT.
In 2013, completely out of the blue, John Malone’s Liberty Global approached us with an offer. We were not looking to sell or reduce our stake, but Liberty Global are probably the most revered, respected and successful cable network investor in the world and the deal they were proposing was an enticing one. They offered to buy the NASDAQ-listed company for $23.3 billion: in addition, we would retain a stake and the all-important brand.
I’ve known for a long time that the most valuable thing we have built is our brand. We’d had success using the Virgin name to rebrand companies around the world in many different sectors, but this deal saw us really utilizing the brand to its full potential. Brand power really does set us apart, allowing us to achieve scale without losing personal connection. I’m aware that, as the face of the brand, my own image is tied up in this appeal, too. Ever since my mentor Sir Freddie Laker showed me the benefits of leaders being the visible fronts of businesses, I’ve been comfortable with this. It works, and if that means me appearing on websites, on posters and in ads, that’s fine with me. Liberty Global certainly recognized the benefits, too, and we were able to expand our partnership across the water and launch Virgin Media Ireland together in 2015. We didn’t sit back on our proceeds from the Virgin Media deal. We used that Virgin spirit, the new cash and our people to start fresh ventures such as Virgin Hotels, Virgin Sport and Virgin Voyages, and invest in existing ones like Virgin Galactic, all the while pushing the Virgin brand even further outward.
CHAPTER 16
Holly and Sam
When Holly and Sam were teenagers, I took them to Las Vegas to teach them a lesson about the perils of gambling. We had always played cards as a family, usually wild bridge, but never for money. I knew, though, that they were growing up and would be tempted to try gambling soon. Rather than getting themselves into a dangerous situation, I decided to introduce them to the pitfalls of betting personally. Vegas might seem a strange environment to share some fatherly wisdom with your children, but I thought learning a few hard-hitting life lessons in an atmosphere of hedonism and wild abandon could actually be very effective.
We headed to a casino on the strip for the full Vegas experience. Flashing signs and fancy cars outside, the relentless rattle of fruit machines inside. There were croupiers as far as the eye could see: tables of blackjack, poker and the seductive, spinning whirr of the roulette wheel. It was the last that attracted Holly’s and Sam’s eye, so we went over to the table.
“OK,” I said, “you’ve got $40 in casino chips each. I’ll place the bets for you. Let’s have fun.”
The pair of them looked thrilled, excited at being treated like grown-ups. They sat up at the table and debated whether to go for red or black, or choose a specific number. It didn’t last long. Within a matter of minutes, they’d lost all their money.
“Never mind,” I said, putting a fatherly arm around them. Accidentally leaving a couple of remaining chips on the table, we turned away for a drink and the message I’d brought them to Vegas to impart.
“That’s the thing about gambling,” I explained. “Everyone thinks they can win, that this time they might be the lucky one. But, in fact, it takes no time at all for that hard-earned money to disappear into thin air. Actually, that’s not quite true.” I waved around at our surroundings: the glitzy chintz of the decor. “There’s a saying in Vegas, the house always wins. And that’s true; the only people who make any money out of casinos are the owners. And they make plenty of it.”
Sam and Holly stood there, looking suitably chastened. Good job, I told myself. That was a proper bit of parenting, Richard Branson–style. I was sure the message had hit home. I’d shown that the glamorous image of casinos and the gambling that went with it was nothing but a façade. A dangerous illusion that you’d do well to avoid.
Half an hour later, having finished our drinks, we were ready to head back to our hotel. As we glanced at the table we had been playing roulette on, every person who was sitting there stood up and applauded us. The table was packed, b
ut they ushered us over and let us back into the circle. I had to double-blink—there, in front of us, was a huge pile of winnings stacked up. While we’d had our drinks, they’d been playing with the couple of chips we’d left behind on the table, which had tripled and tripled and tripled into a small fortune!
“Hey! Congratulations, buddy!” One of the other guests patted me on the shoulder.
I was gobsmacked. To my side, Holly and Sam couldn’t contain their excitement.
“The house always wins, does it, Dad?” Sam asked, with a smirk.
I decided it would be wrong to take any of the winnings ourselves, and split them between everyone on the table to thank them for letting us know. I then tried in vain to rescue my fatherly advice session with the children.
“Kids,” I argued as we left the casino, “it’s important to remember that there is an exception to every rule.” There was not a murmur from either of them about me giving away their winnings. But as for my fatherly advice? I might as well have been talking to a brick wall. They were too busy grinning to pay any attention.
—
I know how fortunate we were to offer Holly and Sam many advantages when they were growing up. But when children are born into fortunate circumstances, helping them to develop character and shape their own futures presents its own challenges. As I grow older, I appreciate more and more how my mum helped mold me with tough love, pushing me to extremes and urging me to take risks. I wanted to give Holly and Sam the same freedom to mature, but was always aware it was different for them due to our wealth. There was no getting away from the fact that, whatever they did, there was always a safety net. That has to have an effect on how you approach life, and can easily leave you damaged.
The key to avoiding this was letting them make their own decisions and mistakes, while giving unreserved time, love and support. We always tried not to spoil them, only allowing a few presents and ensuring the ones we gave were useful. Rather than forcing them in any particular direction, we tried to find ways to help them develop a wider understanding of the world.
Ever since he was a child, Sam had often strolled into the house with surprises for us. Whether it was a shaved head, an electric-orange mohawk, or an outlandish outfit, I was rarely shocked and often amused. Joan took a slightly less laissez-faire attitude to Sam’s fashion choices, though we always supported him and let him go his own way: I was well aware how many dodgy jumpers I’d thrown on over the years! But when Sam came back from a few months’ traveling in 2005, he had a new accessory that even Joan and I found it hard to resist commenting on.
“What exactly do you call that?” asked Joan. We were in the kitchen on Necker catching up, when Joan pointed to Sam’s forearm. When Sam had first walked back into our house, we’d tried to keep our cool. Our immediate reaction was not to tell him off or disapprove: instead, we walked out of the room quietly, got over our surprise and tried to carry on as though nothing had happened. But it hadn’t taken long for us to crack.
“Go on then, Sam,” I said, “tell us about the tattoo.”
“Oh, you noticed it?”
“Just in passing,” I fibbed, on tenterhooks to see what the tribal writing on his arm meant. I prayed it wasn’t anything offensive.
“It means ‘Necker’ in Sanskrit,” Sam explained, to my relief. “I got it done the traditional way in Thailand.”
I loved it, to the point that it did make us wonder for a second. After Sam had headed out again, I turned to Joan.
“We aren’t getting old, are we?”
“I don’t know about you, Richard—but I’m certainly not planning to.”
I couldn’t help but smile, and began pondering what tattoo I could get myself.
A while later, Sam came back from further travels and his mum met him at the airport. He got into the car sheepishly, before saying: “Mum, you know you love me . . .”
“What have you done this time?”
He showed her a new tattoo.
Joan smiled and said: “Well, you’ve come back in one piece; a tattoo is not so bad.”
The tattoos were just the latest sign of a young man beginning to find his place in the world. I was acutely aware that Sam was growing up and the balance in our relationship was beginning to shift. From the moment he was born, Sam had come to all manner of launches, events and parties with me. Often, when the nights were getting late and I wanted to go, I would point to Sam being tired out and make my excuses to leave. “It looks like it’s time for Sam to go to bed. I’d better take him home,” I would say. But as he got further into his teenage years, he was increasingly becoming the life and soul of the parties: now it was Sam using my tiredness as an excuse when he wanted to leave.
Like many young people, Sam hadn’t worked out what he wanted to do by the time he left school. I reassured him that was absolutely fine—and natural, too.
“You’re nineteen,” I remember telling him in one conversation. “That only happens once—so enjoy it.”
Sam always had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. We spent many evenings together watching TV documentaries, often Sir David Attenborough’s wonderful natural history programs. During one of these shows, we got talking about Sam’s future. I was very keen not to put any pressure on him or his sister, and to let them stand on their own two feet. Like me Sam wasn’t particularly academic and told me that school had made him feel like his options were quite narrow.
“Why don’t you take a gap year, then?” I suggested. “You can go out and enjoy some new experiences, have some fun and think about how you want to make your mark in the process. What is there to stop you?”
Sam did just that. He learned to snowboard, traveled through India, spent time in Bali and immersed himself in new cultures with different people. One night he called home with news of his latest plans to head to Sydney.
“You know, you’re so lucky,” I told him. “I began my career at fifteen and never had the chance to do what you’re doing.” I knew I was fortunate to be able to travel so much on business, and had seen so many amazing places over the years. But it was rare that I could do what Sam was doing: taking time to travel with no work in mind.
“Well, Dad, why don’t you come along?” Sam asked. Throwing my words to him back at me, he added, “What is there to stop you?”
Which is how I ended up clearing my diary and found myself flying out to Australia, meeting Sam and his friends in a beautiful beach shack above Rae’s in Byron Bay. We played on Wategos Beach in the day, cooked delicious dinners in the evening, took in the local bars at night and enjoyed the odd smoke together, too. I was savoring my own personal gap month!
As I leaned back in a deckchair on the beach one evening, Sam looked over at me, smiling.
“Dad, this is the least I’ve ever seen you work.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts!” I laughed.
Although I was checking in on things back in the office, the time difference meant I could get to relax more, too. I was able to put work on the back burner and enjoy the chance to spend some quality time with my son. My only disappointment was my struggle to keep up with Sam and his friends on the surfing. On the first two days, I failed to get one run in. On the third, Sam’s friend mentioned that two photographers were hiding in the bushes. With that incentive, I managed to catch the very next wave and glide into shore, meaning I looked more surfer king than shark fodder on the following day’s front pages.
—
Holly, meanwhile, was working enormously hard at University College London to get her degree, and I loved getting her updates on student life. One day she called me up after getting her exam results. She had done really well and I told her how proud I was of her. As she excitedly carried on telling me all about the tests, I had to interrupt her.
“Holly, I’m really sorry,” I told her, “but I’m going to have to call you back.”
I w
as debating the role of women in business in front of thousands of people at an event organized by Maria Shriver in California. Although it was a big deal, family always comes first, no matter what, which is why I answered the phone to hear her results. When Holly rang, I had asked the audience to bear with me as I took the call, and they were happy to play along with it.
“Hang on one second. I want to tell them your results.” I quickly relayed the good news and the crowd gave her a standing ovation.
“Erm, thanks, everyone. Dad, I love you, speak to you later.” I put the phone down with a smile. “Now, where was I?”
As the first (and so far only) member of my immediate family to do so, Holly graduating was a proud moment. Whatever my misgivings about the suitability of higher education for some people, it was absolutely the right option for Holly. Though always an old head on young shoulders, she matured enormously and qualified as a doctor. She had always wanted to help other people and got a job at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital doing just that. It was great having her so close to Virgin’s offices in west London: when I was in the UK on business, it meant she could pop in to visit after her shifts.
Despite Holly enjoying her role, I still had an inkling that she might like to join Virgin at some point. After all, we have always been a family business. I genuinely felt that Holly could achieve more and make a bigger positive impact in the world working under the Virgin umbrella; she could use her medical experience, but working with greater financial resources and variously skilled teams of people to make a difference. I asked Joan what she thought of Holly joining: “It’s up to her really,” was her wise reply. “Holly and Sam can do anything they want to do, as long as it makes them happy.”
As Virgin Unite grew further into areas that interested Holly, such as providing medical aid for people in need and business support for young entrepreneurs, she finally came on board to work with us in an internship role. Holly assured me it would just be for a year, traveling around all the different Virgin companies and getting real-world experience on the front lines of everywhere from Virgin Media to Virgin Atlantic, Virgin Money to Virgin Management. Around this time, Peter Norris took on the role of Virgin Group chairman, and took Holly under his wing in the office. A delightful man of vast experience and always eager to help, he became a mentor to Holly, and I was proud to see her thrive under his guidance. Holly was torn; she had trained hard for many years and loved being a doctor. Giving it up would be a massive step. But the opportunity to build something new was too much to resist. At the end of the year Holly decided that being at Virgin felt natural, and the right thing to do. She joined full time, focusing on people and purpose across our businesses, and has gone on to chair Virgin Unite, taking over from Patrick McCall after ten years in the role. I am thrilled to have Holly on board.
Finding My Virginity: The New Autobiography Page 14