(4 of 9)
His sense of propriety was strong, and he did not hesitate to impose it on others. Employees were required to bring spouses along whenever they did any business entertaining in their home towns. Peter the counselor wanted to promote family unity. His instructional techniques also became personal. If an employee tended to speak with his hand over his mouth, Ueberroth would reach out and brush it away. If Ueberroth was concerned about shabby dress, that employee's bonus would carry specific instructions to buy a couple of new suits. His bluntness was his way of peddling improvement. At the same time, Ueberroth was intensely opposed to workplace discrimination, frequently hiring older employees, giving younger ones serious responsibilities and using women managers years before they routinely had such roles in the travel business. The principle was important to him, but it also made good business sense, since he could pick from a larger pool of talent.
Throughout his career, Ueberroth has poured considerable energy into his family: his wife, three daughters, Vicki, 22, Heidi, 19, Keri, 17, and a son, Joe, 15. Back in 1963, even when he was struggling to get out from under that $100,000 debt, he made a decision not to work on weekends. Even today, Ueberroth will interrupt meetings to take a phone call from his wife. Last month he surprised his two youngest children by taking them to a Michael Jackson concert, though he dislikes the music. The whole family recently walked out during the third act of the Broadway hit Hurlyburly. The language was too vulgar for them. During Christmas time they all took a boat cruise to Mexico. Ueberroth rarely goes to the movies and watches little television. While not intellectual, he is tirelessly inquisitive and reads about 30 books a year, preferring historical nonfiction. At 5 ft. 11 in. and 185 lbs., he is a good golfer (handicap: 8), and likes to skin dive and spear fish around his waterfront house in Laguna Beach. But until 1978 he had never really considered sport as anything more than a free-time enthusiasm.
In that year a head-hunting firm suggested Ueberroth's name to a Los Angeles committee searching for a person to run the Games. His first reaction was to decline. Who needed the 70% cut in pay (the Olympic salary: $104,000) and all the problems? Pressed a second time, he decided to take it after all. Nine months after accepting the job, he sold First Travel for $10.4 million and later forswore his Olympic salary to become a volunteer. At the start there was no staff and no money. Moreover, the city of Los Angeles had passed a resolution saying that not one cent of municipal funds could be spent on the Games. The first week Ueberroth and his tiny staff were locked out of their small new office. They could hear the phones ringing inside. But the landlord, like most of the rest of the town, was sure the Olympics would lose money and not pay its bills.