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Back at the office, which by the summer of 1983 was a huge converted helicopter factory, the staff was growing. Virtual- ly all of the top men and wo- men Ueberroth had known for years. His style throughout was to turn responsibility over to tested deputies. The man who actually ran the Games, Harry Usher, formerly Ueberroth's travel business attorney, says leadership and inspiration, not operations, are Ueberroth's managerial gifts. Whenever his lieutenants bucked decisions upward, Ueberroth flung them back down. "Authority is 20% given," he would say, "and 80% taken. Take it." If someone faltered, Ueberroth did not hesitate to make a change. He once had to okay the firing of a friend of 25 years. Later the friend wrote and told Ueberroth he was cold and inhuman, especially since their families had been so close. The letter stung Ueberroth, but associates say his decision was right.
As the early months of 1984 rushed past, Ueberroth's team was approaching 1,000. But despite the size, his no-nonsense stamp was everywhere. He pronounced that men must wear jackets and ties at all times. Women could wear stone- washed jeans, but not regular ones. To build unity, and save time, staff members were encouraged to lunch at the hangar's cafeteria. Ueberroth was a regular. With his thin mouth and athlete's stride (he looks strikingly like the 1940s actor William Lundigan), he had become a revered, somewhat intimidating presence.
The teacher inside Ueberroth was always working. If he detected that a colleague was not using all of his skills, he flashed annoyance. And he was exhilarated when he saw someone shine. He constantly tested and challenged those around him, often sounding preachy, sometimes downright rude when he interrupted in mid-sentence, pushing them to be better. "By now," remembers Ueberroth, "we felt the reputation of the country was at stake. It was frightening." Often he would stroll through the hangar, sure to prod with questions, and more questions: the exact location of Rwanda or the spelling of the names of International Olympic Committee President Juan Antonio Samaranch and Director Monique Berlioux. "Peter is demanding and self- demanding," says Agnes Mura, a top staffer. "That makes you try as hard as you can."
Ueberroth could be imperious with those whose dedication did not seem adequate to him. One day in the cafeteria, he stopped to talk to some women having lunch. The chat was pleasantly routine until one of the ladies asked about possible salary increases. Ueberroth, the unsalaried volunteer, turned cold and snapped: "You shouldn't be working here if you don't understand what we're trying to do." Later when the enormous Olympic surplus of $215 million was announced, Ueberroth and his committee were accused of poor mouthing about a possible shortage of funds. Of course, just weeks before the Games, Ueberroth's insistence that there would be at least a $15 million profit despite the Soviet boycott was greeted with great skepticism. For months Ueberroth had suspected that a large profit was possible. But the threat of catastrophe always hovered over the Olympics, and he was always planning for the unexpected.