Illustration by Thomas Fuchs
America has a way of elevating its heroes beyond the realm of mere mortals. This has not been an issue on Wall Street, where heroes do not exist. Warren Buffett has been the glaring exception. An Omahan who was not of Wall Street so much as above it and who spoke in cracker-barrel English derived more from Twain than from J. P. Morgan, he fulfilled (I once wrote) America's secular myth. He was the man from the Plains whose virtue offered an antidote to the corrupt Northeast and to Wall Street in particular. It is a measure of his reputation that a radio interviewer asked me whether Buffett had, until late, behaved in a "near perfect" manner. No flesh and blood, examined up close, can meet such a standard. As the saying goes, "No man is a hero to his valet." The David Sokol affair, in which an executive of Buffett's Berkshire Hathaway was caught in a serious ethical trespass, and in which Buffett failed to deliver a rebuke, has shown us a bit of the great man's undergarments. The question for the 40,000 shareholders converging on Omaha for Saturday's annual meeting (a.k.a. Buffett's "capitalist Woodstock") is whether the Sokol business tells us anything new, and perhaps dispiriting, about Buffett.
When I was writing a biography on Buffett, in the early '90s, the trait that most distinguished him was his searing independence. Buffett was a brilliant, socially responsible investor, who engaged with the world only on his terms. He refused to be co-opted or recruited, whether with regard to stocks, philanthropy, or politics. His aloofness often caused associates to suffer disappointment. He zealously protected his time and his money; even his children suffered from the billionaire's reserve. In a not atypical incident, he could barely lower his newspaper to listen to his teenage daughter's tearful rendition of how she crashed his car. Friends described how Warren had rebuffed their requests