Mr. Winkler’s Wild Ride

Wherever there’s a deal in the works, Marvin J. Winkler can’t be far behind.

Heard about that group led by Broadcom techno-billionaires Henry Samueli and Henry Nicholas to buy Walt Disney’s Angels and Mighty Ducks? Winkler is part of it. Nicholas and Samueli’s new-media start-up hoping to meld the Internet and TV? Winkler is chairman. The indoor snowboard and surf park in Anaheim? The 44-year-old Winkler is behind the $100-million effort to finance it.

The chatty, balding Winkler cuts an unlikely figure as a sports and media mogul, but that is exactly what he hopes to become. By merging technology with the popularity of surf apparel and extreme sports, Winkler seeks to help create an interactive sports network for youth in America.

“We have a huge head start,” he says of the new ventures. “This could be the next ABC, something that big for interactive media.”

Winkler, who heads the Gotcha surf wear company, has taken many business risks and endured his share of wipeouts. But they have never doused his dreams.

Winkler weathered losses on the 1984 Olympics, basked in big profits while marketing Magic Johnson T-shirts and propelled a Body Glove licensing venture like a rocket before a spectacular crash into insolvency a decade ago.

Whether recruiting others to share his dreams or teaming up to promote the visions of others, Winkler frequently has launched ventures that wound up in financial distress, in court or both. Yet he somehow has emerged with few scars, reinventing himself with new companies and increasingly grander projects. He recently sold the bulk of Gotcha’s assets to a start-up backed by Nicholas and Samueli even as the surf wear maker was struggling to pay its bills.

Winkler says he has always been serious about paying his debts, to the point of putting up personal guarantees on loans. When disputes became heated, Winkler said, he has played fair as well as tough.

“I survive. I win. I move forward,” he says. “I can look at myself in the mirror and know I never went after anybody maliciously.”

If successful at his latest ventures, Winkler will dramatically enhance his business credentials--perhaps even win the long-sought respect of the surf industry.

“There have been so many things that he was doing and was going to do and never happened,” said Gotcha co-founder Joel Cooper, who left the Irvine-based company in 1997 after Winkler took a controlling interest. “It’s such a huge thing if he pulls it off.”

Marvin James Winkler is a man of many contrasts.

He is a family man and a philanthropist whose life has been shaped by religion.

Pictures of his children--a daughter and three sons--are prominently displayed in his office. His wife, Sherri, a former buyer for the old Broadway department store chain, is one of his partners. Winkler talks daily with his parents.

He has made “heavy six-figure” donations toward the formidable task of translating the Talmud, a collection of ancient Jewish laws, for a broad audience, according to the foundation that is funding the scholars.

He and his wife also have paid for dozens of underprivileged children to attend the Jewish Community Center day school in Redondo Beach and the Chabad Immigrant Camp in Hollywood over the last few years, said Rabbi Yossi Mintz of Congregation Chabad of Manhattan Beach.

“He should be an inspiration for other people to follow,” Mintz said.

A former employee calls Winkler a “heart of gold” guy who gave flowers and bonuses to workers and once lent his Mercedes to her for weeks after her own car was wrecked.

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To some former business associates, he is a marketing genius, quick to take credit for a success whether or not he deserves it, and quicker still to sidestep blame.

Everyone agrees Winkler is a charmer, even those who have lost millions doing business with him or have battled him in court.

“You can go into a room hating him and come out loving him,” said Randy Meistrell, vice president of Redondo Beach-based Body Glove, which says it has spent the past decade paying off more than $3 million in debt incurred during its association with Winkler. “He has a charisma that I’ve never seen in another person.”

The trait was evident at an early age. “He was always the leader,” said his mother, Irene Winkler, 73, who lives in Westwood with Winkler’s father, Michael, 80.

Marvin Winkler says his life was heavily influenced by the patience and perseverance of his Czechoslovakian-born parents, who are Holocaust survivors. Irene Winkler’s parents and nine sisters died in the gas chambers at Auschwitz.

Winkler was born in Los Angeles and grew up bright, energetic and curious. Even as a boy, he excelled at door-to-door sales, his mother said. “I used to tell him, ‘You’re too smart for your own good,’ ” she said.

Winkler graduated from Beverly Hills High School in 1972 and left for Israel and Tel Aviv University, where he intended to study business law. But his education was interrupted after just a few months by the Yom Kippur War. A first marriage at age 23 ended after 11 months.

As with the present, Winkler’s past is sprinkled with famous names: He bought a $2-million house in Lake Arrowhead from the late comedian John Candy and sold it to trumpeter Herb Alpert.

Wherever Winkler lands, there’s no dearth of drama.

A freak 1983 tornado followed by flood and fire destroyed Winkler’s first venture, Los Angeles T-shirt company Winks Inc.; other calamities have been man-made.

In a 1984 deal to make Los Angeles Olympics seat cushions, a license holder dumped Winkler for a rival plan to have Boy Scouts sell the souvenirs, leaving Winkler owing his bank $640,000, court records show. In a separate case six years later, after Winkler decided to form his own bank, he wound up back in court suing a failed Riverside County calendar venture for $2.2 million in unpaid debts, court records show.

The years between bracketed the rapid expansion and precipitous fall of the Winklers’ American Marketing Works, which emblazoned T-shirts with logos and characters licensed from Walt Disney, Peanuts, Body Glove and other companies.

Doing business with Winkler could get tough at times, according to more than 20 Los Angeles County court lawsuits involving Winkler-related companies. The cases ranged from disputes over commissions paid in handshake deals to attempts to collect rent and legal fees after AMW’s bankruptcy.

More than once, Union Bank seized the Winklers’ personal accounts after they guaranteed payment of business loans.

When fitness equipment distributor American Pro Orthopedics was forced into receivership in 1992, Winkler, who was an owner of the company, saw his $50,000 brokerage account and his bank accounts attached by Union Bank. According to court records, the bank got a lien on the Winklers’ Manhattan Beach home. The case was dismissed in August 1997, after American Pro’s debts were retired.

There also were good times for the Winklers. In September 1988, they sold 59% of AMW and its related companies for $5.5 million to a group of 19 investors. The company then borrowed $8 million at 13.75% interest in a bold expansion bet that backfired during a disastrous 1989.

The Winklers blamed new management for leasing expensive new offices and installing a faulty computer system that cost AMW up to $10 million in orders. They and other shareholders lent AMW millions of dollars more, and the Winklers took a stab at reorganizing the company. But in November 1990, creditors forced it into Bankruptcy Court.

When the final payout was made 3 1/2 years later, unsecured creditors recovered just 12 cents on the dollar for $14.5 million in AMW debts. Those with secured debts, including lenders on a Mercedes-Benz and a Lincoln Town Car, were made whole. And Winkler emerged at the helm of the reorganized company, with an annual salary of $300,000.

“Everybody lost their money,” said investor Glenn Golenberg, who helped fund AMW’s ill-fated expansion. “Somehow Marvin came out of the Chapter 11 controlling it again.”

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Golenberg describes Winkler as “a marketing genius” who was ill-equipped to control inventory and overhead. “When we bought in, Marvin showed a profit, and I don’t remember ever making a profit” again, Golenberg said.

Winkler admits that managing inventory and overhead is “not my strongest suit,” but he said another management team was running things when AMW went south. After he became involved in its operations again, Winkler said, “we turned the company around very quickly.”

Executives at wetsuit maker Body Glove were excited by their licensing partnership with Winkler, which produced deals for swimwear, shoes, eye wear, jeans and accessories, said Vice President Bill Meistrell, a cousin of Randy.

The company poured millions into marketing, sponsoring hockey’s Kings, basketball’s Clippers, car races and a “Body Glove Tidal Wave” ride at Magic Mountain before realizing things were growing too fast, Bill Meistrell said.

AMW’s collapse stuck Body Glove with $3 million to $4 million in debt and no money coming in from licensing. “We spent the last 10 years paying it back,” Meistrell said.

A post-bankruptcy round of investment at AMW produced “very unsatisfactory and disappointing” results, said Kurt Kamm, whose Kidd Kamm Equity Partners sank “several million” dollars into the company.

“Marvin told us the story that the [earlier] investment group didn’t know what it was doing and he, Marvin, restored it,” Kamm said. “We were stupid enough to believe that.”

Winkler said the new investors wouldn’t endorse his proposals, such as a plan to become a licensee for Power Rangers, a deal he said ultimately was worth $100 million.

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In November 1994, the Winklers and other investors in AMW sold the company to Tennessee-based Signal Apparel Co., which had lost money for five consecutive years. Winkler signed a three-year contract to run Signal, moved to Tennessee, but resigned after less than a year as its chief executive.

Winkler returned to California in 1996 when he, Sherri and old friend Jay Schottenstein, son of an Ohio retailing magnate, bought into Gotcha and a company that owned U.S. Surfing, which produced the Op Pro surfing championship, a television show and three extreme-sports magazines. A year later, they owned a controlling interest in both companies.

At the time, Gotcha was still hoping to return to its glory days of the late 1980s, when co-owner Cooper and fellow South African Michael Tomson built the company into one of the top surf wear brands. But Gotcha stumbled badly in the early 1990s by putting its colorful surf designs on the back burner in favor of the then-burgeoning street look.

Enter Winkler, who doesn’t surf and hasn’t been embraced by the close-knit surf industry, where living the lifestyle is the ticket to credibility.

“He’s got a bunch of money and he comes out of the budget side of the garment business,” said Dave Hollander, co-owner of Becker Surf N’ Sport, a popular Corona del Mar shop. “What’s to cheer for?”

In August, Gotcha was clearly struggling. The company sent creditors a letter saying it had “overbought” for the spring-summer season, causing a huge inventory backlog and subsequent markdowns. “The last several months have been difficult for us,” the letter said, asking vendors to “work with us in this time of recovery.”

The letter, accompanied by a payment on its debts, said the remaining balance would be paid in installments over five months. It ended on a high note, saying Gotcha products had improved dramatically and sales were “up and accelerating.”

One creditor, who did not want to be quoted by name because Winkler still owes him money, says he gets queasy reading about Winkler’s promotion of the Gotcha Glacier surf park and his involvement in a group that hopes to buy the Angels and the Mighty Ducks.

“We’re all gagging as we read these articles,” said the creditor, who said he is owed nearly $6,000. “It’s just a slap in the face to us.”

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Winkler sympathizes with the creditors but said he has moved quickly to repair damage. He tied the company’s troubles to bad management over which he did not exert enough control.

The Winklers bought out Schottenstein’s interest in Gotcha in August and sold the bulk of the company’s assets to Broadband Interactive Group. Big, as it is known, is a new-media company controlled by Irvine chip maker Broadcom and its co-founders, Samueli and Nicholas, the latter Winkler’s next-door neighbor in the exclusive Nellie Gale Ranch section of Laguna Hills. Winkler, who is chairman of Big, also owns a stake in the new venture.

Big will announce Monday that Gotcha International will team up with an Irvine apparel maker to produce Gotcha apparel, a move Winkler says will free him up to concentrate on the Glacier and Big.

The new-media business plans to blend Broadcom technology with Gotcha’s media holdings to provide interactive TV and Internet programming for the extreme-sports set.

Fodder for these programs would be generated by Gotcha-sponsored events, including some at the Glacier, if it is built. The Glacier’s backers have lined up an impressive operating team, including the Japanese company that built the world’s first indoor ski park. But first they must find buyers for $100 million in bonds, which they hope to sell next month.

Whether or not his current dreams come to fruition, Winkler will never lack for ideas.

“He loves making deals--it’s a natural high for him,” said Marlene Shaner, who worked for Winkler at AMW and Signal Apparel. “They will take him to his grave and he will be working on one more deal.”

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Marvin J. Winkler

Personal: 44, lives in Laguna Hills, married with four children

Education: One year at Tel Aviv University

Career history:

1973: Forms Winks, a Los Angeles T-shirt company.

1984: Forms American Marketing Works, a licensing company that makes T-shirts.

1988: Sells majority interest in AMW to an investment group.

1990: AMW forced into bankruptcy by creditors.

1991: Buys AMW out of bankruptcy.

1994: Sells AMW to Tennessee-based Signal Apparel, becomes its chief executive.

1995: Resigns as Signal CEO.

1996: Buys 50% interest in Irvine-based Gotcha International.

1997: Buys controlling interest in Gotcha.

1998: Becomes partner in effort to build the Gotcha Glacier snowboard park in Anaheim.

1999: Takes over sponsorship of the former OP Pro surfing championship. Teams with Broadcom co-founders to launch new-media venture, Broadband Interactive Group, which buys out Gotcha.

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Researchers Sheila Kern and Lois Hooker contributed to this report.