Poor Donald: O.C.’s Richest Broken Man
The following comes from the fevered imagination of the columnist, who is not now and never will be on the list of richest people in Orange County:
A mopey Donald Bren was in seclusion over the weekend, holed up in an undisclosed motel not far from the Movieland Wax Museum on Beach Boulevard.
Still, he agreed to see me, on the condition that I not reveal his whereabouts or ask any “tough questions.”
“I’m a little fragile right now,” he said. He also asked that I bring some chocolate-chip cookies, soft drinks and “any kind” of frozen dessert.
“Surprise me,” he said, just before hanging up.
I arrived an hour later, knocking three times before Bren came to the door. My third knock made a slight indentation in the door.
“Come on in,” he said. ‘Sorry about no chairs. Guess we’ll both have to sit on the bed.”
We sat cross-legged, facing each other, and it was hard to believe this bearded, disheveled man in a moth-eaten Rams jersey, cutoff Levi’s and a floppy hat had dined with dignitaries and potentates.
“Obviously, you’ve seen the papers,” he began, pointing to Friday’s front page of The Times on the floor.
I nodded.
There was an awkward pause, neither of us knowing what to say. For a moment, it appeared the international jet-setter and real estate empire-builder was close to tears.
“I’m not No. 1 anymore,” he said. “I suppose everybody’s having a big laugh over it.”
“I don’t think they are,” I said.
It was reported last week that Bren was no longer Orange County’s richest man. He wasn’t even No. 2.
After Bren’s years atop the heap, the co-founders of Broadcom Corp.--Henry Nicholas III and Henry Samueli, had passed him. On the Forbes 400 list of the richest people in America, Nicholas and Samueli came in at No. 18, with each reportedly worth about $10 billion.
Bren came in at No. 61, with his wealth a reported $4 billion.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Bren said.
What’s in a Number?
I told him I knew how he felt. One semester in junior high, I was president of my homeroom class. The next semester, treasurer.
“This is different,” he said. “Do you know what it’s like to be the richest man in town? Do you know what it’s like to walk down the street and have people say, ‘There goes Donald Bren, he runs the Irvine Co.’ ?”
“But nobody in Orange County ever sees you,” I said. “They don’t even know what you look like.”
“Yes, but if they did, they’d say that,” he said, a little testily. “But you’ve made me think. Do you think I should get out more, make myself a little more visible?”
“Couldn’t hurt,” I said. “A little populism goes a long way.”
“What is Broadcom, anyway?” Bren asked. “I don’t even know what those guys do over there.”
“Beats me,” I said. “Something to do with computers or chips.”
“That reminds me,” he said, “how about a cookie?”
I gave him the package, and he took a handful.
“Sounds like they got lucky,” he said, while munching. “Those guys wouldn’t know how to sell a piece of property if their lives depended on it.”
“I hate to see you this upset,” I said. “You’re still No. 2 . . . uh, I mean No. 3.”
“That bugs me too,” Bren said. “I should be No. 2. Those guys should count as one, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“I want to ask you something, and I want the truth,” Bren said.
“OK.”
“Do people . . . still talk about me? Do they still mention ‘The Donald’? “
“Sure,” I said. “I was in a cafe just this morning and I heard people in the next booth say they never heard of these Broadcom guys and that Donald Bren would always be their No. 1 rich guy.”
“Really?” Bren said. “People really said that?”
“Of course,” I said. “You’re still the king.”
Bren rubbed his hands together and let out a whoop. Suddenly, the old fire was back.
“They think I’m finished,” he said, excitedly. “No way, dude! I’ll show ‘em!”
“Glad to hear it,” I said, wheezing out the words and turning slightly blue because he was hugging me so tightly.
“Let’s eat these Popsicles,” I said. “They’re starting to melt.”
“Popsicles,” Bren exulted. “I love Popsicles!”
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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by e-mail at dana.parsons@latimes.com.
