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Showing posts with label Tech. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tech. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Larry Ellison Bought an Island in Hawaii. Now What? @NYTimes


Magazine

Larry Ellison Bought an Island in Hawaii. Now What?

By JON MOOALLEM





Henry
Jolicoeur is a retired French Canadian hypnotherapist and a
glass-products importer who enjoys making very low-budget documentary
films. In the summer of 2012, Jolicoeur read that Larry Ellison, a
founder of the Silicon Valley giant Oracle and the fifth-richest man in
the world, had bought 97 percent of the Hawaiian island of Lanai — not a
97 percent stake in some kind of company, but 97 percent of the
physical place. Jolicoeur was curious, so he booked a flight and packed
his camera.


Jolicoeur
knew a little about Lanai, having lived in Hawaii in the ’90s. It is
among the smallest and least trafficked of Hawaiian islands — a quiet,
spectacular place where Cook Island pine trees vault up everywhere, like
spires or giant peacock feathers — and can feel like a charming
wormhole to an earlier era. There is only one town, Lanai City, where
virtually all of the island’s 3,200 residents live. Ellison now owned a
third of all their houses and apartments; the island’s two Four
Seasons-run hotels; the central commons at the heart of Lanai City,
called Dole Park, and all the buildings around it; the town swimming
pool; the community center; the theater; a grocery store; two golf
courses; a wastewater treatment plant; the water company; and a
cemetery. In a single sweeping real estate deal, reported to cost $300
million, he had acquired 87,000 of the island’s 90,000 acres. And he
would subsequently buy an airline that connects Lanai to Honolulu as
well. On all of Lanai, I heard of only a handful of businesses — the gas
station, the rental-car company, two banks, a credit union and a cafe
called Coffee Works — that are neither owned by Ellison nor pay him
rent.

Photo

Lanai City, in the center of the island, is home to virtually all 3,200
of the island’s residents. Credit Mark Peterson and Greta Pratt for
The New York Times

Jolicoeur
spent about three weeks strolling around the island, asking locals to
hold his ungainly, foam-sheathed microphone and tell the camera how they
felt about the big acquisition. Everyone seemed to feel very, very
good. “I want to thank Mr. Ellison,” one fishing-boat captain says.
“He’s got a vision, and he’s taking care of us over here on Lanai.” A
pack of landscapers, shown assiduously raking dirt, say things like:
“Thank you for work, Mr. Ellison! Thank you very much!” The owner of a
salon: “I just want to take this time to thank Mr. Ellison for the
unbelievable, incredible takeover of Lanai.” Inside the island’s
Catholic church, a priest in a purple robe, surrounded by children,
says: “Heavenly father. . . . We ask for your blessings for Mr. Ellison,
particularly, and those who work with him, that all the good plans and
intentions that he has for Lanai be fruitful.” Elsewhere, a woman shouts
a little breathlessly: “Mr. Ellison! Thank you for being here! We love
you! I’ve never met you before and really would like to, and I can
imagine that you will do awesome wonders for this place!”
Jolicoeur
is still working on his film but has posted some footage on YouTube in
the meantime. From time to time, he makes an appearance himself,
pontificating about the bewildering new relationship between Ellison and
everyone else. Introducing one segment, Jolicoeur announces, “The great
philosopher Plato said, 2,500 years ago, that rulers of man must be
philosophers.” A title card reads, “ORACLE = A person who delivers
authoritative, wise or highly regarded and influential pronouncements.”
Ninety seven percent
of Lanai may be a lot of Lanai, but it’s a tiny part of Ellison’s
overall empire. Ellison, who stepped down as C.E.O. of Oracle on Sept.
18, is estimated to be worth $46 billion. He made an estimated $78.4
million last year, or about $38,000 an hour. He owns a tremendous amount
of stuff — cars, boats, real estate, Japanese antiquities, the BPN
Paribas Open tennis tournament, an America’s Cup sailing team, one of
Bono’s guitars — and has a reputation for intensity and excess.
Recently, The Wall Street Journal reported that when Ellison has played
basketball on the courts on his yachts, he has positioned “someone in a
powerboat following the yacht to retrieve balls that go overboard.” One
biographer called him “a modern-day Genghis Khan.”
At
a public meeting on Lanai last year, an Ellison representative
explained that his boss wasn’t drawn to the island by the potential for
profits but by the potential for a great accomplishment — the
satisfaction one day of having made the place work. For Ellison, it
seemed, Lanai was less like an investment than like a classic car, up on
blocks in the middle of the Pacific, that he had become obsessed with
restoring. He wants to transform it into a premier tourist destination
and what he has called “the first economically viable, 100 percent green
community”: an innovative, self-sufficient dreamscape of renewable
energy, electric cars and sustainable agriculture.
Ellison
has explained that Lanai feels to him like “this really cool
21st-century engineering project” — and so far, his approach, which
seems steeped in the ethos of Silicon Valley, has boiled down to rooting
out the many inefficiencies of daily life on Lanai and replacing them
with a single, elegantly designed system. It’s the sort of sweeping
challenge that engineering types get giddy over: a full-scale model. Of
course, there are actual people living inside Ellison’s engineering
project — a community being hit by an unimaginable wave of wealth. But
unlike all the more familiar versions of that story, Lanai isn’t being
remade by some vague socioeconomic energy you can only gesture at with
words like “techies” or “hipsters” or “Wall Street” but by one guy,
whose name everyone knows, in a room somewhere, whiteboarding out the
whole project.
Jolicoeur
seemed to understand the precariousness that power imbalance created:
the staggering responsibility, the incomprehensible control. At one
point, standing on a beach, he announces theatrically to the camera,
“The Bible says, ‘Where there is no vision, people perish.’ ” Eventually
he visits the island’s animal-rescue center, where a young employee
explains that because there are no natural predators on Lanai, the
feral-cat population just explodes. Right now, she tells him, the
shelter is housing 380 cats.
From behind the camera, Jolicoeur hollers: “So basically, these are 380 cats of Mr. Ellison’s?”
“They’re his cats!” the woman says, laughing and laughing.
Next
we see a half-dozen cats, occupying different areas of a multitiered
bungalow-style dollhouse for cats, licking themselves and lapping water
and napping. More cats appear as Jolicoeur enters the shot, holding his
long microphone, extending his free hand to stroke whichever cat looks
most cooperative. His eyes are bright. He looks thrilled with his
wonderful discovery: He has reached an unanticipated edge of the
island’s new reality.
Clasping
an animal with a meaty palm, he turns back to the camera and says, “Mr.
Ellison, do you know that you have, now, 380 cats?”
For thousands of years,
Lanai was ruled by the god of nightmares. No humans lived there until,
according to Hawaiian legend, a teenage chief from Maui was banished to
the island for bad behavior. The chief killed the nightmare god and
routed his army of spirits. Then he lit a fire. People on Maui, eight
miles to the east, saw the fire. It was a signal — an all-clear. They
got in their canoes and came over.

Continue reading the main story Slide Show

Kingdom Come

CreditMark Peterson and Greta Pratt for The New York Times

Hawaiians
lived happily on Lanai for about 800 years. Then the Mormons started
arriving, eventually led in 1861 by Walter Murray Gibson, who, in
retrospect, may have been only a megalomaniac con man masquerading as a
Mormon. An article published by the Hawaiian Historical Society in 1960
describes Gibson as “ambitious and romantic and interested in ruling a
tropical government.” Gibson spent his early years tramping through
Southeast Asia, stoking a native revolt against the Dutch in the hope of
commandeering one. He converted to Mormonism only one year before
showing up on Lanai. After building a Mormon colony in the island’s
interior, Gibson began buying land on Lanai until he controlled nearly
the entire island. He paid for the land with the church’s money but put
the titles in his own name. When the Mormons figured this out, they
excommunicated him.
Gibson
retained the land, though. By the time he died in 1888, it had passed
to his daughter, then through a few other owners as a single holding.
None of them could figure out what to do with Lanai. They tried ranching
sheep. They tried sugar cane. One crop that grew well was pineapples,
and this caught the attention of James Drummond Dole, a Harvard Business
School grad with a fledgling pineapple company on Oahu.
In
1922, Dole paid $1.1 million for the land Gibson and his successors had
accumulated. Just like that, The New York Times reported, “an entire
island, Lanai, has been taken over by a pineapple company.” Dole plowed
the interior into fields, built a harbor and roads and laid out an
idyllic town near the center of Lanai — a grid of plantation-style
cottages, with Dole Park in the middle — to house his mostly Japanese
and Filipino workers. By 1930, Lanai City had 3,000 residents, nearly
all of them Dole employees, and the island was exporting 65,000 tons of
pineapples a year. The company sent landscaping crews to weed and mow
workers’ lawns. It ran an athletics program and built a golf course.
Life on Lanai was good; Dole insisted it should be. His motto was: “Have
happy workers, grow better pineapples.”
For
70 years, Lanai was among the world’s largest pineapple plantations.
Then in 1992, the island harvested its last crop. Overseas production
had driven down prices, and Lanai was left behind. By that point, the
island had changed hands two more times. It was now controlled by the
California billionaire David Murdock, who acquired the company Castle
& Cooke, which took over Dole Foods’ holdings on Lanai in the ’60s.
Murdock was a somewhat imperial presence on Lanai. He referred to
residents as his “children.”
As
the pineapple era wound down, Murdock pivoted Lanai’s economy toward
tourism. He built two resorts — the first developments on the island
besides Lanai City and still the only major ones — and eventually
contracted the Four Seasons to run them. Pineapple pickers were
retrained as hotel staff and landscapers. Lanai was still a company
town; the company just did something different now.
The
transition did not go well. Murdock had to steadily infuse the island
with money — as much as $20 million or $30 million a year, he’d later
report. By the mid-2000s, he started cutting back. He laid off large
numbers of workers and began abandoning some of his quasi-governmental
responsibilities as the island’s majority landowner. Buildings fell into
disrepair. The Chamber of Commerce disbanded. As one resident put it,
“Economically, there was real potential that we might dry up and blow
away.”
Eventually,
Murdock proposed a way forward: He would build an array of 45-story
wind turbines on 20 square miles of the island and sell the electricity
they produced to Oahu. The idea was controversial. It would be a mammoth
development on an insistently small-scale island. Lanai had been
settled by disparate immigrants who had to figure out how to get along,
and that history, locals told me, keeps people from dwelling on
divisions and differences. (“That’s what makes the place so special,”
one woman explained. “We still have aloha together.”) But the long fight
over what the locals called Big Wind was brutal and divisive. Family
members stopped talking to one another. There were protests in the
street. Many people who supported the wind turbines saw the protesters
as reckless idealists; they were handcuffing the man the community
relied on and driving the island into the ground. Murdock seemed to feel
the same way. By the summer of 2011, he confessed to the editor of the
island’s newspaper that Lanai had been “the poorest financial investment
I’ve made in my entire life.” He had only so many options. One was to
“close it all down and leave.” Instead, he put Lanai up for sale.
The
island rippled with anxiety. People worried that Murdock might sell off
parts of Lanai to multiple owners, tossing the community into some
uncharted, joint-custody arrangement. Or that he’d sell to a big resort
developer who would shatter the character of the place. “Oh, my God, he
could sell to a Russian oligarch,” one woman remembered thinking.
Another said, “We were praying it wasn’t some sheikh!” It wasn’t some
sheikh. It was Larry Ellison.
It
was easy to be hopeful, and the civil war over Big Wind had left people
scarred and exhausted with fighting. Now Ellison wanted to revive the
island, and he had the money to fund his dreams until they came true.
But was he a utopian businessman like Dole? Or a slippery autocrat like
Gibson? Was he the nightmare god — or the renegade chief who finally
came to vanquish him?
One
morning, nearly two years later, at the Blue Ginger Cafe, I asked Pat
Reilly, a 74-year-old regular with a thin white mustache and oversize
glasses who has lived on Lanai for more than 30 years, how he felt when
he heard that Ellison bought the island. Reilly reached over his coffee
mug and drew a big, slow question mark in the air, then jabbed his index
finger at me to dot the question mark, hard.
“And it’s still that way,” he said.


Like a lot of
omnipotent forces, Ellison has remained mostly invisible. He has
visited Lanai many times — locals told me they can tell he’s on the
island when they see his yacht hitched in the harbor — but he seems
determined to keep a formal distance from the community, shielding
himself behind the executive team of Pulama Lanai, the management
company he set up to oversee the island’s transformation. Although
Pulama holds frequent public meetings on Lanai, Ellison has declined to
attend any or to address residents directly. Several residents told me
that they’d resorted to reading biographies of Ellison to learn more
about the man — books that have somewhat disquieting titles like
“Everyone Else Must Fail” and “The Difference Between God and Larry
Ellison,” the punch line being: “God doesn’t think he’s Larry Ellison.”
Ellison’s
vision for the island was first delivered, by proxy, early last year,
at a meeting of the island’s Community Plan Advisory Committee. These
meetings were part of a county-government process to update the island’s
comprehensive planning document, which dictates everything from zoning
and land use to cultural preservation. Butch Gima, a Lanai native and
social worker who was chairman of the committee, told me that Ellison’s
takeover put them in a tricky position. On one hand, it allowed for
greater ambition. (“A new world has opened up,” one member told the
committee.) But it also felt strange to chart a course for an island
that someone else had taken control of. Even the committee’s economic
research and growth projections might now be obsolete, depending on what
Ellison wanted to do. And so they invited Pulama’s new chief operating
officer, Kurt Matsumoto, to brief them.
Matsumoto
was hired to oversee operations on Lanai a couple of months earlier. He
had a background in running large resorts, but he was also a “Lanai
Boy,” as people kept putting it to me — he grew up on the island. “He
doesn’t come off as being real slick,” Gima told me. (As kids, Gima and
Matsumoto were in Boy Scouts together.) His appointment was encouraging;
the relationship between the island and its new owner had been brought
down to a more human scale.
Matsumoto
appeared before the committee in mid-January — a middle-management
Moses coming down the mountain with an important PowerPoint. He prefaced
his presentation by explaining that Ellison didn’t have any firm plans
yet, only “intentions.” Then he put up his first slide.
That
night, and in other meetings, Matsumoto unveiled a startlingly
ambitious vision for the island. He explained that Ellison aimed to
build a third resort, this time on the uninhabited southwestern coast,
as well as a complex of private estates — maybe 50 of them, each five or
more acres. Ellison intended to expand Lanai’s airport, adding a bigger
runway to accommodate direct flights from the mainland for the first
time. The limiting factor on Lanai has always been water, but Ellison
would build a state-of-the-art desalination plant to produce more fresh
water. Ellison would expand Lanai City; build an “energy park,” where
electricity produced with solar panels or photosynthesizing algae would
be fed into a new smart grid; and bring commercial agriculture back to
the island, in fields outfitted with sensors to control fertilization
and irrigation, so that Lanai could begin to feed itself and even export
products, rather than depend on weekly food barges from Oahu.
Eventually Matsumoto would tell The Wall Street Journal that Ellison
hoped to see the island’s population double to about 6,000. Elsewhere,
there was talk of organic wineries and flower farms and an innovative
aquaponics-and-hydroponics operation that would raise fish and fruits
and vegetables in a sustainable symphony of positive feedback loops.
Better health care. A bowling alley. An institute for the study of
sustainability. A 22-acre film studio. A top-flight, residential tennis
academy for competitive youth.
Matsumoto’s
tone at that first meeting was low-key, humble and inclusive. He used
words like “respect” and “empower,” “sharing” and “investing.” Then,
eventually, he hit his last slide: “Mahalo” — Hawaiian for “Thank you” —
and was done.
“It was hard to formulate any thought-out questions,” Gima recalled about the presentation. “I think people just went, ‘Whoa.’ ”
By the time
I visited Lanai last March, there was almost too much happening for one
person to keep track of. Pulama had gone to work around the island on
long-deferred maintenance, renovations and full-bore beautification.
They’d painted the shops around Dole Park, ripped out old hedges and
thinned or chopped down trees to air out the ambience. Herds of
construction workers moved around Lanai in fluorescent green or orange
shirts, then gathered outside Richard’s Market at quitting time for
drinks and snacks. “He is renewing, refreshing, rejuvenating every part
of the island,” said a woman named Mimi Evangelista. “I feel blessed,
blessed beyond my wildest dreams.”
After
several years of terrible unemployment, people on Lanai were back to
work. Within four months of Ellison’s purchase, unemployment shot down
to 1.2 percent. There were new faces everywhere, new luxury cars on the
road and lines of new Mercedes vans and Nissan Leafs parked in the
company’s lot near the center of town. Pulama had started a summer
program for kids and another program to help high-school students pursue
college scholarships, screened “Frozen” in the park and held an
“animal-care day” so people could get their cats dewormed free. They’d
opened a Nobu restaurant at one hotel. I saw posters advertising free
water-aerobics classes at the new community pool. There were ukulele
lessons and Pilates. A month earlier, at an Oracle event in Las Vegas to
unveil the company’s new cloud software, someone asked Ellison about
Lanai, and he pointed out that “for the first time, Lanai has a football
field where the high school can have home games.” He also noted, “We’re
empowering the locals to start their own businesses,” whether it’s “in
agriculture or a juice bar in Lanai City.”
The
juice bar occupies a cabana-like building at one corner of Dole Park
and is owned and operated by Tammy Ringbauer, an effusive woman with
bright flowers tattooed up her right arm. Ringbauer is deep into juicing
— I never saw anyone juice a turmeric root before — and charges 12
bucks for a large.
Ringbauer
told me she moved to Lanai from Maui just weeks before the change in
ownership, and this storefront caught her eye immediately. It was the
only vacant commercial space in Lanai City, though she had heard that,
for some reason, Pulama Lanai kept rejecting entrepreneurs who wanted to
lease it. (Pulama says that it did not turn down any previous
applicants.)

Continue reading the main story
‘At
the end of the day, Mr. Ellison can do what he wants. He asks for input
but that’s like me asking for input on what to do with my backyard. I own my backyard.’

When
I asked Ringbauer why the company finally gave the lease to her, she
hesitated. “I don’t want to say anything wrong,” she said. “Because of
the changes that are happening, there’s sort of a model we’re trying to
move in the direction of. And I think certain businesses may not fit
into that model.” She thought her vision was aligned with Pulama’s: She
was using locally grown, organic produce and compostable to-go cups.
“I’m explaining the benefits of juicing, I’m educating,” she said.
Later, I heard that Ellison himself had come in for a juice a couple of
times, sitting on a stool and sipping away like a regular person.
I
couldn’t find any other small businesses that had started up on Lanai
since Ellison’s purchase. But there were stories about entrepreneurs,
like the owners of the island’s wood shop, who had approached Pulama for
leases or partnerships only to be offered a job with the company
instead — which was good but allowed Pulama to preserve its hold on the
economy. Ringbauer had no complaints. “If we all work together,” she
said, “we’re going to thrive.” The wooden sign hanging behind her
register read: “No whining. No complaining. No frowning. Only hugs,
smiles and warm feelings are allowed. Thank you.”
Despite my many phone
calls and emails to Pulama Lanai’s office, requesting interviews with
its senior staff members, the company basically wanted nothing to do
with me. A couple of walk-in visits to the office, and to the
standoffish man named Roger who worked the reception desk there, also
got me nowhere. (One time, trying to at least make small talk with Roger
before he turned me away, I said, “It’s beautiful, what you’ve done
here,” by which I meant the renovated office lobby, with its marble
floors and Pier 1-esque furnishings and the carved, hardwood box where
locals drop their rent checks. “Yes, it is,” Roger replied, barely
looking up from his computer.) Eventually a public-relations contractor
based in Honolulu told me that “the company is still in the planning
phase” and would not be participating in this article.
Another
obstacle: Roughly half of the adults on the island are employed by
Pulama Lanai or its hotels, and nearly everyone else, it seems, has a
sister or uncle who is — or else relies on the company indirectly for a
livelihood or lives in a house that Pulama Lanai owns. Lots of people
told me that they were instructed not to talk to reporters or that they
just didn’t want to risk upsetting the company. One young man delivered a
long, seemingly rehearsed preamble, insisting that he absolutely had to
remain anonymous and that any opinions he expressed were his alone and
did not reflect the views of either Pulama Lanai or his employer, which
did business with Pulama and which I also shouldn’t name. I expected
something inflammatory, but his opinion was this: “There’s a lot of
complainers — some people aren’t happy — but they don’t realize how much
they have. It’s just awesome!”
Well,
yes and no. As it turns out, my perception of Pulama Lanai — as a vast,
mostly incommunicative force — was pretty close to that of many
residents I was meeting. They didn’t necessarily understand how that
force operated either, but they saw its handiwork everywhere. And some
of it didn’t feel awesome at all.
For
starters, Pulama had inadvertently intensified a housing shortage on
Lanai. There was so much work that contractors had to be shuttled in
daily or weekly from other islands or relocated. A few off-island
construction companies bought up housing in Lanai City in anticipation
of winning contracts from Pulama, and the island’s independent landlords
found they could demand higher rents from the remaining workers. Though
the company was busily fixing up cottages to rent out, many displaced
locals wound up on Pulama’s indeterminably long waiting list for
housing, which they believed Pulama employees were bypassing. The
process didn’t feel transparent or fair, and Pulama was resisting calls
for a town-hall meeting about the issue. (Later, I attended one of the
company’s informational meetings about renovations at the Four Seasons —
“We’re adding two new teppanyaki stations,” a Pulama representative
explained — and watched residents try to derail its narrow agenda. “It’s
something you folks never even anticipated!” one older man said. He was
leaning on his walker, raising his voice. “You took all the housing! It
all went poof!”)
By
now, there was growing awareness that Pulama’s rhetoric of openness and
collaboration didn’t always match its actions. Some people wondered
whether the company was hiding its real agenda behind a veneer of
egalitarianism and good manners. As a schoolteacher named Karen de Brum
put it: “At the end of the day, Mr. Ellison can and will do what he
wants. He asks for input, but that’s like me asking for input on what to
do with my backyard. I own my backyard.”
A
27-year-old Lanai native named Zane de la Cruz told me that he was
“starting to think that communication is actually worse” than under the
previous owner, “because there’s a false sense of good communication.”
He elaborated: “They give out a lot worthless information. They give you
buzzwords.” At one meeting, a Pulama executive, Arlan Chun, was asked
how much residents would pay for water from the new desalination plant
and how Ellison expected to recoup his costs. Chun suggested that
Ellison wasn’t concerned with costs. “The mandate we have is to move the
island forward,” he said.
De
la Cruz told me: “Well, yeah, that’s a fun and fancy thing to say, but
someone is going to need to pay for this. And if Larry Ellison decides,
five years from now, that he doesn’t want to play this game anymore,
we’ll be paying for it then.” John Ornellas, chairman of the island’s
planning commission, said he was struggling to get a straight answer
about what would happen if Ellison dies. (“He does do a lot adventurous
things,” Ornellas noted; for example, there’s a rumor — the truth of
which remains murky — that Ellison once flew a fighter jet under the
Golden Gate Bridge.) And Diana Shaw, who directs the Lanai Community
Health Center, one of two medical providers on the island, said that
Pulama ignored her requests for an introductory meeting for months.
“They kept talking publicly about the health care system and how they
were going to improve it and enhance it and change it,” Shaw said. “But
nobody came and talked to us. We are the health care system — at least
50 percent of it.” Finally Pulama reps sat down with her. The meeting
didn’t go well. Shaw described one executive as “the master of spin.”
At
a small gathering one night, over pizza and beer, a retired school
principal, Pierce Myers, explained it to me this way: “The hope is real.
The potential is fantastic.” And yet lots of residents can’t help
seeing everything Ellison does through a scrim of “suspicion and
uncertainty.” He went on: “This place was developed on the backs of
humble people; people who cared for each other. When you live on an
island, you can’t afford to make enemies. A compassion grows from that.
Now it feels like everything’s being driven from outside by some force
that is not part of that tradition.”
Eventually
the man sitting next to Myers spoke up. “Any changes are going to be
uncomfortable, but the changes are happening so fast,” he said quietly.
His name was Anthony Kaauamo Pacheco. He is 29 and was born on Lanai but
left to study filmmaking on Oahu. Two years ago, he came back to the
island. He wanted to inspire would-be filmmakers there to tell their own
stories; he even imagined drawing Hollywood productions to Lanai. But
there wasn’t an obvious way to start. For the last two years, he’d been
teaching film at the school, unpaid.

Photo

A landscaper sprucing up the area around the community pool
and recreation area in Lanai City. Credit Mark Peterson and Greta Pratt
for The New York Times

That
afternoon, as a critical exercise, Pacheco had shown his students a
promotional video produced by Love Lanai, a new branding campaign that
Pulama was using to pitch the island to affluent tourists. Love Lanai is
the brainchild of a Southern Californian “approachable luxury” brand
consultant named Audrey Cavenecia. (Cavenecia has previously worked as a
personal “life redesigner” and developed a reality show for E!, “The
Apology Concierge,” which curates “high-end apologies” — like for
wealthy people who cheat on their wives.) The video showed swirling
aerial footage of the island’s beaches and cliffs, a man on a windy
ridge getting down on one knee to propose and a woman on horseback
rising from her saddle slightly, feeling free. It had been posted to
YouTube with the caption: “For Love Lanai, compassionate luxury is more
than just a phrase, it’s an action of purpose,” which doesn’t really
make sense.
In
an interview that Pachecho found online and showed to his students,
Cavenecia explained that she created Love Lanai to tell the stories of
everyday Lanaians as their lives, under Ellison, improved. It was the
kind of work Pacheco had come home to encourage. But for a branding
consultant to tell those stories, as promotional material for high-end
tourists, felt a little exploitative. “I’m not a spectacle,” he said.
He
seemed to be having trouble sorting out his feelings — deciding whether
his skepticism was warranted or just reflexive. Most of the island was
private property when Pacheco was growing up too, but Murdock left a
smaller footprint, tending to focus mainly on his hotels. “It never felt
like I was trespassing,” Pacheco said. Now it did. He said he wasn’t
sure he wanted to live on Lanai anymore.
Then,
two weeks later, in the middle of April, Pacheco’s situation improved.
Pulama Lanai funded his teaching position as part of its commitment to
improve education. He had a way to support his family now and resources
to start the idealistic work he’d come back to Lanai to do. He’d also
signed a nondisclosure agreement with the company and couldn’t talk to
me anymore.
Different people told
different stories, but for a local named Gail Allen, the first sign
that things had started to go wrong this summer came when Pulama Lanai
inexplicably abandoned its renovation of the golf course behind her
house, and the weeds and thistles grew waist-high and thick as a broom
head, and the fish in the ponds died, and their bodies were left to
knock around the algae-clouded edges of the water, floating on their
sides.
The
course, which is attached to the smaller of the two Four Seasons hotels
and abuts Allen’s neighborhood on the hillside above Lanai City, had
been slated for renovation at the beginning of the year. Pulama ripped
out the turf and irrigation systems, but little else happened after
that. Finally in May, the Jack Nicklaus design-company employee who had
been relocated with his family to Lanai to oversee the redesign was
abruptly sent home. He told neighbors that the golf-course renovation
had been put off until 2015 or 2016. By then, mosquitoes were breeding
on the course. The ponds’ stench blew through peoples’ homes. “It smells
like a sewer up here,” Allen told me in early July when I called for an
update.
Allen
owns a gift shop in town and looks a little like Meryl Streep when she
smiles. When we met on her patio back in March, she was adamantly
optimistic; she went on and on, telling me “I feel like I’m living in a
utopia!” and claiming to have inside information that Ellison was
outfitting Lanai with 4G cellular service. “Not even Honolulu has 4G!”
she said. (Actually it does.) Now she was distraught. It wasn’t just the
golf course; there were other signs of Pulama Lanai’s incompetence, or
maybe just its insensitivity — it was tough to tell which. “I don’t
think Mr. Ellison’s trying to hurt people,” she told me on the phone,
“but I don’t think he realizes what a delicate little ecosystem the
economy is here. We were so zealous: ‘Oh, my God, he’s coming to save
our island!’ It just feels like everything’s in limbo now. All of a
sudden, there’s a fear factor: ‘What are we going to do if this thing
falls apart?’ ”
I
flew back to Lanai a few days later. A lot had gone subtly sideways
since my first visit, as the company transitioned from the easy work of
sprucing up the island to rolling out its reimagined version. A central
problem seemed to be that Pulama underestimated the difficulties that
came with building on Lanai, where materials and labor have to be
brought in. In May, with work on the island consuming more and more
resources, Philip Simon — an accountant, and president of another of
Ellison’s companies, Lawrence Investments — was called in to consult
with Pulama executives. At public meetings, Pulama was now explaining
that it had given up on the second airport runway and was also
downshifting the $27 million makeover of the existing Four Seasons at
Manele Bay too: The company would renovate only half the resort this
year and was scrambling to finish in time for a large booking in
October. (Around town, the event was rumored to be a giant party for
Ellison’s daughter, Megan.) There were now 360 contractors on the job,
many of them living at the hotel and in half of the other Four Seasons
as well. Just before I arrived, Ellison bought the small Hotel Lanai at
the top of Dole Park — the last hotel on the island — and was filling it
with workers every Monday through Friday, too. Ornellas, head of the
Lanai Planning Commission, told me that lately the gist of his
conversations with company executives was: “The infrastructure can’t
support their lofty goals.”
On
such a small island, every adjustment Pulama made to its plans had
repercussions, and the strain of disenfranchisement I encountered in the
spring was spreading, as more stories of the company’s apparent
carelessness or undependability surfaced. Late last year, for example,
Pulama told the owners of Trilogy Excursions — a large family-owned
business based in Maui that, among other things, runs diving tours for
hotel guests on Lanai and whose employees hand out a free turkey and a
bag of rice to every family on the island at Thanksgiving — that in
October, the Four Seasons would begin running its own dive operation.
Then this spring, Pulama recanted; they were delaying that plan. This
was good news for Trilogy, except that several of its employees,
presuming they’d be out of work, had already taken other jobs, and the
company was now short-staffed.
It’s
possible that, internally, Ellison’s management team had reasonable
explanations for what was being experienced as aloofness and disarray.
But down here, on Lanai, locals worried that the inscrutable engineer
remaking their island was either turning away from his creation or —
worse — incapable of manning all those knobs and switches as competently
as they’d believed. People’s lives were entangled in each decision; all
the instability was upsetting their sense of the future.
“Pretty
soon, it’s not going to be the Lanaian way of living here anymore,”
Mike Lopez, Trilogy’s director of operations, told me one afternoon.
“Everybody feels that now.” Then, all of a sudden, he shot out: “See,
this guy here!” and gestured across the street, to a willowy man with a
gray beard, in a ball cap and sunglasses, standing at the edge of Dole
Park. It was a new face that Lopez kept noticing around, always alone.
“I don’t know if they put people in to observe the atmosphere or what,”
he said.

Continue reading the main story
‘It
just feels like everything’s in limbo now. All of a sudden, there’s a
fear factor. ‘‘What are we going to do if this thing falls apart?’’ ’

I
turned around. The man, who’d paused next to a garbage can, quickly
walked away. I’m not really equipped to judge whether a stranger on
Lanai looks sinister or not. But neither was Lopez anymore, and that was
the point.
The week I returned,
those feelings of suspicion on Lanai were coming to a head over what
has been the most volatile political issue on the island for
generations: water.
The
planned desalination plant, already in its first phase of construction
near the Four Seasons at Manele Bay, was a linchpin in Ellison’s vision;
by converting up to 10 million gallons of salinated groundwater into
fresh water a day, it would make more development and population growth
possible. Earlier this year, the company went to the Lanai Planning
Commission for a 30-year special-use permit to operate the plant. (The
commission, made up of nine residents, is the one body of truly local
government on Lanai. Everything else on the island gets decided by the
county government, on Maui, or the state, in Honolulu. And it’s worth
noting that while Ellison has declined to meet with Lanai residents, he
hosted Alan Arakawa — the mayor of Maui County, which includes Lanai —
for lunch on his yacht and held two big-ticket fund-raisers for Gov.
Neil Abercrombie before Abercrombie lost his primary in August.) But
after months of hearings, the Planning Commission rejected Pulama’s
request and decided to issue a permit for 15 years instead. The move may
sound insignificant, but as Robin Kaye, a longtime resident, who helped
lead the resistance to Murdock’s wind farm, pointed out, “This is the
first time in two years, in a formal way, that any part of the community
has said no to something Pulama has asked.” And it provoked the first
instance of outright intransigence the community had seen from Pulama.
During one of the final meetings about the plant in June, Kurt Matsumoto
kept issuing the same ultimatum: Without a guarantee of 30 years of
operation, he said, the company probably wouldn’t build the plant. It
just wouldn’t be worth the investment. “It’s not a threat,” Matsumoto
explained, adding later: “But we’re not here to negotiate that tonight.”
When
I ran into Pat Reilly, the gentleman I met at the Blue Ginger Cafe in
the spring, he broke down the altercation for me. It was starting to
feel as if Matsumoto and his team saw the local political process as an
annoyance, he said. They weren’t acting like elected officials, building
public support for their agenda; they were acting like they owned the
place — because they did. “The local people want a say,” Reilly
explained. “And this was their chance. It was a display of power.
Psychologically, it makes all kinds of sense to me.”
By
now, the standoff was taking on an ugly feel. Many residents felt the
commission had acted impetuously, handcuffing Ellison the same way
activists sabotaged Murdock’s wind-farm proposal — even if, in this
case, the commission wasn’t actually opposed to the plant and had, in
fact, given the project a green light. The commission, meanwhile, had
just received a stern letter from Pulama’s attorney on Maui, laying out a
complicated argument attacking a separate restriction written into the
permit. (The restriction stipulated that, once the plant was up and
running, the hotel and surrounding homes could only draw water from the
island’s main aquifer in emergencies, and only then for human
consumption.)
One
afternoon, I was waiting out a rain shower in one of Pulama’s Four
Seasons, enjoying a very expensive ginger ale and some free popcorn,
when I overheard a woman venting to the bartender about the commission’s
audacity and underhandedness. “This is a lot of money they’re playing
with!” she said. She grumbled about one former commissioner in
particular, whom she saw as a ringleader, and huffed, “What was she
thinking?” She went on and got louder, until she’d finally talked
herself out.
Thirty
minutes later, I walked into a public meeting that Pulama was holding
at the old union hall in town and saw the owner of a luxury home near
the resort — a very large man in a polo shirt — standing over Pat
Reilly, pointing and shouting: “Talk some sense into those people! They
want to shut off our water!” I also saw the woman from the bar, smiling
and offering people pastries and bottled water: it was Lynn McCrory,
Pulama’s senior vice president of government affairs.
On
Sept. 12, Pulama suddenly stopped construction at the desalination
plant. It was unclear when — or even if — it would restart. “Sounds like
the baby couldn’t get his way,” Ornellas, the head of the Planning
Commission, told me. “It’s sad it had to come to this.”
Before I’d ever
been to Lanai, I watched a public-television interview online with a
man named Kepa Maly, who was an authority on the island’s cultural
history, and an unlikely one. He wasn’t Hawaiian but a white man in a
faded aloha shirt, with large, wire-frame glasses and a soft, breathy
voice. Even on the Internet, everything about him felt welcoming and
also a little square. He reminded me of a children’s folk singer from
the ’70s.
Maly
was born on Oahu, he explained to the interviewer. As a child, he felt
disconnected and lost, and eventually he was taken in by the Kaopuikis,
one of Lanai’s oldest families. Mr. and Mrs. Kaopuiki were born in the
1890s, 30 years before James Dole planted his first pineapple on Lanai,
and they raised Maly the way they raised their 14 other children:
speaking Hawaiian and steeped in the island’s history and traditions.
Maly was enthralled, and ever since he has dedicated his life to
perpetuating traditional Hawaiian culture. He was now executive director
of the Lanai Culture and Heritage Center, a nonprofit museum at the top
of Dole Park. Kepa was the name the Kaopuikis gave him. It means “to
embrace.”
I
called Maly, but never heard back. So one afternoon in March, I knocked
on the door of the small blue house where I was told he worked. I’d
just started to introduce myself when the openness on his face collapsed
into what seemed like embarrassment. He knew who I was, he said. “I
guess it was rude not to call you back. But I have to be cautious.” The
thing was, he’d taken a job at Pulama Lanai. He wanted to talk with me,
but I needed to clear it with the company first. After some phone calls,
and another fruitless face-off with the impregnable Roger, the company
surprised me: I would be allowed to interview Maly the next day.
“My
experience with the previous owner was a challenging one,” he explained
when we reconvened. But all that difficulty went away when Ellison
arrived. “It was really awesome!” he said. Last year, Pulama hired him
as its senior vice president of culture and historic preservation. He
has 10 employees now. A crew was out that afternoon clearing the area
around the religious center of ancient Lanai, and they’d soon be
restoring ancient fish ponds and taro fields. It was the sort of
stewardship he’d continually asked the island’s previous ownership to
support. “Now, all the things we were talking about, but really
struggling on, we are out in the field doing,” he said.
Maly
had not yet met Ellison, but he believed that Ellison understood that
investing in the preservation of Lanai’s culture and history is, at the
very least, good business. Today’s tourists, especially wealthy ones,
value more than beaches and mai tais. “It’s place-based now. People want
‘authentic.’ People want real experiences,” he said.
I’d
heard the same explanation that morning from Tom Roelens, the manager
of the Four Seasons at Manele Bay. Roelens led me through a newly
renovated room, noting all the local touches, like the wall panel
illustrating the story of the demigod Maui and the canoe paddle over the
toilet. (“It’s just a stunning room product,” Roelens beamed. “It truly
reflects Hawaii.”) Often, he said, resorts insulate guests from the
community. But on Lanai, the owner of the resort wasn’t in competition
with the surroundings; he owned most of those, too. “Lanai is this
entire experience,” Roelens said. And the people of Lanai are part of
that experience, as well. Nearly a quarter of the island works at the
two hotels, he explained, and the company believes improving residents’
quality of life will “truly translate to the guest experience.” Ellison
had once articulated this philosophy himself: “We think, If we do a good
job taking care of the locals, the locals will do a good job taking
care of our visitors.”
It
sounded like the same Silicon Valley philosophy that spawned all the
epicurean cafeterias, yoga classes and nap pods on tech-company campuses
— amenities designed to keep engineers happy and maximize their
productivity. But now, in his office, Kepa Maly reminded me that it was a
much older model too, and one that Lanai had fared pretty well under.
“It’s just like Dole said,” he said. “Have happy workers, grow better
pineapples.”
I
asked Maly if he had doubts about going to work for Pulama. Yes,
initially, he said. “And I have to tell you, sometimes I question my
ability to be a good assessor of people’s integrity.” But he pressed
company executives, and they assured him that they were committed to
protecting the island’s cultural resources. “I have to believe that,” he
told me. “We have to.” He explained that, when he was a
newcomer to Lanai, people could have viewed him with the same mistrust
some felt toward Ellison. Instead, they welcomed him. “I was blessed
that some of the oldest families on Lanai took aloha for me, and taught
me their language and shared their histories. It gave me my whole life,”
Maly said. “I realize that we can always be cynical, and question
motives,” he added. “But it’s also just a junk way to live.”
He
wanted to show me something: There are three words printed on Pulama’s
business cards: “Preservation. Progress. Sustainability.” His work —
preservation — is one of those words. “It’s the first one,” he
noted. He said it with conviction, as if he were lucky enough to live in
some unspoiled world where the slogan on a corporation’s business cards
reflected its genuine values. Maybe he still did. But maybe he didn’t
anymore.





Larry Ellison Bought an Island in Hawaii. Now What? - NYTimes.com





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Sunday, December 2, 2012

Chronicle of a Masterpiece Foretold - National Geographic #Art

Chronicle of a Masterpiece Foretold

Photo: Watching footage
Photograph by Dave Yoder
This article was originally published in the February 2012 issue of National Geographic Italy magazine and has been translated from Italian.
A dream ... an obsession lasting more than thirty years, for a mystery worthy of a detective novel, of a mural painting, a masterpiece lost centuries ago. And of another fresco painted on top of the first, complete with a clue: a small flag with the inscription "Cerca Trova" ("Seek and you shall find"). It was in the mid-1970s that Carlo Pedretti, one of the world's leading experts on Leonardo da Vinci, first communicated to Maurizio Seracini, a Florentine engineer, the idea of using scientific methods to look for traces of the mural painted in 1503 by the genius da Vinci: the Battaglia di Anghiari. It all started with a book, Leonardo inedito (The Unpublished Leonardo), that Pedretti published in 1968, in which he theorized "the necessity of research on the lost Battaglia di Anghiari," which could be found, according to Seracini, behind the right panel of the east wall in the Salone dei Cinquecento in the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence, on top of which Giorgio Vasari painted the Battaglia di Marciano.
The frescoed wall and the older one behind it, on which one might find Leonardo's work, prove to be separated by a gap of 10-15 millimeters, the existence of which was confirmed by ground-penetrating radar investigations from last August and recently, by the use of an endoscopic probe.
In the book, Pedretti referred to other cases in which Vasari could have "hidden" works of art in order to not destroy them: the Trinity of Masaccio, "[was] discovered in the mid-1800s in Santa Maria Novella after tearing down the planks of a large altar built by Vasari, which did not touch the fresco. The same occurred in Santa Croce with Giotto, in the Cappella Peruzzi." Not to mention that in the former Courtroom of the Arte dei Pellicciai e Vaiai, today part of the monumental complex of the Uffizi, the late-fourteenth century Annunciation, which was visible but not yet allocated, was only discovered in 1885, found by chance behind a wall put up in subsequent eras, probably by the hand of Vasari himself. According to Pedretti, the architect from Arezzo "would intervene but would not destroy." So why would he have ever needed to eliminate that great fragment of the Battle of Anghiari? He even praised it privately to a Venetian traveler when he said: "Stop and take a look at Leonardo's horses."
And so it is then, that Pedretti's book and the recent start of the final phase of the investigation in the Palazzo Vecchio conducted by Seracini, financed in part by the National Geographic Society and supported vehemently by the mayor of Florence, Matteo Renzi, represent the two extremes of the research, between which there are more than 35 years of document studies, acquired data, discoveries, advances and obstacles, misunderstandings and interests, all leading up to the fact that, for Seracini, the Battle of Anghiari is more than just research, it is an obsession.

Monday, October 24, 2011

At Waldorf School in Silicon Valley, Technology Can Wait - NYTimes.com

A Silicon Valley School That Doesn’t Compute

October 22, 2011
NY Times
LOS ALTOS, Calif. — The chief technology officer of eBay sends his children to a nine-classroom school here. So do employees of Silicon Valley giants like Google, Apple, Yahoo and Hewlett-Packard.
But the school’s chief teaching tools are anything but high-tech: pens and paper, knitting needles and, occasionally, mud. Not a computer to be found. No screens at all. They are not allowed in the classroom, and the school even frowns on their use at home.
Schools nationwide have rushed to supply their classrooms with computers, and many policy makers say it is foolish to do otherwise. But the contrarian point of view can be found at the epicenter of the tech economy, where some parents and educators have a message: computers and schools don’t mix.
This is the Waldorf School of the Peninsula, one of around 160 Waldorf schools in the country that subscribe to a teaching philosophy focused on physical activity and learning through creative, hands-on tasks. Those who endorse this approach say computers inhibit creative thinking, movement, human interaction and attention spans.
The Waldorf method is nearly a century old, but its foothold here among the digerati puts into sharp relief an intensifying debate about the role of computers in education.
“I fundamentally reject the notion you need technology aids in grammar school,” said Alan Eagle, 50, whose daughter, Andie, is one of the 196 children at the Waldorf elementary school; his son William, 13, is at the nearby middle school. “The idea that an app on an iPad can better teach my kids to read or do arithmetic, that’s ridiculous.”
Mr. Eagle knows a bit about technology. He holds a computer science degree from Dartmouth and works in executive communications at Google, where he has written speeches for the chairman, Eric E. Schmidt. He uses an iPad and a smartphone. But he says his daughter, a fifth grader, “doesn’t know how to use Google,” and his son is just learning. (Starting in eighth grade, the school endorses the limited use of gadgets.)
Three-quarters of the students here have parents with a strong high-tech connection. Mr. Eagle, like other parents, sees no contradiction. Technology, he says, has its time and place: “If I worked at Miramax and made good, artsy, rated R movies, I wouldn’t want my kids to see them until they were 17.”
While other schools in the region brag about their wired classrooms, the Waldorf school embraces a simple, retro look — blackboards with colorful chalk, bookshelves with encyclopedias, wooden desks filled with workbooks and No. 2 pencils.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

The 727 that Vanished | History of Flight | Air & Space Magazine

Air & Space Magazine

The 727 that Vanished

A case pursued by the FBI, the CIA, the U.S. Departments of State and Homeland Security, CENTCOM, and the sister of Ben Padilla.

  • By Tim Wright
  • Air & Space Magazine, September 01, 2010
Seven years after her brother disappeared from Quatro de Fevereiro International Airport in Angola, Benita Padilla-Kirkland is trying to persuade the FBI to re-open his case. She believes she has the “new information” agents told her they require. But she suspects that the agency already has more information than agents will admit to.
Kirkland’s brother, Ben Charles Padilla, a certified flight engineer, aircraft mechanic, and private pilot, disappeared while working in the Angolan capital, Luanda, for Florida-based Aerospace Sales and Leasing. On May 25, 2003, shortly before sunset, Padilla boarded the company’s Boeing 727-223, tail number N844AA. With him was a helper he had recently hired, John Mikel Mutantu, from the Republic of the Congo. The two had been working with Angolan mechanics to return the 727 to flight-ready status so they could reclaim it from a business deal gone bad, but neither could fly it. Mutantu was not a pilot, and Padilla had only a private pilot’s license. A 727 ordinarily requires three trained aircrew.
According to press reports, the aircraft began taxiing with no communication between the crew and the tower; maneuvering erratically, it entered a runway without clearance. With its lights off and its transponder not transmitting, 844AA took off to the southwest, and headed out over the Atlantic Ocean. The 727 and the two men have not been seen since.
Who was flying 844AA? Had something happened to make Padilla take that desperate chance? Or was someone waiting inside the airplane? Leased to deliver diesel fuel to diamond mines, the 727 carried 10 500-gallon fuel tanks and a few passenger seats in its cabin. Less than two years after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the 727’s freakish departure triggered a frantic search by U.S. security organizations for what intelligence sources said could have been a flying bomb.
Retired U.S. Marine General Mastin Robeson, commander of U.S. forces in the Horn of Africa when 844AA went missing, says word of the 727 “came up through the intelligence network.” According to Robeson, U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) considered moving U.S. fighter aircraft to Djibouti on the Red Sea coast, where the Combined Joint Task Force shares a base with the French military. Robeson continues: “It was never [clear] whether it was stolen for insurance purposes&hellipby the owners, or whether it was stolen with the intent to make it available to unsavory characters, or whether it was a deliberate concerted terrorist attempt. There was speculation of all three.”
Speculation that the theft of 844AA posed a terrorist threat ended, though it’s unclear why. Perhaps National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency technicians saw signs of a crash in satellite imagery—debris or an oil slick in the Atlantic, for example—or evidence that a large aircraft had landed on one of a half-dozen unpaved, 8,000-foot runways in the Congo, north of Angola. Agency spokesperson Susan Meisner would not comment, saying that the NGIA was not the lead agency in the case. (A CIA spokesperson also declined comment, as did a spokesperson from the Department of Homeland Security. FBI agents also refused comment, citing national security concerns.) Perhaps the speculation ended more gradually, after weeks without clues or sightings stretched into months. The disturbed hornet’s nest of a global security alert—the searches, bulletins, and interrogations—quieted, and in 2005, the FBI closed its case. I have filed Freedom of Information Act requests with the CIA and FBI and have followed in at least some of the FBI’s footsteps, interviewing the people who flew 844AA to Angola and worked with it there, hoping to understand how a 727 could just disappear.
“IT REALLY WAS in beautiful condition,” Keith Irwin says of the airliner he acquired in Miami in February 2002. Irwin, 57, a South African entrepreneur who ran a series of information technology companies and, until 2000, a small tourist airline with flights from South Africa to Mozambique, had come to Miami to pick up a different aircraft altogether. Representing a joint venture with a South African company called Cargo Air Transport Systems, Irwin had arranged to lease a 727 and two flight crews—pilot, first officer, and flight engineer—for a year. The air transport company had signed a contract to supply fuel to diamond mines in Angola, where a long civil war had made transporting goods by road almost impossible. The 727, therefore, was to have been delivered with fuel tanks installed in the cabin. The joint venture was backed by a single investor, who had deposited $450,000 in a U.S. bank. Irwin’s job was to manage the flight operations, but the deal for the airplane fell through. Irwin ended up with fuel tanks and no airplane.
That failure stranded six crewmen who had assembled in Miami. “The guys then were desperate for work,” says Irwin. “Most of those guys had not flown in a long time because of the 9/11 story. I said, ‘Look, I can take you on if we can find another aircraft.’ ” And Irwin met Maury Joseph, president of Aerospace Sales and Leasing, Inc. Joseph owned three 727s that had recently been retired by American Airlines. “All three aircraft were almost in mint condition,” says Irwin. “American Airlines had a very good maintenance program.”
New deal: Joseph sold 844AA to Irwin for $1 million and change. According to his records, he received a down payment of $125,000, and says he stipulated that the balance be paid within 30 days. He agreed to remove the passenger seats from the cabin and to allow Irwin to take the airliner to Africa. Irwin says he cannot remember the details of the agreement, but recalled it to be a lease arrangement. In any case, the joint venture made only two payments and defaulted.
Though the two men now differ over the terms of the contract, they agree on one detail: As a condition of the agreement, Irwin was required to take along one of Joseph’s employees, Mike Gabriel, whose job was to make sure that the deal was concluded. “I gave Mike $10,000 and told him to fly with them,” says Joseph. “Stay with the plane till you get the money, and then come on home, and if not, bring the plane home.”
On February 28, 2002, with most of the passenger seats removed and the 10 fuel tanks loaded, 844AA, still in the livery of American Airlines, with a blue stripe down the side and an AA logo fading on its tail, took off for Africa.
Because Irwin’s partners had not arranged a landing permit, it took two weeks for the crew to make their way to Quatro de Fevereiro International Airport, where they arrived on March 14. Irwin, who had not worked in Angola before, realized immediately that the deal was in trouble. The company hiring his partners for deliveries, Kuwachi Dundo, was supposed to pay $220,000 when the airplane and crew landed, but instead the company’s representative made excuses. (Irwin lost almost $140,000 in the first deal and had burned through the rest of the $450,000 by March.)
The crew endured accommodations in a dismal apartment without electricity or drinkable water, near an open sewer. (Gabriel and Irwin didn’t stay with the crew; they had rented an apartment in the back of a house owned by an Angolan air force general.) The only one of the men not troubled by the circumstances they found in Angola was Mike Gabriel. Gabriel, a dealer in aircraft parts and engines, had spent a considerable amount of time in West Africa, and was accustomed to the AK-47s the men saw everywhere, including stacked up behind the bar of a club they frequented. Most worrisome to the crew was that they were required to surrender their passports on arrival. Irwin explains that Kuwachi needed the passports to obtain Angolan licenses for the pilots and flight engineers.
“I was scared to death. I really thought I was going to die,” says Art Powell, one of the flight engineers with the project. Powell had been to Angola before and had spent a year working in Nairobi, Kenya, but this experience was different. He felt intimidated by the people who had hired the crew for the fuel-delivery job. His anxiety was intensified by the presence of a local “helper” who toted an AK-47. The helper was a guard whom Mike Gabriel says he hired because the crew repeatedly voiced concerns about safety.
When Kuwachi got wind of the crews’ unrest (several crew members have admitted that they were planning to steal the aircraft to escape to South Africa or return to the States), the company refused to return the passports. Irwin and members of the crew went to the U.S. Embassy; only then were the passports returned.
By Angolan regulations, Irwin says, 844AA was controlled by the clients who hired it. Prohibited from flying the aircraft out of the country, Irwin booked airline seats and flew the crew members to South Africa. From there, two of the men immediately flew home to the United States. One says he is still owed $17,000. The other four crewmen, still hoping for the money they’d been promised, stayed on.
By April, Irwin was extricating himself from the deal made by Cargo Air Transport Systems and had found a new backer, an Angolan who arranged deliveries for a different client. Irwin and the remaining crew returned to Luanda and began flying the shipments for the new company. Mike Gabriel placed the total number of flights made at 17.
“It’s the most dangerous flying in the world,” says a crewman who asked that his name be withheld because he fears for his career. A U.S. Air Force veteran, he likened the deliveries to flying into a combat zone. When they approached the airfields, the crew tried to stay at an altitude above small-arms fire for as long as possible, then spiraled down to land.
“I’ve been a [flight deck crew member] for 30 years,” he says. “For me, it was an opportunity to make a couple of bucks... and when everything started falling apart, I probably hung on twice as long as common sense dictated. But I had too much invested at that point to bail out.”
Many of the runways, says Mike Gabriel, aren’t paved and aren’t like the ones U.S. crews are accustomed to. “On some, you land uphill, then go downhill, then uphill again,” he says.
At one airstrip, the anonymous crewman says, just before 844AA arrived, a 727 flying for a competing company crashed on landing and skidded off the runway. Although the crew survived, he says, some local residents were killed. “We gave [the other flight crew] a lift out of there but not before going over to their airplane and stealing some parts that we needed. That’s when I decided it was time to go home.”
Before he left, he says, a “big African showed up with a briefcase full of hundred-dollar bills. It was payday.” Besides paying the crew, the money was supposed to pay off accumulated airport fees and fuel costs.
“After that,” the crewman says, “I created a family emergency&hellip. I said, ‘My mother is sick.’ ” He promised he’d return in two weeks and left. “I had no intentions of going back, of course. I didn’t get anywhere near full pay, but I got enough that I could pay my bills and make it not completely worthless.”
By the end of April, all of the Americans except Mike Gabriel had left.
Irwin hired a local crew and continued to deliver fuel to the mines, but he was ready to leave too. The civil war in Angola had ended. Competition among fuel haulers, Irwin says, had intensified, and he was growing more uncomfortable with the delivery deals. His partners were claiming part ownership of the aircraft, but Maury Joseph had not been paid. Joseph, meanwhile, sent a crew to swap an engine from the 727. Finally, Irwin says, he was being followed—by a local man named Antonio, who, Irwin believes, was working for one of his partners. “I would turn around,” Irwin says, “and spot Antonio watching me from a car.”
Irwin began wedging a chair under the door handle of his hotel room “just like you see in the movies.” One night, he heard a key card slide into the slot on the door. The lock released. “I started yelling and whoever it was ran,” he says. The hotel security guards questioned the night clerk and learned that he had accepted a bribe to provide the key card. Irwin left the country the next day and didn’t go back.
Maury Joseph fired Mike Gabriel some time that spring. “He kept convincing me that next week, next month…,” Joseph says, referring to the outstanding balance owed on the airplane.
In May 2002, the only part of the original 844AA project left at the Luanda airport was 844AA.
THE SON OF A FLORIDA MILLWRIGHT, Ben Charles Padilla Jr. was always mechanically gifted, says sister Benita Padilla-Kirkland, and from the time he was a boy, he loved airplanes. In his mid-20s he learned to fly and became certified as an airframe-and-powerplant mechanic. He lived in south Florida with two children, one his own, and a fiancée of 15 years. (Efforts to contact her were unsuccessful.) Though the two weren’t married, Padilla gave her power of attorney in his absence and made her the executor of his estate, according to Padilla-Kirkland, and left her almost everything in his will.
“He certainly knew the airplane,” says Maury Joseph. Padilla was a freelancer, who had worked for Joseph on two jobs before traveling to Angola to repossess 844AA. Padilla had worked extensively in Africa. He helped Joseph ferry a 727 to Nigeria for a sale and during the negotiations stayed to explain the aircraft systems. “If you said, ‘Go to Cambodia and do this’ or ‘Go to Indonesia and do this’ or ‘Go to South America and do this’ he would do it. [When in Nigeria] I was with Ben daily for a month or more,” says Joseph. “You become fairly close to somebody when you’re with them day and night.” Joseph trusted him.
But another employer formed a different opinion. Jeff Swain, who works near Miami in international aircraft sales and leasing, had hired Padilla in the late 1990s for an airline he was operating in Indonesia—and fired him. “We had certain standards of conduct we expected from flight engineers,” Swain says, adding, when pressed, “He was too involved in chasing the local girls. It was an unstructured environment, and he just went bad.” Swain says that after Padilla was fired, he stayed on in Indonesia for two months and racked up a $10,000 bill that he told the hotel the airline would pay. “We finally had him deported,” says Swain.
Padilla once showed Swain a photograph of a woman with small children and told him it was his wife in Mozambique, but Swain says, “I never believed it was real. Ben was always marveling everyone with his bullshit stories.” One of Padilla’s friends also saw a photograph of a wife, but insists that she lived in Tanzania. Another acquaintance was told that Padilla had a wife in Indonesia.
Benita Padilla-Kirkland says she’s heard the stories, but believes her brother would have told her if he’d had another family. She doesn’t doubt the relationships, but is convinced that Padilla was helping to support people he’d befriended. “There might have been more than one of those situations,” she says.
WHAT IN FEBRUARY 2002 had been a retired airliner in excellent condition had by fall become a junker worth only the price of its engines. And Maury Joseph found a buyer for them: Jeff Swain. Swain says that Irwin and the crews had ruined the airplane. “It would never be of any value again,” he says. “You can’t put water tanks full of fuel in an airplane and expect it to be good. Totally stupid. But it had really good engines on it—maybe 1,000 cycles since new.”
In November 2002, Joseph and Ben Padilla flew to Nigeria to deliver a 727, and Joseph hired Padilla to fly to Angola the following April to pay the outstanding fines and hire mechanics to return the 727 to service. “If [the company that contracted for fuel deliveries] wasn’t paying Mr. Irwin, you can assume he wasn’t paying anybody,” says Joseph. “He probably hadn’t paid the fuel bill. He didn’t pay the navigation fees, the landing fees, and certainly wasn’t paying the parking fees at the airport. So all of those became things that we had to resolve and I had to pay all those.”
Padilla worked with Air Gemini, a Luanda-based airline that operated a repair station. The return-to-service process was progressing steadily, according to Joseph, and in May 2003, acting as Joseph’s agent, Padilla hired a pilot and copilot from Air Gemini to help him deliver the aircraft to Johannesburg, South Africa, where Joseph was waiting with his new customer. A day or two before the aircraft was to leave Luanda, Padilla made plans with Air Gemini to take the aircraft from the company hangar out to the main runway, where he intended to run the three engines up to full power for a systems check.
Late in the morning on May 26, when Joseph and Swain were expecting 844AA to land, Joseph took a call from an Air Gemini employee, who demanded to know why another crew had flown the airplane out of Luanda. “He was kind of hard on me,” Joseph says. After the shock wore off, he telephoned the U.S. Embassy in South Africa to report the disappearance, then called his wife back in Florida to tell her to call the FBI. From Washington, D.C., the Department of State, notified by the U.S. Embassy in Angola, sent a message to every American embassy in Africa: Alert aviation officials that an airliner has been stolen, and call every airport with a runway long enough to handle a 727.
For the U.S. government, fraud was one theory that could explain the aircraft’s disappearance. “Part of the intelligence was that the airplane was in a bad state of repair,” says General Robeson. “That was one of the speculations, that it was an insurance fraud situation. You know, ‘Oops, my plane was hijacked/stolen by terrorists and now I can do an insurance claim on it.’ So, that was probably as valid of an explanation when all was said and done as anything. But we just left it as an unknown.”
Among intelligence officials, the suspicions of fraud may have been aroused by knowledge of an incident in Maury Joseph’s past. During the 1990s, Joseph was CEO of a cargo airline named Florida West (which later went bankrupt). The Securities and Exchange Commission charged him in a civil case with falsifying financial statements and defrauding investors. The court imposed a fine and barred Joseph from acting as an officer in a publicly held company.
But Joseph, when contacted by the FBI, volunteered to take a lie-detector test, and Swain, who was there when Joseph took the call from Air Gemini, is certain that Joseph had nothing to do with the airplane’s disappearance. “Look, nobody was more amazed by this situation than Maury,” Swain says. He describes Joseph as utterly confused by the information that the airplane was gone.
The suspicion that Ben Padilla could have played any part in an insurance fraud angers his younger brother. “If anybody would say to me that my brother was involved with this,” says Joe Padilla, his voice tightening, “they’re full of it. ’Cuz I know my brother. He’s not gonna do nothing crooked. I know that for a fact.” He is convinced that more than one person was already on board, waiting, and that they forcibly took the aircraft, and killed Ben and John Mutantu.
“I keep hoping against hope that maybe he’s tucked away somewhere,” says Benita Padilla-Kirkland. The new information she passed along to the FBI was a possible sighting of the aircraft, one of many reported over the years.
Mike Gabriel believes the airplane crashed in the Atlantic Ocean soon after takeoff. One crew member from the fuel delivery operation thinks the Angolan air force shot it down with a missile. A Luandan pilot says the word there is that the aircraft went north and vanished near Kinshasa, Congo. One of Ben Padilla’s friends says the airplane was disassembled for parts in Bujumbura, Burundi, on Tanzania’s western border.
Picking through the fragments of 844AA’s history, I found a story of broken deals, disappointments, and betrayals, but no real clues to the aircraft’s destination that day in 2003. We may never know for sure where it went. It is the largest aircraft ever to have disappeared without a trace.
Tim Wright is a writer living in Richmond, Virginia.

© Smithsonian Institution

The 727 that Vanished | History of Flight | Air & Space Magazine

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Sunday, August 1, 2010

Twitter user sends world's 20 billionth tweet

Twitter user sends world's 20 billionth tweet

The user who posted the landmark tweet was inundated with congratulations
Twitter, the social networking site which lets users say something in up to 140 characters, has had its 20 billionth message posted.
The landmark and rather opaque tweet was sent at 1544 GMT Saturday by GGGGGGo_Lets_Go, a Tokyo graphic designer for an advertising agency.
It said: "So that means the barrage might come back later all at once."
Is it more amazing than winning the lottery?”
Twitter took four years to reach its 10 billionth tweet, in March this year, and less than five months to double it.
GGGGGGo_Lets_Go was inundated with congratulatory messages from around the world for hitting the milestone with a tweet which appeared to have been part of a longer conversation with another user.
He later posted another message, saying: "Looks like I posted the 20 billionth tweet. I'm getting replies from people all over the world. It's scary. What are the chances? Maybe I'm going to die.
"Is it more amazing than winning the lottery? I thought it was a joke."
The self-declared fan of Tokyo Yakult Swallows baseball team also warned any would-be followers that he tweets a lot about the sport.
The Japanese send nearly 8m tweets a day, about 12% of the global total and second only to the US, according to the San Francisco-based micro-blogging service.
Evan Williams, Twitter's 38-year-old chief executive, travelled to Tokyo earlier this month to celebrate the service's success in Japan.
Twitter is expected this year to open its first dedicated data centre, in the US state of Utah.
The company hopes the data centre will help prevent service overloads, which have been a particular problem during major sporting events like the recent football World Cup.
BBC News - Twitter user sends world's 20 billionth tweet
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