ldquo;A joyful, authentic, and entertaining must-read by a patriot and hero who defines what it means to give back. I loved this great American story, and so will everyone who wants to understand true business success.” —Jack Welch, Executive Chairman, Jack Welch Management Institute
 
“Insightful and inspirational. Ken reminds us of a very important lesson—that capitalism does work. An authentic, up-by-the-bootstraps story by a shining example of the American dream.” —Jamie Dimon, Chairman and CEO, JPMorgan Chase & Co.
 
“There is no better role model for entrepreneurs. Ken’s sense of loyalty, integrity, and perseverance is clear. I recommend it highly and I love him!” —Robert Kraft, Chairman and CEO, The Kraft Group
 
“While my own love for capitalism might be conditional, my love for Ken Langone is not! His energy, enthusiasm, grit, and generosity are legendary.” —Cardinal Timothy Dolan, Archbishop of New York
 
“I have known Ken Langone for forty years and simply put, he is a force of nature. I Love Capitalism fully captures the magnitude of that force, and the story of one of the most recognizable figures in business and an American treasure.” —Stanley Druckenmiller, Founder, Duquesne Capital
 
“It is one of the great honors of my life to be friends with Ken, who as chairman of the Promise Academy fought for those who have been less fortunate. His story will inspire every American. A must read for all who love this country and endeavor to make it better.” —Geoffrey Canada, President, Harlem Children’s Zone
 
“Ken gives new meaning to capitalism for those who have equated it with greed. Recommended reading for young people who underestimate themselves and have lost hope.” —Bonnie Hill, Cofounder, Icon Blue, Inc.
 
“I love Langone—I love him as a great philanthropist, a great businessman, a great citizen, a great friend; and now he has written a fascinating must-read book.” —Martin Lipton, Founding Partner, Wachtell, Lipton, Rosen & Katz
 
“An honest, interesting, and spectacular journey that confirms that anything is possible in America. Ken’s book inspires all those continuing to search for success.” —Larry Bossidy, former CEO and Chair, Honeywell

Autorentext

Ken Langone

Klappentext

**New York Times Bestseller

Iconoclastic entrepreneur and New York legend Ken Langone tells the compelling story of how a poor boy from Long Island became one of America's most successful businessmen.

Ken Langone has seen it all on his way to a net worth beyond his wildest dreams. A pillar of corporate America for decades, he's a co-founder of Home Depot, a former director of the New York Stock Exchange, and a world-class philanthropist (including $200 million for NYU's Langone Health). In this memoir he finally tells the story of his unlikely rise and controversial career. It's also a passionate defense of the American Dream -- of preserving a country in which any hungry kid can reach the maximum potential of his or her talents and work ethic.

In a series of fascinating stories, Langone shows how he struggled to get an education, break into Wall Street, and scramble for an MBA at night while competing with privileged competitors by day. He shares how he learned how to evaluate what a business is worth and apply his street smarts to 8-figure and 9-figure deals . And he's not shy about discussing, for the first time, his epic legal and PR battle with former NY Governor Eliot Spitzer.

His ultimate theme is that free enterprise is the key to giving everyone a leg up. As he writes:

This book is my love song to capitalism. Capitalism works! And I'm living proof -- it works for everybody. Absolutely anybody is entitled to dream big, and absolutely everybody should dream big. I did. Show me where the silver spoon was in my mouth. I've got to argue profoundly and passionately: I'm the American Dream.

Leseprobe

I Owe Bucknell $300
This book is my love song to capitalism. Capitalism works. Let me say it again: It works! And-I'm living proof-it can work for anybody and everybody. Blacks and whites and browns and everyone in between. Absolutely anybody is entitled to dream big, and absolutely everybody should dream big. I did. Show me where the silver spoon was in my mouth. I've got to argue profoundly and passionately: I'm the American Dream.
I grew up in Roslyn Heights, Long Island, during World War II and just after. There was never much money. My father was an excellent plumber, though not a financially successful one; we lived from paycheck to paycheck. Because he couldn't make enough to provide for the family, my mother had to go to work: she got a job at the school cafeteria, and the little bit she brought in helped make ends meet. But I didn't realize that I was poor, and I had a wonderful childhood.
Just over the hill from Roslyn was a vast tract of hills where sand and gravel were mined. The area was called Cow Bay, and Cow Bay sand was much sought after for all kinds of construction in New York City: roads, sidewalks, building infrastructure-anyplace concrete was used. Both my grandfathers came over from Italy when they were young, and both of them worked in the sand pits. It was dangerous work; there were avalanches all the time. My father's father, who had a good business head, also had a store in the pits-the company store, where he sold the miners and families vegetables and canned goods and you-name-it. And he bought real estate; owning property was the name of the game for immigrants, the road to riches. My grandfather bought a lot of properties that eventually became very valuable, but then in 1932 he was killed by a car; nobody ever found out who hit him. After he died, his sons fought over who was going to pay the tax bills on the properties, and none of them did, so the real estate was sold to cover tax liens.
My father's father died three years before I was born, and my father's mother had died in 1919, in the flu epidemic, so I never met her either. My mother's parents, I knew. My maternal grandparents were working people. My grandmother stayed home. My grandfather had left school when he was six years old and never went again. When he died in 1952, at seventy-two, he couldn't read or write, English or Italian.
My grandfather was a peasant. He was a lovely man, and from the time he was six years old until the day he died, he had a shovel in his hand. His right hand was totally deformed; the thumb had lost the ability to bend from sixty years of holding a shovel. His only entertainment was the opera on Saturday afternoons. He would work all week at the sand pits, then work odd jobs on Saturday morning. When he came home, my grandmother would have the bath ready for him, and he'd clean himself up. He always wore a vest, suit pants, and high-top black shoes, the kind with the hooks and eyelets. When the shoes got too old, they became his work shoes.
He would take his bath, get dressed, and eat lunch. He was a vegetarian; his favorite meal was fried peppers and potatoes and a piece of bread and a little bit of homemade wine. Saturday afternoon he'd eat his lunch, then he'd go under the arbor-he never owned a house; he always rented-and listen to the Metropolitan Opera, sponsored by Texaco, on the radio station WJZ. Last year, I was invited to the Metropolitan Opera's performance of La bohme, and I had dinner beforehand with the chairwoman of the Met, Ann Ziff. All through the meal and the performance I was thinking to myself, "Holy smokes, if my grandpa could see me now."
There was a man who lived in Beacon Hill, a nice neighborhood, his name w…