Charlie Munger passed away on November 28 at the age of 99. These reflections on his life and career, penned for CNBC Make It, stand as some of his final writings.
While my children and grandchildren may not necessarily share my exact mindset, my aspiration is that they can view my life as an exemplar of success in both their professional endeavors and relationships—much as I gleaned valuable lessons from the generations preceding me.
During my formative years, my father, a practicing lawyer, had two contrasting clients. Grant McFayden, Omaha’s Pioneer Ford dealer and one of my father’s closest friends, embodied brilliance, self-made success, charm, and integrity. On the other hand, there was another client—pompous, unfair, and difficult, known as Mr. X. One day, I questioned my father about his choice to work extensively for Mr. X instead of focusing more on exceptional individuals like Grant.
“Why do you dedicate so much effort to Mr. X, this overreaching blowhard, instead of working more for wonderful men like Grant?” I inquired.
My father’s response was insightful: “Grant treats his employees right, his customers right, and his problems right. He doesn’t have enough remunerative law business to keep you in Coca-Cola. But Mr. X is a walking minefield of wonderful legal business.”
This conversation taught me a valuable lesson—that sometimes, one may have to offer services to an unreasonable blowhard, especially if it’s necessary to provide for the family. However, the ultimate goal is to lead one’s life in a manner akin to Grant McFayden.
This was a profound lesson from my father, delivered in a clever way. Instead of simply imparting it, he presented it in a manner that required a slight mental stretch. Because I had to reach for it, the lesson has remained etched in my memory. I’ve employed a similar teaching approach with my own children and grandchildren.
In the following passages, two of my children, Charles and Wendy, share crucial lessons they’ve imbibed from me over the years. My sincere wish is that they carry these lessons with them until their 100th birthdays.
“On the concluding day of a family ski retreat in Sun Valley, when I was approximately 15, my father and I were making our way back through the snow. Despite the time constraint to catch our flight home, my dad took a 10-minute detour to refuel the red Jeep we were driving.
As we pulled into the station, I noticed that the tank was still half full, and I couldn’t help but question why we had stopped when there was ample gas. In response, my dad admonished me, saying, ‘Charlie, when you borrow a man’s car, you always return it with a full tank of gas.’
During my freshman year at Stanford, an acquaintance lent me his car, more as a favor influenced by mutual friends than due to a deep personal connection. The Audi Fox he entrusted to me was red, reminiscent of that memorable Jeep, and its tank was half full.
Recalling my father’s principle, I topped up the tank before returning the car. He noticed. Since then, we’ve shared many enjoyable moments, and he even stood by me as a groomsman at my wedding.
My father never overlooked the importance of fairness and consideration. His example not only taught me how to gain a good friend but, more importantly, how to maintain one.”
—Charles T. Munger, Jr.
“My father frequently transformed the family dinner table into a classroom, using it as a platform to impart lessons to his children. One of his preferred teaching methods was the ‘Morality Tale,’ where individuals grappled with ethical dilemmas and had to navigate the correct path.
I recall a particular story he shared about a financial officer at one of his companies who made a costly mistake, resulting in the loss of hundreds of thousands of dollars for the business. Upon realizing his error, the financial officer promptly approached the president of the company to confess.
The president’s response was profound: ‘This was a terrible mistake, and we don’t want you ever to make another one like it. But people make mistakes, and we can forgive that. You did the right thing, which was to admit your mistake. If you had tried to hide it or cover it up for even a short time, you would be out of this company. As it is, we’d like you to stay.’
This story lingers in my memory, especially when I encounter instances of government officials choosing to conceal their mistakes rather than being forthright and leading with integrity.”
—Wendy Munger
Source: cnbc.com
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