A fool and his money
Investing in a name
Bernard Hollowood
I once attended a luncheon at the head office of a multi-national corporation in New York, and I say once because only money could persuade me to repeat the visit and the corporation in question is constitutionally close-fisted.
The morning had been strenuous and I arrived at the palatial office block on Fifth Avenue feeling the worse for thirst. I was the only guest and I sat at a huge round table surrounded by plump presidents and vice-presidents.
There were no cocktails and I awaited the appearance of the wine in a state of acute malaise. But there was no wine, only coffee. Coffee with the soup, the fish and the steak. The corporation was officially dry.
It was the longest lunch I have ever undergone, and I was furious because I had not been informed beforehand about the founder's ban on alcohol. The president on my left reeked of bourbon and it was obvious from their exaggerated bonhomie that all the corporation's officials had taken the precaution of tanking up before the meal. My admiration for Uncle Sam lost a little of its shine during that ordeal by coffee.
I was reminded of this Fifth Avenue junket when I learned the other day that the pioneering directors of our Gateway (formerly Temperance) Building Society were all total abstainers. The term Temperance meant something in those days and no doubt helped to pull in abstemious customers. As a depositor I rather approved of the name, and the change to Gateway seemed to herald a somewhat incautious leap in the direction of permissiveness.
I now find myself wondering about the nomenclature of other business undertakings. Are the directors of Fidelity Life Assurance expected to honour their marriage vows and steer clear of amatory entanglements and divorce? Are the officials of Save and Prosper all well-heeled? Can it be that those in charge of Stellar Unit Trust Managers are all drawn from the stars of stage, screen and television? And is the board of Friend's Provident really as pally and generous as it sounds?
My portfolio has more often than not been compiled from companies with appealing titles, and naturally enough I have made my fair share of blunders. I plumped for River Plate Investment Trust in the mistaken belief that it was involved in earthenware, and I lost money in Redland when I sold at the bottom in a period of anti-communist fervour. Though I knew that Teacher's distilled whisky I acquired its shares because I had once practised as a pedagogue and I never regretted the purchase; and I steered clear of Albright and Wilson, when the equity was heavily tipped, on the offchance that the leader of the Labour Party was involved in the running of the outfit.
When I opened a bank account, in the days of the Big Five, my choice lay, for geographical and social reasons, between the Midland and the National Provincial. It was a close thing. The Midland had the right ring to it and matched my middle-class pretensions, but I considered Stoke-on-Trent to belong, just, to the North, and in any case I had no wish to associate myself in any way with the foul Brummagem accent.
So I opted for the National Provincial. I was a provincial, and proud of it, and I was also fervently
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