Malcolm Forbes
MALCOLM FORBES
The life and times of America's motorcycling ambassador to the world
PAUL DEAN
TO THE UNKNOWING OBSERVER, IT MUST LOOK LIKE A typical bike-gang nightmare in the making. A large, loosely organized pack of motorcyclists rumbles into view, most of its members clad in black leather and piloting Harley-Davidsons, all wearing identical red vests with some sort of inscription on the backs. Their leader seems right out of central casting, too, riding up ahead of his marauders aboard the biggest, shiniest Harley of all as the group rolls ominously into town.
Uh-oh! Lock the doors. Count the children. Anybody know the number for the National Guard?
Only when this thundering herd finally clamors to a stop and its members begin easing out of their helmets do most onlookers give a collective sigh of relief. For openers, the leader of the pack seems much too old—in his Sixties, at least—and too benign-looking to be heading up a gang of dangerous biker-goons. And the rest of the riders seem almost . . . well, almost normal, you know? Gee, maybe rape and pillage are not about to become the order of the day.
Truth be known, causing trouble of any kind is the last thing on the minds of this particular gang, which is anything but your stereotypical collection of Hell’s Angels clones. Rather than comprising miscreants and social misfits, this group is more likely to include some of high society’s finer specimens. And their smiling, silver-haired leader has no reason to steal anything; he already owns just about everything you might imagine—along with much of what you might not. Why, even all of the bikes in his entourage are his, and he has even more of them waiting at home. He is, you see, one of the wealthiest people in all the world, a man who could literally buy every motorcycle he might encounter on his ride—even if his itinerary were to take him past every bike shop in the county. He is Malcolm S. Forbes, merely out for a ride with a couple dozen of his friends.
For those of you who don’t already know, Forbes is the Chairman and Editor-In-Chief of FORBES magazine, one of the leading journals in the world of big business and high finance. His net worth has been estimated to be as much as a half-billion dollars, a claim he will neither confirm nor deny. “Anyway, I'm solvent,” is how he explained his wealth in his own magazine, which includes him among the “Forbes Four Hundred,” that publication’s annual list of the 400 richest people in America. But whatever the actual numbers, it’s fair to say that Malcolm Stevenson Forbes is wealthy enough to buy or do just about anything he damn well pleases.
Apparently, that privilege is one which Forbes exercises with astonishing frequency. Aside from a collection of motorcycles that is some 70 units strong, he owns: a custom-designed Boeing 727 staffed by a full-time crew of four; a 151-foot yacht (estimated to be worth as much as $10 million) staffed by a crew of eight; a Bell Jet Ranger helicopter complete with full-time pilot; nine custom-designed hot-air balloons; a ranch in Montana; a palace in Morocco; mansions in England and France; 250 square miles of Colorado; an entire island in Fiji; and, among many, many other very costly things, he owns the world’s largest collections of toy soldiers, original presidential letters and outrageously expensive jeweled Easter eggs crafted by the Russian designer Fabergé.
All this is in addition to a huge estate in New Jersey that Forbes calls home, and an eight-story building on Fifth Avenue in New York City that houses his magazine operations and other business interests. The first floor of the Forbes building is devoted to a free-of-charge museum showcasing many of Forbes’ priceless objets d'art. And throughout the rest of that building, as well as in his homes and even his boat, original paintings by the likes of Van Gogh, Monet, Bruegel and Gauguin all hang unpretensiously, almost lost amongst a solid sea of framed momentos—press clippings, news releases, letters from world political leaders, family photos—that document practically every facet of this unusual man’s life.
Now, multimillionaires—eccentric and otherwise—are not such rare birds these days; but this one is of particular interest to motorcyclists because he’s a committed, practicing—and extraordinarily influential—motorcycle enthusiast. A few of Forbes’ bikes are primarily for the looking, but all of them run and most are ridden regularly. He tries to go on a oneor two-day ride of some sort at least one weekend a month in good weather, and often commutes on bikes he keeps stashed at the office, on the boat, in the 727 or at most of his properties. He rode a Harley-Davidson on-stage when introduced as a guest on the Dick Cavett show; and he has freely discussed his love for motorcycling on numerous other television and radio talk shows, as well as in countless magazine and newspaper stories. And as chronicled by journals both in and out of the motorcycle business, Forbes loves visiting far-flung places all around the globe and exploring them by hot-air balloon and motorcycle, feting all the appropriate heads of state along the way. So in very effective fashion, Malcolm Forbes has become American motorcycling’s selfappointed goodwill ambassador to the rest of the world.
It’s not surprising, then, that about half of his fleet of two-wheelers are Harley-Davidsons, the all-American motorcycle. “It just wouldn’t seem right for me to go all around the world representing the United States with a bunch of Hondas and Kawasakis,” he explains. And since Forbes also is a rabid fan of the American system of capitalism (he has christened his magazine, his 727, his helicopter and each of his motorcycles with the name “Capitalist Tool”), the fact that Harley is this country’s solesurviving motorcycle manufacturer has made him a staunch supporter of Milwaukee iron. “Besides, I personally like them better than anything else,” he says. “For me, they’re more comfortable and easier to ride. My other bikes are wonderful in their own ways, but I just feel good on a Harley.”
Despite his preferences, Forbes is liable to buy just about anything that rides on two wheels. He reads all of the major motorcycle magazines every month, and simply writes a check for any new model that tickles his fancy for one reason or another. A peek into the spacious garage at his estate in Far Hills, New Jersey, will reveal about 50 of his trusty mounts, including two Heskeths from Great Britain, a Münch Mammoth from Germany, a Triumph X75 Hurricane from the mind of Craig Vetter, a rotaryengined Van Veen from the Netherlands, and two Kawasaki KZlOOO-based Starships, also Vetter creations. The mainstream is represented by, among others, a Ninja 1000, a CBX Six sport-tourer, a Honda Aspencade, a Kawasaki Concours and even a Can-Am Sonic 500 dirt bike. Still, when it’s time to go riding, Forbes usually heads for a Harley.
But he doesn’t go alone. For most people, motorcycle riding is a solitary experience; for Malcolm Forbes, it’s a group activity, a perfect reason to throw a mobile block party. So if the ride involves much more than a brief chuff over to the back side of the estate, he invites just about anyone who’s willing and able to go. Friends, acquaintances, employees, big-business executives, political figures, show-business luminaries, journalists, motorcycleindustry executives—they’re all fair game when Forbes decides to hit the road.
And he makes it difficult for anyone to decline; he supplies the motorcycles and buys the gasoline, and has one of his employees plan the route and arrange any necessary hotel accomodations. All that a guest need do is show up at the point of departure and ride away on one of Forbes’s bikes (all of which have his initials, “MSF,” figured somehow into their New Jersey license-plate numbers). There is, however, one stipulation: Before each ride commences, Forbes passes out red riding vests, the backs of which are embroidered with a rendering of a hot-air balloon and a motorcycle, along with those ever-present watchwords of the Forbes empire, “Capitalist Tools.” Guests don’t get to keep the vests, but they’re expected to wear them anytime the group is on the road.
It would be easy for hard-core motorcycle enthusiasts to assess all of this wretched excess and conclude that, because Forbes is an elderly man with a trainload of money, he’s a feeble-riding dilettante, a man who takes only short rides in perfect weather, outfits himself exclusively in the latest moto-fashions and eats only the finest cuisine along the way. But anyone who comes to that conclusion is deadwrong. Because out on the road, as in most other aspects of his life, Malcolm Forbes is full of surprises and contradictions. His riding ensemble is straightforward biker garb consisting of a well-worn Hein-Gericke leather jacket with matching pants, Roadman motorcycle boots, a Porsche Design helmet and Bates street-riding gloves, all in basic black. And the clothing he wears beneath his riding gear is decidedly blue-collar, a cut above K-Mart but definitely short of Saks Fifth Avenue.
His preferences in food also are pure middle-American, with hamburgers, french fries and chocolate shakes playing a major role in his diet. “If it’s good for me, I won’t like it,” he quips when questioned about his eating habits. Most evenings during a group ride, Forbes will treat himself and his riding companions to a full-course dinner at a high-quality restaurant, but places like McDonald’s and Denny’s are prime breakfast and lunch targets. According to some of his employees, Forbes sometimes lunches in his New York office by sending out for a Whopper and fries from the local Burger King—then washing them down with a $400 bottle of wine. Contradictions, indeed.
And while Forbes is not likely to snatch away Eddie Lawson’s world roadracing championship, he is quite competent as a rider, and is not the least bit reluctant to spend days on end astride one of his favorite mounts. Even among his most avid riding companions, Forbes is known as a man who refuses to quit once he starts off on a ride. According to David Stein, whose full-time job is looking after Forbes’ fleet of motorcycles, “Anyone who rides with The Boss (as Forbes is affectionately called by his employees) quickly learns to go to the bathroom or smoke a cigarette during regular gas or food stops, because once he takes off, he doesn’t stop for anything. He’s got castiron kidneys and a high threshold of discomfort. And it has to start raining hard before he’ll pull over and put on rain gear. If he thinks he’s only going to get a little wet, he’ll just keep going and worry about drying out when he gets to his destination for the day. He’s tough.”
Forbes learned to ride more than 19 years ago after buying a little Honda 90 trailbike for one of his four sons (he also has one daughter). He tried riding it himself and immediately got so hooked that a BMW R69S took up residence in the garage shortly thereafter. His love for riding has not diminished over the years, even though he’s had a few hard falls and some resultant injuries. “I’ve always learned a lesson from a fall on a motorcycle,” he says, “but I’ve never thought for a minute about giving it up. I’ve always gotten right back on, just like you’re supposed to do when you fall off a horse.”
Forbes’ press-on-regardless attitude can be of no small significance for guests who ride with the Capitalist Tools gang, for it is Chairman Malcolm who sets the pace and calls all the stops. He always rides out front, alone, and nobody—but nobody— passes him. Not because they can’t pass him, but simply because-whether out of fear, respect or a bit of both—it just isn't done. If someone in the group determines that their fearless leader has led them astray, he may dare to ride up alongside The Boss and respectfully inform him of his misdeed; but only alongside, never ahead.
But that’s just one more contradiction in the Forbes dossier. Because while his insistence on riding point, like a general leading a cavalry charge, infers that he considers himself clearly superior to subordinates, his treatment of people he encounters along the way suggests otherwise. He has time for just about everyone, managing to be patient and congenial with people of all ages and temperaments from all walks of life and all levels of income. If they show just a little interest in him, he’ll show a lot in them.
How many of the filthy rich, for example, would bother even to talk to members of a motorcycle club made up almost exclusively of stereotypical Harley-Davidson riders, let alone socialize with them? But Forbes does it all the time. The most recent instance was just last year, when he participated in the annual Toys For Tots run sponsored by the United Bikers of Maine in that state’s capitol city of Augusta. He had almost 30 friends and acquaintances accompany him—aboard his motorcycles, of course—on the ride from New Jersey to Maine, and he even took along his 727, his helicopter and the Great Elephant balloon he had first flown during a 1985 trip to southeast Asia. (Forbes had planned to take his newest balloon, a spectacular reproduction of a Harley Heritage Softail, and fly it on its maiden U.S. voyage in conjunction with the toy run, but it was damaged during a practice launch the evening before his scheduled departure.)
Once in Augusta, Forbes seemed as comfortable drinking beer with the Levi’s-and-black-T-shirt-clad club members of UBM as he would have sipping cocktails with the Brooks-Brothers-attired board of directors at IBM. At a big outdoor party held by the 3000-member club after the toy run, he spent an entire afternoon giving free helicopter and ballon rides, and even had his pilot fly the 727 over the treetops while doing wing-waves. The FAA might not have approved, but everyone in attendance went nuts. It’s going to be a long time before the people in Augusta, Maine—motorcycle riders or not—forget Malcolm Forbes.
If Forbes’ public behavior sounds like that of a politician, it’s for good reason: That’s what he once was. He served as New Jersey state senator in the Fifties, and even was the Republican candidate for governor of that state in 1957. His father died just before the election—which he lost—so he backed out of the political arena to run the family business, FORBES magazine. “Losing that election was the best thing that ever happened to me,” proclaims Forbes today. “I wouldn’t be enjoying myself the way I am now if I had stayed in politics.”
Of course, the reason why he can have so much fun is his money. And when asked to what he owes his vast wealth, Forbes literally spells it out in no uncertain terms: “I-N-HE-R-i-T-A-N-C-E,” is his immediate reply. His father, Scottish immigrant Bertie Charles Forbes, had built the magazine into an extremely profitable enterprise by the time of his death. Granted, through years of hard work and dedication, Malcolm Forbes has compounded that fortune manyfold since taking over the reins, but there’s no question that the foundation for his success was provided by his father.
Money is not the only legacy Forbes owes to his father; Bertie Forbes had a refreshing philosophy of life that he apparently handed down to son Malcolm. “The purpose of business is not to pile up cash,” he was once quoted as saying, “but to make life more enjoyable.” Not exactly the sort of proclamation you expect to come from a Scotsman.
But although his father merely practiced that philosophy, Malcolm Forbes has perfected it, elevated it to an art form. He is a man with an unquenchable zest for life who is fortunate enough to have thé means with which to live out most of his fantasies—and, it should be noted, who is not afraid to share some of his joy rather than hoarding it. “I love everything I do,” he says, “no matter if it’s working or playing with my toys. I can't imagine working at something you hate for five days every week just so you can do something you enjoy the other two.”
It’s pretty obvious that he’s unlikely ever to find himself in that situation. And it’s even more obvious that whoever said, “Money can’t buy happiness,” never knew about Malcolm S. Forbes. 0
