It was a seemingly mundane question, but when Sidney Frank was involved, there was always a sense of urgency.
"What is your first available tee time?" Jeff Fujimoto, a professional golfer and a member of the liquor mogul’s team, asked the young man behind the counter at The Grove on London's west side. It was the fall of 2005.
The first available tee time for the following day was 10:10, but that wasn’t going to cut it. That’s because Frank and his team of hired golfers waited on no one. "Can we get out before the day's first tee time?" Fujimoto, who goes by Fuj, asked. Before the young man could reply, Fuj reached into the tattered black carry-on bag that Frank's entourage always had at hand for situations such as this. “My boss would like to take care of you,” Fuj said.
In the bag, among news articles about Frank's sale of Grey Goose Vodka, the Playboy with the Jagerette as the centerfold, the extra clothes for Frank and the defibrillator, was a wad of cash. A lot of cash. Fuj handed the young man $2,000 in crisp bills.
The stunned young assistant said he needed to run things by Spencer, his boss. Fuj stopped the assistant before he walked away. "Please tell Spencer that Mr. Frank would like to take care of him, too," said Fuji, who pulled another $2,000 from the bag.
Spencer emerged and greeted Fuj. "We have the 7:40 and 7:50 tee times available," Spencer said. Like that, Frank's group had secured the first two times.
With the tee times secured, Fuj approached the young men working outside services, a job he knew all too well. A few years earlier, Fuj had worked a similar job at a club in his home state of Colorado. After a solid junior career, Fuj spent a year at Scottsdale (Ariz.) Community College before returning to his home state and playing three seasons at Colorado State. There he amassed eight career top-10 finishes and still ranks first in winning percentage in program history.
After struggling in pro golf for a while, Fujimoto lost his desire to play professionally as Frank increasingly relied on him. (The compensation wasn’t bad, either.) The highly motivated and organized Fujimoto quickly became Frank's go-to guy.
He told outside services employees that a bulletproof limo would pull up in the morning and to have a cart waiting at the passenger door. Fuj would get out and spread a blanket on the seat, Frank would sit down, and they would head to the first tee. Then Fuj handed each employee $500. The young men accepted the biggest tip of their lives, and Fuj needed no assurances the cart would be at the ready. Everything was a tightly choreographed dance.
That’s the way it was if you were lucky enough to run in Sydney Frank’s circle. On almost every day over a six-year period, Frank created his fantasy world centered around golf. Golf on world-class courses in New York and California and abroad, multi-million dollar vacations, private chefs, extravagant purchases, and rubbing shoulders with world leaders and celebrities were just some of the things the Frank team experienced. Now for the first time since Frank’s death in 2006, the golfers who lived inside this world are sharing their stories.
Luke Bakke wasn't initially chosen for the trip to London, as he had just returned from playing in the U.S. Amateur. Bakke planned to take advantage of a precious few days off, so he flew from New York (where the team lived half the year) to see his girlfriend in Seattle. The visit would be short-lived.
Bakke's phone rang around 2 a.m. on his second night in Seattle. It was Fuj. "You need to get to London by tomorrow morning," he told Bakke. Fuj would inform him later that Ben Hayes had been sent home and Bakke was his replacement. Hayes had committed the mortal sin of telling Frank the final score of his beloved Yankees’ game before Frank had a chance to watch the replay.
A spot on the team was precarious. Revealing the Yankees’ score – or in Jonathan Dudley's case, getting a haircut Frank didn't like – might mean the end of the trip, or the end of your time on the team. Before this trip, Dudley had a cyst removed from his head, and while in London, he shaved his head. It was a costly decision. Fuj delivered the bad news. "I think it's best if you go back to New York and work on your game," he said.
Bakke immediately started packing while explaining to his future wife why he had to go. “I wasn't going to lose that job," he says. Bakke, then 24, like the other golfers, was making six figures for playing the game he loved. A lean 6-feet, Bakke had finished a solid career at Arkansas Little Rock and planned to embark on a pro career when Fuj brought him on board. Bakke had been part of the team long enough to know that plans changed as quickly as Frank’s mood, but explaining that to someone was hard to put into words. A few hours later, Bakke boarded his flight to Heathrow Airport.
Bakke landed early in the morning and was met by a car service that was tasked with rushing him to The Grove. Bakke was quickly escorted into the waiting SUV and the driver sped away. This was extraordinary even for Bakke, who had become used to the unusual in his time on the team. His middle-class upbringing in Arkansas hadn’t prepared him for this.
Meanwhile, at the Cadogan, a five-star hotel Frank had reserved, the rest of the entourage was getting ready to load into cars. Frank always rode in the bulletproof limo. It’s not that Frank was in danger and feared for his life. It’s just the way he rolled. “He basically didn’t want to wait at red lights,” Fuj says. Adds Bakke, “He did it because he could.”
"There were three cars: two bomb-proof Mercedes-Benzes and the bulletproof limo,” says Bakke. “The goal of the Benzes is to make sure the limo always has an out – a field, another road. These guys are wearing black suits and ear pieces." It was all unnecessary and over the top, but that was standard for Frank and his entourage.
Fuj climbed in the back of the limo and handed Frank the first of many throat lozenges to help offset his chain-smoking of Davidoff cigars. The cigars were wrapped with Frank’s personal logo and cost almost $40,000 a box. The six-foot high humidor that kept the cigars fresh was wheeled onto his private plane before each trip, even if it meant other luggage had to be offloaded.
When the limo rolled into the parking lot, the outside services employees had the cart in position. Frank casually greeted Bakke on the 1st tee, oblivious to the logistical tight-rope act that had been pulled off to get Bakke there.
Fuj always had to have Mr. Frank in the perfect position to see
Exhausted and jet-lagged, Bakke played terribly. The other three players didn’t fare much better, and Frank called off the match after just nine holes. Luke Bakke had flown halfway around the world to play nine holes. It was just another day in the life of Sidney Frank.
Frank was a World War II buff and a Winston Churchill admirer, so the London vacation included a trip to the Winston Churchill Museum. Frank donated $10 million to build a London monument to R.J. Mitchell, the inventor of the Spitfire plane, and was invited to tour Churchill’s war bunker and to have tea with Prince Charles.
“That was my grandfather’s chair,” said Randolph Churchill, pointing to a circular-backed chestnut chair at the head of a long wooden table where Winston Churchill waited out air raids and planned defense strategy during the war. Wearing sunglasses in the dimly lit corridor just outside the subterranean room, Frank sat in his wheelchair – an overweight man, he had balance issues – an unlit cigar dangling from his mouth, listening intently. A world map hung behind Churchill’s sacred chair, and the ceiling was reinforced with a massive steel beam.
“Not very comfortable,” said Randolph. “It’s hard, but that’s the way things were in those days.”
“I bring a very comfortable chair with me on the plane,” Frank said in a deep, raspy voice.
“That’s very smart,” Randolph said with a chuckle. Frank was helped to his feet and stepped into the room. “There’s a chair for you on your left,” said Randolph. Frank shuffled along, continuing toward Winston’s chair.
“He wants to sit in Winston’s chair,” said a member of the entourage. Randolph paused, searching for a polite way to deter Frank from sliding into the historic seat, then pointed to another chair. “This one is best,” he said. Frank ignored the comment and shuffled straight to Churchill’s chair.
It would have been pointless to try to redirect the old, husky billionaire to another chair, so Randolph put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “This is where many of the decisions were made that saved the free world,” Randolph said.
“Great. Where’s my lighter?” Frank asked as he raised his cigar and removed his sunglasses.
“I thought you were going to say where is my whiskey and soda, as my grandfather would have,” Randolph said.
“Where’s the brandy and champagne?” Frank replied quickly. The room erupted in laughter.
The trip to the museum was the culmination of a month of golf, tours and tea. It came with a hefty price tag, which Frank laughed off.
“Guess how much the hotel charged me, Fuj?” Frank asked after the group had arrived back in the States. “Just over a million. We got a deal!”
Sidney Frank grew up poor in Connecticut, and after graduating from high school, he took all the money he had saved and paid for his first and only semester at Brown University. “You know, Fuj, it took me seven years to save up for that one semester,” Frank would say.
After dropping out when he had drained his bank account, Frank promised he wouldn’t let that happen to other students. He backed up that promise in 2004 with a $100 million donation to Brown.
Frank married into the liquor business after working in the airline engine business for Pratt and Whitney. His wife, Louise, was the daughter of Lewis Rosenstiel, the owner of one of the biggest distillers and importers of liquor in the United States.
Frank advanced quickly in the family business but was forced out in a family dispute. Louise died in 1973, the same year Frank started his own company, Sidney Frank Importing Co. It soon started importing Jagermeister, but the beverage wasn't an instant success.
In 1975, Frank imported only 500 cases. However, soon after he hit a gold mine when a news article called Jager "liquid Valium." Frank printed thousands of copies of the article, distributing them to bar owners and college campuses around the country. He hired scantily dressed women to hand out samples of Jager at bars. The new brand ambassadors began serving the drink cold to help with the unique taste, and it worked. In a 2004 New Yorker article about Frank, a liquor marketing exec said, "It's a liquor with an unpronounceable name. It's drunk by older blue-collar Germans as an after-dinner digestive aid. It's a drink that is an acquired taste on a good day. If he can make that drink synonymous with ‘Party,’ he can do pretty much anything."
It was a glimpse into the eccentric genius that was Sidney Frank. In 2000, he imported more than 10 million cases of Jagermeister. He was just getting started.
In 1997, Frank unveiled Grey Goose Vodka. He marketed it as a premium vodka and sold it at a much higher price than most of his competitors. At the time, Absolut was the premium Vodka brand, selling for around $20 a bottle. Frank and his team developed the now iconic Grey Goose bottle and distilled the vodka in France. It was the first vodka distilled in the country. Grey Goose sold for $30 a bottle.
Grey Goose enjoyed a meteoric rise. Sidney Frank's genius had struck again. In 2004, just seven years after coming up with the idea, Frank sold the company to Bacardi for $2.4 billion.
Frank’s entourage was growing almost as quickly as his wealth. Among the lawyers, nurses, security guards and assistants was a pro golfer named Mike Troyer. A Colorado graduate, Troyer played professionally around the world on the Asian, Canadian and Korn Ferry (nee: Nike) tours. Although not much is known about Frank's start in golf, he played often for most of his adult life and was, at his best, a 4-handicap.
“He loved golf more than any of us,” Fuj says, “and we loved golf!”
Troyer and Frank would play almost daily, and if Frank couldn't play, he would ride and watch Troyer. Frank wanted more pros around, so Troyer called an old friend.
Fujimoto was a struggling professional who worked as an assistant teaching pro at Kierland Golf Club in Scottsdale, Ariz. Troyer and Fuj had played junior golf together, and Troyer believed he would be a perfect fit for the "job." But Fuj was skeptical. When he didn’t return his calls, Troyer called Fuj's dad, imploring him to get Fuj to call him back. Fuj finally relented.
He pays me like $500 if I hit a fairway. Fuj couldn't believe what Troyer was telling him. In addition to the cash Frank would give Troyer for his golf exploits, he was being paid a salary. Fuj soon found himself on his way to New York to meet Mr. Frank.
Troyer picked up Fuj at the airport and headed to the Frank mansion. The pair made their way to Frank's bedroom. Fuj expected the billionaire to be a buttoned-up business tycoon, but Frank was anything but typical. He saw a large man sitting at a desk in an oversized, worn office chair. It was a chair Fuj would come to learn traveled everywhere. Frank was wearing a long-sleeve checkered polo, cotton shorts with an elastic waistband pulled up to the middle of his ample belly, and was reading The New York Times.
The shades of the windows were closed, and black garbage bags were taped over the gaps to prevent any light from coming in. In the middle of the room was a fully functioning toilet. That told Fuj that Frank did what he wanted, social norms be damned. When the pair said hello, Frank put down the newspaper. “He had egg yolk everywhere,” Fuj recalls.
Fuj had come into the room with a notion of what a billionaire liquor mogul looked like, but Frank was the opposite of that. “At this point I was stunned,” Fuj says.
"What's doing?" Frank asked Troyer in his raspy voice. Troyer introduced Fuj. A quick conversation ended when Frank said, "Anyways," which Fuj would learn meant the conversation was over. “I felt like I didn’t even really meet him,” Fuj says.
The pair headed downstairs to wait. On the way to the expansive living area, Fuj tried to make sense of what had just happened. As he met Frank’s second wife and other entourage members, Fuj relived Troyer's phone call to get him there. Before arriving at the Frank mansion, he had no idea what to expect, but the last hour had been nearly too much to comprehend.
Soon the group headed to Westchester Golf Club. Troyer drove and another pro, Kris Isakson, rode in the backseat with Fuj. Frank rode shotgun. Travis Williams, another pro, and other members of Frank's entourage followed in another car.
The foursome played, and Frank watched while riding with Troyer. Then he asked to ride with Fuj for the second nine. This happened again the following day at Trump National in New Jersey.
After the round, the pair was ushered to the office of Renatta, Frank’s long-time assistant and the person who kept control of the group’s chaotic itinerary. She was so vital and so trusted that Frank left her $25 million in his will. Renatta handed Fuj and Isackson an envelope filled with cash.
"Mr. Frank enjoyed his time with you,” she said. “He would like you to come on board with the team.” She explained that the job would come with an annual salary of about $100,000, living expenses would be paid, and the group would be paid cash on top of their wages. For Fuj, it was something straight out of a novel. Last week, he had been working as an assistant pro, picking range balls and folding shirts, and now he had been dropped into a world of overwhelming wealth.
It was Wednesday, and Renatta told Fuj he would need to be back in New York on Monday. "Like in five days?” Fuj asked. “I have a job." But Frank always got what he wanted. Renatta instructed Fuj to pack two weeks of clothes and box up the rest to be shipped across the country.
Fuj went home, talked to his boss and on Monday morning teed it up at Sunningdale Country Club in New York. He had no idea the adventures the next four years would bring.
This new world was never more evident than on his first trip to Chicago. He stayed at the Four Seasons, and the first night, he called the front desk to report that someone had been in his room. The clerk apologized profusely and asked if anything had been taken. The following day, he told the group about it, and they informed him that the hotel did a nightly turndown service. “I didn’t know what was going on,” he says. “I’d never had turndown service. I didn’t even know such a thing existed.”
Fuj, Troyer, Isackson and Williams played seven days a week for Frank. They would get to the course at 7 a.m. Frank would ride with Fuj, and the carry-on with upwards of $100,000 and the defibrillator was at hand. Frank's nurse and security detail would follow in other carts.
Driving Frank came with great responsibility. Fuj had to ensure Frank's signature cigar remained lit and that he had a clear view of the shots players were hitting. In between, Frank asked Fuj to make phone calls, holding the phone to the billionaire's ear, or recall a story. Fuj also had to be close enough so Frank could choose the club a player would use. Frank picked every club for every player.
"Cut 7-iron," he would say between puffs on his Davidoff. The shot rarely called for the club Frank chose. Often, the players would have to manufacture a shot to make Frank’s club selection work.
Frank would split the four players into teams, and they would play a best-ball match. He liked birdies, so play would often be from the forward tees. Players were paid $100 for a birdie and $200 for an eagle, and the winning team won $1,000. The team payout became a bone of contention, as Frank would give mulligans and free drops to players to keep the match competitive.
"Fuj gets a free drop," Frank would call out as Fuj fished his ball out of a creek. Behind the cart and out of Frank's earshot, the other players would argue.
"Well, he said I got a free drop," Fuj said with a laugh before winning the hole. At that moment, the four agreed without Frank's knowledge to evenly split the $1,000 that went to the winning team.
No one was sure the reasons why, but in New York the team usually played the back tees, and in San Diego, Frank instructed them to play the forward tees. At Del Mar Country Club, Williams was shooting 58 and 59 from the front tees, which measured 5,600 yards. At the end of the month, the group would each be handed envelopes filled with $100 bills totaling between $18,000 and $25,000.
The pros playing for Frank also squeezed in events when they could, although they couldn't all be gone simultaneously. The Gateway Tour, a professional developmental circuit in Arizona, was offering purses well into the six figures. It was the tour where Fuj played most regularly, although his motivation was waning. "I thought about all the money I was missing out on back in New York,” he says.
When players were away at an event, they would call Frank each night with an update on how they had played. Frank’s assistant would patch the call through. Often, the room was filled with executives from the liquor company or other members of the entourage. Golf was always the top priority, and Frank would stop whatever he was doing to hear about their round.
In one call, Frank said, "I miss you, Fuj." Knowing multiple people could hear the call on the other end, Fuj mumbled, "Miss you, too," before quickly hanging up. It was a phone call that members of the entourage wouldn't let Fuj forget.
Just a few months after Fuj started playing for Frank, the Gateway Tour would again play a role in their relationship. Chris Stutz, the owner of the tour, asked Fuj if Frank would be interested in purchasing the tour. Fuj, nervous he would be fired for even asking, was hesitant, but he finally mustered the courage to bring up the topic.
"How much do they want for it?" Frank asked.
"A million a year for three years and they want to call it the Grey Goose-Gateway Tour,” Fuj replied, convinced that asking his new boss to buy a mini-tour for $3 million would end with him back at Kierland.
"Well, shit!” Frank said. “I’ll do it. That's walking around money.” Fuj could hardly believe that just a few months into his time with Frank, he had brokered a multi-million dollar deal.
Fuj settled into his position with Frank, but the other three pros looked to enhance their playing careers. Frank decided it was time to build a new team with amateurs who were looking to turn pro down the road.
Bakke worked as a caddie after his senior season at Arkansas Little Rock. He was living at home with his parents and trying to save money to make a run at professional golf.
One Thursday, he got a call from Brad Payne, who ran the Christian Golf Fellowship. Fuj had called Brad looking for good amateurs to fill Frank's team. The opportunity sounded too good to pass up. He flew to Chicago to meet Frank.
He and Nolan Martin, a Colorado State alum, played with Frank’s family members and members of his entourage. They teed it up at Kemper Lakes, a private club in the Chicago area.
“After the round we headed to the hotel,” Bakke recalls. “It was right next to the Sears Tower. I remember he had rented the entire top floor.” A member of the entourage introduced Martin and Bakke to Frank, who was wearing his ever-present navy blue FBI hat and smoking a cigar. He was, as he often was, watching The Godfather in an almost pitch-black room. “The room was filled with smoke,” Bakke recalls. Frank simply said, "Welcome to the team."
Bakke flew home to Arkansas and waited for a call from the Frank camp. Two days later, he got his instructions. He was told to book a flight the next day to New York. In a mere 24 hours, his world was being turned upside down. "Can I come on Saturday?" Bakke asked, hoping to buy a little extra time.
"No, you have a tee time at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday at anglebrook,” he was told. Bakke started packing.
“Everything with Mr. Frank was right now,” Fuj says.
Fuj soon built a team consisting of six players from all over the world. There was Eddie Vernon, a promising talent from England. Texan Brad Gibson, who would make an ace in front of Winston Churchill’s grandson. There was Patrick Stolpe, the long hitter from Wisconsin who would become Frank’s favorite, and Jonathan Dudley, who is now the director of instruction at Forest Oak Country Club.
“I was told I wouldn’t meet this mythical man under any circumstances.” says Patrick Sullivan, then a junior at Arkansas Little Rock. Then Sullivan visited his good friend Bakke over Christmas break in San Diego. One of the few days the team didn’t play was on Sundays, because that’s when Frank’s beloved New York Jets played.
So that Saturday night, Sullivan went out drinking with team members. They returned around 2 a.m. Just three hours later, Bakke’s phone rang. It was Frank's nurse. “Mr. Frank would like to play golf today,” he said. Bakke roused two members of the team, but everyone else was passed out. Desperate, he persuaded Sullivan to go. Frank was welcoming and had Bakke and Sullivan team up for the match. The pair won handily.
Sullivan stayed home the following morning, and on the 1st tee, Frank asked where he was. Bakke explained that Sullivan was just visiting and that he wasn’t part of the team. “No, Patrick plays every day he is here!” Frank demanded. So Sullivan did just that for the rest of his stay.
After one round, Frank asked Sullivan to ride back to the mansion with him. Frank told Sullivan he had earned a place on the team. Sullivan mentioned he was in the middle of his junior year of college and couldn’t leave. “You know I only went to one semester of college,” Frank countered.
Sullivan went back to school for the next semester, but Bakke remained his pseudo agent, updating Frank on Sullivan’s college season. Sullivan concentrated on his golf and focused on rejoining the Frank team. He hardly went to class that semester, didn’t do any of the work, and didn’t take a single test. His grade point that semester was 0.0. (He later got his degree.) After failing to advance past the NCAA regional tournament, he boarded a flight to New York the following day. There would be no senior season for Patrick Sullivan – he had joined Team Frank.
Every morning started at the Frank mansion. There the players would meet at around 6 am to a breakfast prepared by one of the personal chefs. Then the crew would load into the cars and head for the golf course. Frank in the back of his $400,000 Maybach, often with Fuj next to him. After golf the team would return to the Frank mansion and feast on lunch prepared by one of the personal chefs. Wagyu burgers were a Frank favorite. The two labrador retrievers, Jagy and Meister, enjoyed Wagyu beef, too. “Those dogs ate better than 99.9 percent of the world,” Bakke says. The dogs were so overweight that at times they were wheeled around on carts, unable to walk themselves.
After lunch a few members of the team would play bridge with Frank. “The cards were stacked for him in every hand,” says Bakke. Sullivan participated, too. “To this day, I have no idea how to play bridge,” he says with a laugh. But he played.
Occasionally, the team watched movies in Frank’s room. In England, as he did every place he traveled, Frank brought a projector and eight suitcases filled with DVDs. “We only watched The Godfather,” Sullivan says. Frank lionized perceptive wartime leaders with an empathetic eye to the future, including Winston Churchill. It was the same with Don Corleone. The Godfather is about power: who gets it and how to keep it. Frank’s team was treated to a daily masterclass on the subject.
Frank’s golf team was part of his family. These players hitting shots at his beckoning became protective of Frank and his time. There was jockeying for Frank’s attention – no one wanted to leave Frank’s good graces – but these golfers bonded through the unique adventure they shared. They were there for Frank’s amusement and to support him, but Frank was teaching them invaluable lessons. That included business lessons, as they were alway around for investment or executive meetings. More importantly, life lessons. Sullivan and Bakke saw Frank as not only their boss, but also as a grandfather and mentor.
“I can’t believe that happened,” says Sullivan. “You got to meet a lot of people and experience a lot of things that you wouldn’t have gotten to experience before. You learned a lot of stuff business-wise and life-wise, but he was also tough on you. He expected a lot. You had to grow up a lot.”
“I stand by this today,” says Fuj. “I said something about these pro athletes we’d see at Kierland, and Mr. Frank told me this one day. He was sitting there with a cigar and he goes, ‘Fuj, no one is better than you. But never forget, you’re no better than anyone else.’ And I’ll never forget that. I live by that.”
A group of 20-somethings from around the world had been dropped into a billionaire’s world, where every whim was acted on, and the unbelievable was experienced almost every day. The one-time assistant pro was in charge of a group of amateurs from various walks of life who had come together as the most eclectic family ever. Bakke summed it up perfectly: “In the annals of time, that job has never existed, and probably won’t exist again. I look back with fondness, but I’m very grateful for the experience just to get me ready for life.”
The group of amateurs all had aspirations of a career in professional golf, but those dreams could wait. Years of adventures were in their future.
The six had no idea what the next few years would bring. The wild ride with Sidney Frank was just beginning.
Exhausted and jet-lagged, Bakke played terribly. The other three players didn’t fare much better, and Frank called off the match after just nine holes. Luke Bakke had flown halfway around the world to play nine holes. It was just another day in the life of Sidney Frank.
Frank was a World War II buff and a Winston Churchill admirer, so the London vacation included a trip to the Winston Churchill Museum. Frank donated $10 million to build a London monument to R.J. Mitchell, the inventor of the Spitfire plane, and was invited to tour Churchill’s war bunker and to have tea with Prince Charles.
“That was my grandfather’s chair,” said Randolph Churchill, pointing to a circular-backed chestnut chair at the head of a long wooden table where Winston Churchill waited out air raids and planned defense strategy during the war. Wearing sunglasses in the dimly lit corridor just outside the subterranean room, Frank sat in his wheelchair – an overweight man, he had balance issues – an unlit cigar dangling from his mouth, listening intently. A world map hung behind Churchill’s sacred chair, and the ceiling was reinforced with a massive steel beam.
“Not very comfortable,” said Randolph. “It’s hard, but that’s the way things were in those days.”
“I bring a very comfortable chair with me on the plane,” Frank said in a deep, raspy voice.
“That’s very smart,” Randolph said with a chuckle. Frank was helped to his feet and stepped into the room. “There’s a chair for you on your left,” said Randolph. Frank shuffled along, continuing toward Winston’s chair.
“He wants to sit in Winston’s chair,” said a member of the entourage. Randolph paused, searching for a polite way to deter Frank from sliding into the historic seat, then pointed to another chair. “This one is best,” he said. Frank ignored the comment and shuffled straight to Churchill’s chair.
It would have been pointless to try to redirect the old, husky billionaire to another chair, so Randolph put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “This is where many of the decisions were made that saved the free world,” Randolph said.
“Great. Where’s my lighter?” Frank asked as he raised his cigar and removed his sunglasses.
“I thought you were going to say where is my whiskey and soda, as my grandfather would have,” Randolph said.
“Where’s the brandy and champagne?” Frank replied quickly. The room erupted in laughter.
The trip to the museum was the culmination of a month of golf, tours and tea. It came with a hefty price tag, which Frank laughed off.
“Guess how much the hotel charged me, Fuj?” Frank asked after the group had arrived back in the States. “Just over a million. We got a deal!”
Sidney Frank grew up poor in Connecticut, and after graduating from high school, he took all the money he had saved and paid for his first and only semester at Brown University. “You know, Fuj, it took me seven years to save up for that one semester,” Frank would say.
After dropping out when he had drained his bank account, Frank promised he wouldn’t let that happen to other students. He backed up that promise in 2004 with a $100 million donation to Brown.
Frank married into the liquor business after working in the airline engine business for Pratt and Whitney. His wife, Louise, was the daughter of Lewis Rosenstiel, the owner of one of the biggest distillers and importers of liquor in the United States.
Frank advanced quickly in the family business but was forced out in a family dispute. Louise died in 1973, the same year Frank started his own company, Sidney Frank Importing Co. It soon started importing Jagermeister, but the beverage wasn't an instant success.
In 1975, Frank imported only 500 cases. However, soon after he hit a gold mine when a news article called Jager "liquid Valium." Frank printed thousands of copies of the article, distributing them to bar owners and college campuses around the country. He hired scantily dressed women to hand out samples of Jager at bars. The new brand ambassadors began serving the drink cold to help with the unique taste, and it worked. In a 2004 New Yorker article about Frank, a liquor marketing exec said, "It's a liquor with an unpronounceable name. It's drunk by older blue-collar Germans as an after-dinner digestive aid. It's a drink that is an acquired taste on a good day. If he can make that drink synonymous with ‘Party,’ he can do pretty much anything."
It was a glimpse into the eccentric genius that was Sidney Frank. In 2000, he imported more than 10 million cases of Jagermeister. He was just getting started.
In 1997, Frank unveiled Grey Goose Vodka. He marketed it as a premium vodka and sold it at a much higher price than most of his competitors. At the time, Absolut was the premium Vodka brand, selling for around $20 a bottle. Frank and his team developed the now iconic Grey Goose bottle and distilled the vodka in France. It was the first vodka distilled in the country. Grey Goose sold for $30 a bottle.
Grey Goose enjoyed a meteoric rise. Sidney Frank's genius had struck again. In 2004, just seven years after coming up with the idea, Frank sold the company to Bacardi for $2.4 billion.
Frank’s entourage was growing almost as quickly as his wealth. Among the lawyers, nurses, security guards and assistants was a pro golfer named Mike Troyer. A Colorado graduate, Troyer played professionally around the world on the Asian, Canadian and Korn Ferry (nee: Nike) tours. Although not much is known about Frank's start in golf, he played often for most of his adult life and was, at his best, a 4-handicap.
“He loved golf more than any of us,” Fuj says, “and we loved golf!”
Troyer and Frank would play almost daily, and if Frank couldn't play, he would ride and watch Troyer. Frank wanted more pros around, so Troyer called an old friend.
Fujimoto was a struggling professional who worked as an assistant teaching pro at Kierland Golf Club in Scottsdale, Ariz. Troyer and Fuj had played junior golf together, and Troyer believed he would be a perfect fit for the "job." But Fuj was skeptical. When he didn’t return his calls, Troyer called Fuj's dad, imploring him to get Fuj to call him back. Fuj finally relented.
He pays me like $500 if I hit a fairway. Fuj couldn't believe what Troyer was telling him. In addition to the cash Frank would give Troyer for his golf exploits, he was being paid a salary. Fuj soon found himself on his way to New York to meet Mr. Frank.
Troyer picked up Fuj at the airport and headed to the Frank mansion. The pair made their way to Frank's bedroom. Fuj expected the billionaire to be a buttoned-up business tycoon, but Frank was anything but typical. He saw a large man sitting at a desk in an oversized, worn office chair. It was a chair Fuj would come to learn traveled everywhere. Frank was wearing a long-sleeve checkered polo, cotton shorts with an elastic waistband pulled up to the middle of his ample belly, and was reading The New York Times.
The shades of the windows were closed, and black garbage bags were taped over the gaps to prevent any light from coming in. In the middle of the room was a fully functioning toilet. That told Fuj that Frank did what he wanted, social norms be damned. When the pair said hello, Frank put down the newspaper. “He had egg yolk everywhere,” Fuj recalls.
Fuj had come into the room with a notion of what a billionaire liquor mogul looked like, but Frank was the opposite of that. “At this point I was stunned,” Fuj says.
"What's doing?" Frank asked Troyer in his raspy voice. Troyer introduced Fuj. A quick conversation ended when Frank said, "Anyways," which Fuj would learn meant the conversation was over. “I felt like I didn’t even really meet him,” Fuj says.
The pair headed downstairs to wait. On the way to the expansive living area, Fuj tried to make sense of what had just happened. As he met Frank’s second wife and other entourage members, Fuj relived Troyer's phone call to get him there. Before arriving at the Frank mansion, he had no idea what to expect, but the last hour had been nearly too much to comprehend.
Soon the group headed to Westchester Golf Club. Troyer drove and another pro, Kris Isakson, rode in the backseat with Fuj. Frank rode shotgun. Travis Williams, another pro, and other members of Frank's entourage followed in another car.
The foursome played, and Frank watched while riding with Troyer. Then he asked to ride with Fuj for the second nine. This happened again the following day at Trump National in New Jersey.
After the round, the pair was ushered to the office of Renatta, Frank’s long-time assistant and the person who kept control of the group’s chaotic itinerary. She was so vital and so trusted that Frank left her $25 million in his will. Renatta handed Fuj and Isackson an envelope filled with cash.
"Mr. Frank enjoyed his time with you,” she said. “He would like you to come on board with the team.” She explained that the job would come with an annual salary of about $100,000, living expenses would be paid, and the group would be paid cash on top of their wages. For Fuj, it was something straight out of a novel. Last week, he had been working as an assistant pro, picking range balls and folding shirts, and now he had been dropped into a world of overwhelming wealth.
It was Wednesday, and Renatta told Fuj he would need to be back in New York on Monday. "Like in five days?” Fuj asked. “I have a job." But Frank always got what he wanted. Renatta instructed Fuj to pack two weeks of clothes and box up the rest to be shipped across the country.
Fuj went home, talked to his boss and on Monday morning teed it up at Sunningdale Country Club in New York. He had no idea the adventures the next four years would bring.
This new world was never more evident than on his first trip to Chicago. He stayed at the Four Seasons, and the first night, he called the front desk to report that someone had been in his room. The clerk apologized profusely and asked if anything had been taken. The following day, he told the group about it, and they informed him that the hotel did a nightly turndown service. “I didn’t know what was going on,” he says. “I’d never had turndown service. I didn’t even know such a thing existed.”
Fuj, Troyer, Isackson and Williams played seven days a week for Frank. They would get to the course at 7 a.m. Frank would ride with Fuj, and the carry-on with upwards of $100,000 and the defibrillator was at hand. Frank's nurse and security detail would follow in other carts.
Driving Frank came with great responsibility. Fuj had to ensure Frank's signature cigar remained lit and that he had a clear view of the shots players were hitting. In between, Frank asked Fuj to make phone calls, holding the phone to the billionaire's ear, or recall a story. Fuj also had to be close enough so Frank could choose the club a player would use. Frank picked every club for every player.
"Cut 7-iron," he would say between puffs on his Davidoff. The shot rarely called for the club Frank chose. Often, the players would have to manufacture a shot to make Frank’s club selection work.
Frank would split the four players into teams, and they would play a best-ball match. He liked birdies, so play would often be from the forward tees. Players were paid $100 for a birdie and $200 for an eagle, and the winning team won $1,000. The team payout became a bone of contention, as Frank would give mulligans and free drops to players to keep the match competitive.
"Fuj gets a free drop," Frank would call out as Fuj fished his ball out of a creek. Behind the cart and out of Frank's earshot, the other players would argue.
"Well, he said I got a free drop," Fuj said with a laugh before winning the hole. At that moment, the four agreed without Frank's knowledge to evenly split the $1,000 that went to the winning team.
No one was sure the reasons why, but in New York the team usually played the back tees, and in San Diego, Frank instructed them to play the forward tees. At Del Mar Country Club, Williams was shooting 58 and 59 from the front tees, which measured 5,600 yards. At the end of the month, the group would each be handed envelopes filled with $100 bills totaling between $18,000 and $25,000.
The pros playing for Frank also squeezed in events when they could, although they couldn't all be gone simultaneously. The Gateway Tour, a professional developmental circuit in Arizona, was offering purses well into the six figures. It was the tour where Fuj played most regularly, although his motivation was waning. "I thought about all the money I was missing out on back in New York,” he says.
When players were away at an event, they would call Frank each night with an update on how they had played. Frank’s assistant would patch the call through. Often, the room was filled with executives from the liquor company or other members of the entourage. Golf was always the top priority, and Frank would stop whatever he was doing to hear about their round.
In one call, Frank said, "I miss you, Fuj." Knowing multiple people could hear the call on the other end, Fuj mumbled, "Miss you, too," before quickly hanging up. It was a phone call that members of the entourage wouldn't let Fuj forget.
Just a few months after Fuj started playing for Frank, the Gateway Tour would again play a role in their relationship. Chris Stutz, the owner of the tour, asked Fuj if Frank would be interested in purchasing the tour. Fuj, nervous he would be fired for even asking, was hesitant, but he finally mustered the courage to bring up the topic.
"How much do they want for it?" Frank asked.
"A million a year for three years and they want to call it the Grey Goose-Gateway Tour,” Fuj replied, convinced that asking his new boss to buy a mini-tour for $3 million would end with him back at Kierland.
"Well, shit!” Frank said. “I’ll do it. That's walking around money.” Fuj could hardly believe that just a few months into his time with Frank, he had brokered a multi-million dollar deal.
Fuj settled into his position with Frank, but the other three pros looked to enhance their playing careers. Frank decided it was time to build a new team with amateurs who were looking to turn pro down the road.
Bakke worked as a caddie after his senior season at Arkansas Little Rock. He was living at home with his parents and trying to save money to make a run at professional golf.
One Thursday, he got a call from Brad Payne, who ran the Christian Golf Fellowship. Fuj had called Brad looking for good amateurs to fill Frank's team. The opportunity sounded too good to pass up. He flew to Chicago to meet Frank.
He and Nolan Martin, a Colorado State alum, played with Frank’s family members and members of his entourage. They teed it up at Kemper Lakes, a private club in the Chicago area.
“After the round we headed to the hotel,” Bakke recalls. “It was right next to the Sears Tower. I remember he had rented the entire top floor.” A member of the entourage introduced Martin and Bakke to Frank, who was wearing his ever-present navy blue FBI hat and smoking a cigar. He was, as he often was, watching The Godfather in an almost pitch-black room. “The room was filled with smoke,” Bakke recalls. Frank simply said, "Welcome to the team."
Bakke flew home to Arkansas and waited for a call from the Frank camp. Two days later, he got his instructions. He was told to book a flight the next day to New York. In a mere 24 hours, his world was being turned upside down. "Can I come on Saturday?" Bakke asked, hoping to buy a little extra time.
"No, you have a tee time at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday at anglebrook,” he was told. Bakke started packing.
“Everything with Mr. Frank was right now,” Fuj says.
Fuj soon built a team consisting of six players from all over the world. There was Eddie Vernon, a promising talent from England. Texan Brad Gibson, who would make an ace in front of Winston Churchill’s grandson. There was Patrick Stolpe, the long hitter from Wisconsin who would become Frank’s favorite, and Jonathan Dudley, who is now the director of instruction at Forest Oak Country Club.
“I was told I wouldn’t meet this mythical man under any circumstances.” says Patrick Sullivan, then a junior at Arkansas Little Rock. Then Sullivan visited his good friend Bakke over Christmas break in San Diego. One of the few days the team didn’t play was on Sundays, because that’s when Frank’s beloved New York Jets played.
So that Saturday night, Sullivan went out drinking with team members. They returned around 2 a.m. Just three hours later, Bakke’s phone rang. It was Frank's nurse. “Mr. Frank would like to play golf today,” he said. Bakke roused two members of the team, but everyone else was passed out. Desperate, he persuaded Sullivan to go. Frank was welcoming and had Bakke and Sullivan team up for the match. The pair won handily.
Sullivan stayed home the following morning, and on the 1st tee, Frank asked where he was. Bakke explained that Sullivan was just visiting and that he wasn’t part of the team. “No, Patrick plays every day he is here!” Frank demanded. So Sullivan did just that for the rest of his stay.
After one round, Frank asked Sullivan to ride back to the mansion with him. Frank told Sullivan he had earned a place on the team. Sullivan mentioned he was in the middle of his junior year of college and couldn’t leave. “You know I only went to one semester of college,” Frank countered.
Sullivan went back to school for the next semester, but Bakke remained his pseudo agent, updating Frank on Sullivan’s college season. Sullivan concentrated on his golf and focused on rejoining the Frank team. He hardly went to class that semester, didn’t do any of the work, and didn’t take a single test. His grade point that semester was 0.0. (He later got his degree.) After failing to advance past the NCAA regional tournament, he boarded a flight to New York the following day. There would be no senior season for Patrick Sullivan – he had joined Team Frank.
Every morning started at the Frank mansion. There the players would meet at around 6 am to a breakfast prepared by one of the personal chefs. Then the crew would load into the cars and head for the golf course. Frank in the back of his $400,000 Maybach, often with Fuj next to him. After golf the team would return to the Frank mansion and feast on lunch prepared by one of the personal chefs. Wagyu burgers were a Frank favorite. The two labrador retrievers, Jagy and Meister, enjoyed Wagyu beef, too. “Those dogs ate better than 99.9 percent of the world,” Bakke says. The dogs were so overweight that at times they were wheeled around on carts, unable to walk themselves.
After lunch a few members of the team would play bridge with Frank. “The cards were stacked for him in every hand,” says Bakke. Sullivan participated, too. “To this day, I have no idea how to play bridge,” he says with a laugh. But he played.
Occasionally, the team watched movies in Frank’s room. In England, as he did every place he traveled, Frank brought a projector and eight suitcases filled with DVDs. “We only watched The Godfather,” Sullivan says. Frank lionized perceptive wartime leaders with an empathetic eye to the future, including Winston Churchill. It was the same with Don Corleone. The Godfather is about power: who gets it and how to keep it. Frank’s team was treated to a daily masterclass on the subject.
Frank’s golf team was part of his family. These players hitting shots at his beckoning became protective of Frank and his time. There was jockeying for Frank’s attention – no one wanted to leave Frank’s good graces – but these golfers bonded through the unique adventure they shared. They were there for Frank’s amusement and to support him, but Frank was teaching them invaluable lessons. That included business lessons, as they were alway around for investment or executive meetings. More importantly, life lessons. Sullivan and Bakke saw Frank as not only their boss, but also as a grandfather and mentor.
“I can’t believe that happened,” says Sullivan. “You got to meet a lot of people and experience a lot of things that you wouldn’t have gotten to experience before. You learned a lot of stuff business-wise and life-wise, but he was also tough on you. He expected a lot. You had to grow up a lot.”
“I stand by this today,” says Fuj. “I said something about these pro athletes we’d see at Kierland, and Mr. Frank told me this one day. He was sitting there with a cigar and he goes, ‘Fuj, no one is better than you. But never forget, you’re no better than anyone else.’ And I’ll never forget that. I live by that.”
A group of 20-somethings from around the world had been dropped into a billionaire’s world, where every whim was acted on, and the unbelievable was experienced almost every day. The one-time assistant pro was in charge of a group of amateurs from various walks of life who had come together as the most eclectic family ever. Bakke summed it up perfectly: “In the annals of time, that job has never existed, and probably won’t exist again. I look back with fondness, but I’m very grateful for the experience just to get me ready for life.”
The group of amateurs all had aspirations of a career in professional golf, but those dreams could wait. Years of adventures were in their future.
The six had no idea what the next few years would bring. The wild ride with Sidney Frank was just beginning.
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