to people who have similar values and backgrounds. The similarities in backgrounds can be seen in this list of the past five CEOs or senior partners:
Lloyd Blankfein: Jewish; raised in New York public housing in the Bronx
Hank Paulson: Christian Scientist; raised in Barrington Hills, Illinois, on a farm; played football in college; Eagle Scout; worked in the government before joining Goldman
Jon Corzine: Church of Christ; raised on a farm in Central Illinois; football quarterback and basketball captain in high school
Stephen Friedman: Jewish; on his college wrestling team
Robert Rubin: Jewish; Eagle Scout
Partners modeled and reinforced the desired behaviors and delivered “sermonettes of perceived wisdom” as deemed appropriate.31 French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu argued that in analyzing any society, as well as a firm’s culture, what matters “is not merely what is publicly discussed, but what is not mentioned in public … Areas of social silence, in other words, are crucial to supporting a story that a society is telling itself.”32 The written principles were important, but it is how they were interpreted and put into action—brought alive each day—that really mattered. The Goldman partners reinforced the importance of the values by their actions; they didn’t need to be specifically mentioned because they were understood by watching. The way these CEOs and partners acted, dressed, and behaved reinforced unwritten norms or uncodified principles. The men at the top wore Timex watches and not Rolexes (and this is before Ironman watches were fashionable). Partners did not wear expensive suits or drive fancy cars (most drove Fords because it was such a good client and many partners got a special discount). They lived relatively modestly, considering their wealth. It was simply not in the ethos to be flashy but rather to be understated, with Midwestern restraint.
The archetype for proper behavior was John L. Weinberg: “Revered by his partners and trusted by the firm’s blue-chip corporate clients, he was entirely without pretension, he spoke blunt common sense, [and] wore off-the-peg suits.”33
The unwritten commandment to keep a low profile was not, until rather recently, violated casually. In the early 1990s, an analyst was riding in a taxi past the famous and pricey Le Cirque restaurant in New York when he spotted a low-key Goldman vice president standing outside. To tease the VP in a funny, friendly way, the analyst rolled down the cab window and yelled out several times, “VP at Goldman Sachs!” Clearly, the subtext was, “VP at Goldman Sachs dining extravagantly at an elite restaurant!” The VP took it so seriously that the next morning he called the analyst into his office, along with a few of the analyst’s friends (including me), who, he correctly assumed, had already heard the funny story. The VP explained that he had been invited to Le Cirque by his girlfriend’s parents and that he would never have gone there on his own. Then he asked us to please not tell anyone or discuss (or joke about) the matter further.
The low-key imperative extended even to the modest Goldman offices. Goldman did not want clients to view an ostentatious display of corporate wealth, fearing it would be seen as an indication that the fees for the firm’s services were too high or that the firm had the wrong priorities.34
When I started at the firm, there was no sign bearing the name Goldman Sachs when one entered 85 Broad Street; behind the reception desk there just was a list of the partners’ names and floor numbers. There was even a floor for retired partners, but their names were not listed individually, the label for that floor just said, “Limited Partners” and a floor number. Even the twenty-second-floor offices of the senior partners were relatively modest, with the elevator doors opening to a gallery of senior partners’ portraits. It all served to reinforce the message: keep a low profile, respect the history, and remember whose money is at risk here. Such organizational humility, combined with the business principles and a drive for excellence, helped Goldman develop strong client relationships and allowed the firm’s culture to hold materialism at bay for a long time.
There was also an ethic that talking about compensation was taboo, although no one ever actually said so. Almost all of us had our sights set on partnership, and we were certainly curious about how our compensation stacked up against that of others, but no one ever directly asked.
One class of vice presidents had an interesting approach. Each year, all the members of that class got together and anonymously wrote their compensation figures on a slip of paper and dropped the paper into a bowl. The slips were then extracted randomly and read aloud to the group. In that way, no one knew exactly how much each person was making, but they knew the range and could figure out where they fell within it. I learned the range was less than 5 percent to 10 percent from the highest to the lowest (a remarkably narrow range by today’s standards), and this represented that the firm equally valued each person’s contribution and the equally high level of talent and hard work. I remember thinking the firm’s policy on compensation range was almost “socialist.”
Family Values
The firm also instilled a feeling of “family.” Goldman inculcated its values in other ways as well. When I started, I was assigned a “big buddy” who had graduated from business school and worked at Goldman for a few years to work with me on my first few projects. Big buddy relationships could be traced like a family tree: my big buddy had a big buddy, and so on. He also had little buddies like me. We were “related,” and one could essentially trace his “ancestors.” It was an informal network, and people had a sense of pride in their lineage of buddies.
Fortunately, my big buddy was great (as were my several little buddies). He had been an athlete at a small college, worked as an accountant, and pushed his way through to an Ivy League business school and into Goldman. Someone told me that when my big buddy had been a summer associate, he essentially slept under the desk in his cubicle because he wanted to make sure he would get a full-time offer. When I sheepishly asked another associate whether the story was true, he scoffed and said, “Of course not.”
I was relieved.
Then he walked me to the other side of the floor, to the office of Peter Sachs (a descendent of the original Sachs). He pointed, smiling, to a worn leather couch and advised me to take short naps there when pulling all-nighters, adding, “It’s a lot more comfortable than a cubicle.”
In addition to teaching me financial analysis, my big buddy gave me hints about what to wear and how to act. His general advice was don’t do or wear anything to draw attention to myself.
I also was assigned a mentor—a vice president—who was supposed to speak to me about my career and give me a senior connection to the firm. If my big buddy was like an older brother figure, my mentor was like a father figure. He took me to lunch or dinner periodically and told me which projects I should work on and with whom. He also spoke to other senior people to get me assignments that would help me improve. In addition, I sat in a cubicle right outside a partner’s office, and we shared the same assistant.
My mentor told me that everyone was expected to accept any social invitation from another Goldman employee (not to mention attending every department or firm meeting or function). He told me there was no excuse for missing a wedding, funeral, bar or bat mitzvah, or christening. My London wedding in 1998, when I was an associate, was attended by the head of my department, one of the co-heads of banking, and a member of the management committee.
After seeing how my mentor and the partners worked, I certainly didn’t need codified business principles to understand the ethic. One partner literally had holes in the soles of his shoes. My mentor had holes in the elbows of his shirt. Both worked twelve- to fourteen-hour days and on the weekends. I once had to call a partner at his home on Christmas Day to ask him a question and got no complaints. My mentor
