Let’s Be Frank

The following is an excerpt from Let’s Be Frank, by Jane Biondi Munna and Frank Biondi, available now from Greenleaf Book Group.

PROLOGUE

An Unsung Mogul

My wife, Carol, is very active in dealing with children who are in the child welfare system and the juvenile justice system. In the course of that work, she bumped into a young man who was also helping kids who were incarcerated. The young man’s name was Scott Budnick, who happened to work at Warner Bros. as a producer.

So we would all socialize from time to time. One day I said to Scott, just to make conversation, “What’s your next movie?”

“Well, we’re doing a comedy in Las Vegas.” “What’s it about?” I asked.

“It’s kind of complicated,” he said.

“Where are you in the process?”

“We’re just setting up. We won’t start for several months.”

Now at the time — the mid-2000s — I sat on the board of Harrah’s, which ultimately was renamed to Caesars Entertainment.

“Where are you guys going to stay?” I asked Scott.

“I don’t know.”

“Would you be interested in staying at Caesars, or one of the other Harrah’s hotels?”

“Sure, if we can work it out!” I said, “Let me give the president of Caesars a call.”

So I called up the president of Caesars and put the two of them in touch. They were able to make the arrangements and logistics work, and Scott’s team stayed in the hotel for three or four months while shooting the film in Vegas.

What I didn’t know at the time was that the movie Scott was working on was The Hangover.

That’s how my father, Frank Biondi, tells the story of how The Hangover came to be made at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. It’s a very Frank story: Dad understates his importance to this story and downplays the significance of his role.

Scott Budnick himself sets the record straight. “I told Frank that we were going to shoot The Hangover in Vegas, but we had been denied by The Wynn. We had been denied by Sheldon Adelson [former CEO of The Sands, which also owned The Venetian]. And I think we had just been denied by the MGM group,” says Scott. “Literally, it was all hopes for Caesars Palace. And I didn’t go in there with an agenda. I didn’t know Frank was on the Caesars Board.”

It’s possible that The Hangover doesn’t end up as the movie it became without the green light from Caesars, and clearly the hotel was crucial to its success. “I mean, it was a character in the film,” says Scott. “It was as important as our actors. It was the film. And that’s why you see it now as one of the hottest hotels in all of Vegas.”

Thanks to the hook-up from my father, says Scott, Caesars gave them unfettered access, which allowed them to pursue their zaniest of comedic stunts. “No matter what we wanted to do, they would always find a way to get to a yes,” Scott says, even if it’s “crazier shit after crazier shit” like “Mike Tyson knocking them out in a suite.”

The MGMs of the world said no. Thanks to my father paying it forward, Caesars said yes. And as you’ll see throughout this book, his minor but crucial involvement had an outsized impact on millions of people who would never know his name.

The Investment Banker Who Became a Hollywood Mogul

I suppose that every little girl grows up admiring her father and learning from his lessons. I know I did. I was his youngest daughter and he called me Janie, or Jane-O. He taught me things that all dads teach their daughters — basic fairness, right and wrong, how to catch a fly ball. (Dad played baseball in college, and still holds a spot in Princeton’s record books for stolen bases in a season and a game.)

As a child, I didn’t know what, exactly, he did when he went to work, but I could understand that he worked with Big Bird and Snuffleupagus at the Children’s Television Workshop, he brought home green slime from Nickelodeon, and we went to the MTV Video Music Awards twenty-five years ago, before it was a phenomenon. I knew he did something with numbers (later learning he started out as an investment banker). For most of my upbringing, I thought the things my father did at work — and the lessons he taught me — were commonplace. Every kid learns this stuff. Every dad’s job is special in some way.

I would eventually realize that my father’s job was highly unusual, and the lessons he taught me were not commonplace in corporate America. Not everyone’s dad had been the CEO of HBO, Universal Studios, and Viacom — which also put him in charge of Paramount, MTV, Nickelodeon, Blockbuster, and Simon & Schuster. Not everyone’s dad served on twenty corporate boards, from The Bank of New York and Vail Resorts to Hasbro, StubHub, Cablevision, and Madison Square Garden.

And as I grew older, I began to sense the enormous impact my father had on the media industry. In the ’80s, at HBO, he had a belief that certain customers would be willing to pay for quality entertainment content. At the time that was hard to believe, almost heretical, but now it’s a foundation of the economic model for television, movies, and even social media and digital platforms. I like to joke that my dad was like the Forrest Gump of media — but with smarts and agency — in that he seemed to be a part of every major media development in the early ’80s into the ’90s — from the consolidation of media conglomerates, to the supremacy of content and the rise and fall of Blockbuster, even serving at the helm of the company that released, well, Forrest Gump and many other memorable and important movies.

I had a unique vantage point to witness how my father helped shape the modern entertainment industry. He was modest and never went out of his way to drop names, but he rubbed shoulders with many famous people during his career both inside and outside the entertainment industry. Over the years, he would tell us stories such as how he played tennis against Donald Trump . . . and how his shot literally knocked Trump down to win the match (more on this in chapter 9). He worked directly with people like billionaire media mogul Sumner Redstone, Carl Icahn, Barry Diller, Don King, Alan Horn, Rob Reiner, daytime television icon Merv Griffin, and Lord of the Rings director Peter Jackson.

Telling the Untold Stories

Dad had many stories about his experiences from his career, and I was surprised throughout my life that very few of them were in the press. The reason was simple — my father was all substance, no flair, and he stayed out of the spotlight. Yet the insiders knew that he launched careers, brokered deals behind the scenes, and quietly made things happen.

When Dad told these stories, people always told him, “You should write a book!” His response was always the same. “When Sumner [Redstone] dies.” As you’ll see in later chapters, Dad had conflicting feelings about Redstone, who both hired and fired him. Dad was grateful for the life-changing opportunity Redstone gave him, but angry and resentful (though secretly relieved!) about how he was let go. The stories about Redstone in this book are some of the few that reflect poorly on the people mentioned, because of my father’s low opinion of Redstone’s character.

Dad’s vow to wait changed in 2018. He had fought many battles in his life, and won most of them, but then he faced an adversary stronger than he had ever faced before: cancer.

And as he faced his mortality, he opened up in a way he hadn’t before. And he began writing a book to share his stories and the principles that led to his success. He was committed to making this book happen, so throughout his treatments he would sit down and let me record him telling the stories he wanted to include.

“My first encounter with serendipity was my senior year in high school,” he began one day, sharing a story about how he ended up attending Princeton. We first started recording ten days after a major surgery he underwent. He wore a bathrobe, with tubes coming out of multiple places in his body. His kidneys weren’t working. I knew he was physically uncomfortable and at times in pain, but there were moments when he lit up, a gleam in his eye, telling me about the time he met Merv Griffin, or how in the middle of intense and high-stakes negotiations, Alan Schwartz mistook the photo of my sister as his own daughter. (You’ll read more about all these stories later in the book.)

Listening to him tell these stories gave me a peek inside his life before I was born, or when I was too young to have understood his life outside of our home. He would only record the stories if I was there with him, pressing record on the iPad app. I kept trying to show him how to do it, that it was easy. He wasn’t interested. This was something we were doing together and he wanted me there. There were times I traveled to be with him to spend time and record more stories, but he didn’t have the energy or the interest. Most of the time he pushed himself to do it anyway. We had stories to get through, and nobody knew how much time we had left.

The stories shed light on his life before our family, the way he thought through opportunities and challenges in both his business and personal lives. And they showed me the origins and connections he had with other important people in his life. As he was dying I was able to share his own stories with the people they featured, a final tribute to long friendships and a life well-lived. His good friend Jon Dolgen, for example, visited my father at home just before he passed. Dad could no longer speak, so I played Jon and his wife the recording of “Expect the Unexpected” (featuring Jon, see chapter 5), and it moved him to tears.

Hearing his stories brought to life the principles that I knew he embodied and the lessons he taught me during my life: doing the work, living with integrity, finding value. Dad found and generated value in so many ways — the value of original content, the value of companies and their discounted cash flows, but also the value of a good joke, the value of a smile, the value of a clean forehand winner, the value of lifelong friends and the family he loved.

The lessons from these stories showed me how Dad maintained his soul while becoming an über-successful businessman in an often soulless industry. And that’s why this book is organized around the principles that guided his every action throughout his life.

His simple principles have also helped me process and grieve his loss. I find that I can now imagine his reaction to any given situation or hear his patient advice for helping me navigate a new circumstance.

He taught me to control what you can control, and then embrace and accept the things you can’t. Then go one level deeper. If you can control something — like outreading everyone else on your team before a big meeting, or understanding the minutiae of discount rates, or even just showing up when you say you’re going to show up — that will set you apart from the bulk of the world. Mastering the basics can give you an edge.

Carrying the Torch

Dad passed away before he could finish this book. (And, ironically, Sumner Redstone passed away just nine months later.)

Soon after, I picked up the baton to help him finish what he started. And I asked some of his friends and former colleagues to share their perspectives so we could fill in a few gaps. That’s why this book is a compilation of his stories in his own words, my own perspective, and tributes from friends who shared portions of his life.

At heart, this book is not only about how to be a successful leader — although Dad covers that extensively — but how to be a good person. It’s about how to lead a good, fulfilling life. My father is proof that nice guys can finish first, and I view this book as a marriage of his strategies and values, offering some light during dark times.

Deep down, I knew that success at the highest levels of Hollywood is not, at its core, what made my father special. There are other CEOs. There are many moguls. What set my father apart was the way he conducted himself and his approach to business — he did what he did without sacrificing his values or his priorities. He lived his life on his own terms, always. That, to him, was the ultimate definition of success.

I have dedicated the past few years to completing the book as a way to share his stories, honor his legacy, and inspire readers of all stripes — entrepreneurs, business leaders, young professionals, future business leaders — to work well, to thrive, to live and laugh and love, and, well, to be like Frank.