Howard Feldman - Carry-On Baggage: The story of a man who thought he travelled light

Carry-on Baggage

Howard Feldman

Published by Howard Feldman with Batya Green-Bricker, 2014.

This edition published by Tracey McDonald Publishers, 2014

Office: 5 Quelea Street, Fourways, Johannesburg,

South Africa, 2191

www.traceymcdonaldpublishers.com

Copyright 2014 Howard Feldman

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

ISBN 978-0-620-62670-5

e-ISBN (ePUB) 978-0-620-62671-2

e-ISBN (PDF) 978-0-620-62672-9

Cover design by mr design

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

To Heidi

My drop of normal in a sea of chaos

Introduction

I was late for a meeting with my lawyer. And I hate being late. Moving with purpose into my office, I grabbed my keys, cellphone, BlackBerry, wallet and sunglasses, walked briskly past my PA down the stairs towards my car that was parked outside the office building, and not in the parking I had assigned myself in the underground parking lot. My white Jaguar XKR glistened in the Johannesburg morning sun as I hastened towards it. The drive was a quick one, out of the prestigious Melrose Arch complex, to the right towards Corlett Drive where his chambers were. I had just enough time to call my in-house attorney in order to understand the salient points of the meeting ahead. It was also enough time for me to be followed and not enough time to notice. Five minutes later my life would change.

It took me a second to process the fact that I was being attacked. As he ran toward me I was overwhelmed by the sense that I was a participant in a movie that I hadnt seen. Yet I had to play the role of the victim, and followed a basic instinct that as long as I did not do anything to startle or alarm him, I would be ok. I had no sense as to what he wanted until he screamed at me to remove my watch, all whilst gesturing with the gun that was so close to my face I could see each indentation. I have no experience with guns, but this one will stay carved into my mind forever. I was on the phone with Liza, our legal counsel and as he ripped the phone from my hand, I felt the link to anyone outside snap, and I was very much alone. I had put my wallet inside the door panel and was about to reach to get it, but something stopped me as I realised he didnt ask for it and I would only give him what he demanded. That thought process might well have saved my life, as reaching your hand to where it cannot be seen could be viewed as threatening to a person with a gun and anything could have happened. I hardly saw the person attached to it. He was wearing a balaclava dehumanising him something that would torment me for many months, as I would never know if the person I was encountering was the one who attacked me. Indeed, maybe I would thank him as this event started a process in my life that I am deeply grateful for.

But at the time and for the weeks after it I couldnt see that.

He took my Limited Edition Rose Gold Panerai, approximate value EU28,000 the favourite in my collection and that made me mad, really mad.

An hour later I was back at work.

A month later I got sick.

Three months later it happened again.

I was followed home. This time there were three of them. They had shotguns and they were angry. They didnt care that I had a security guard at my home, they didnt care that they were being filmed. Like the quintessential 21st century nightmare, I have it on tape where I am free to watch my repeated humiliation over and over and over it is noteworthy that when I think of the scene, what stays with me most is not the perpetrators running towards me, their aggression, the shotguns, or my fear, but watching myself climb out of my car put my hands on my head in submission, in disbelief, and indeed in sorrow. This time they took my watch (also a Panerai), my wallet with my drivers license and credit cards, my cellphone and my BlackBerry, my passport, my computer and personal papers, as well as my new Tumi carry-on that I had purchased for the trip. They also took with them my faith in the world that I had created.

An hour later I was not back at work.

A month later I went back to the office.

Three months later I shut my business down.

I could no longer carry the banner.

Chapter One

A World of Fiction

The world I had constructed was a marvellous one. It was a place where nice guys could finish first, even in the cut-throat aggressive world of commodity trading. It was a world where suppliers and customers were genuine friends, and it was accepted that everyone had the right to make a buck. It was a place where you knew that as a business you contributed to supply-chain efficiencies and where you had real relationships with competitors. In my world, anyone could share a drink and a laugh. It was a world of lovable rogues, of hard-nosed businessmen-with-heart, and where secretly and modestly, everyone was doing as much good as possible. Business travel was done in style and 1A was your seat of choice. Hotel check-in was never at the general reception and washing was returned on the same day. Families were supportive and intact, and no one really suffered from the mental and physical absence of dad. It was a place where beggars knew your name and chatted happily at traffic lights, and where others were proud of your success.

This was my carefully crafted world, but it was not real. Yet it was, for a time, a seemingly happy place. It was held together by a thread of positive and by a staple of denial. But with two traumatic events and a poor trading year, it came apart at the seams.

When exposed, and looking through decidedly untinted glasses, I now saw a colourless world that I had pretended didnt exist. Suddenly everyone was in it for themselves, no one really wanted to do business with you. And no one was secretly philanthropic. Beggars smirked with aggression as they lurched towards your car. If they knew your name and you theirs, it was only to extort you further. The planes were ageing and the hotels were soiled. It was grey and it was dark and there was very little joy.

I was tired. I could no longer delude myself that the world was indeed the one I had devised.

Contemporary thought extols the virtues of promoting yourself as a brand. Ironically, the brand that I created for myself was honesty. I fought the causes of the underdog in a positive and constructive way. I took the high road when faced with conflict and said what I feel in a way that would make people hear me, and not feel threatened. I became a master of presentation and could sell anything to anyone.

I was a business and community leader and a donor. I had built a company with six offices around the world, the largest trader of Chrome Ore globally, I was charitable, Chairman of the South African Jewish Report, had donated buildings and was on most donors lists. I was taken seriously. There was a lot to be proud of. I didnt gamble. I didnt drink excessively. My marriage was strong, my kids were connected to me and I had real relationships with them. Our home, a magnificent structure, was a warm and welcoming place that saw quite literally hundreds of people, of all ages visiting over the weekend. The kitchen churned out cakes and delicacies, good coffees, single malt whiskeys and good wines (but not in excess of course). The sun always seemed to shine on the beautiful garden and manicured lawns. Our home had become like a community centre where teenagers could gather in safe, but appropriately cool surroundings, and where parents knew that their offspring were cared for. The key to our front door was on the outside door and our home was a place of refuge. Weddings, even those of strangers, were commonplace in our garden and people shook their heads in wonderment. Our goals were lofty and we developed the notion that our responsibility was to do as much good as possible and save the world one person and one cause at a time.