When Gucci Bought Arabian Horses

I was sitting in the office. Mike brought me a message. Can you return this? Lake Geneva, Fall of 1987. The message was from Paul Garwood. He wants to buy some exceptional Arab horses. Please call. Mike Weinstein had the note in hand; he asked me to handle it. And with that, history began the wheels of change.

I returned the call and chatted with the lady on the phone. She identified herself as Linda Garwood, the sister of Paul Garwood's wife. She told me her brother-in-law wanted to buy the best horses in the world; I was eager to participate. She told me when to call so that I could speak to Paul. I called; the man on the other end of the phone had a heavy accent and confirmed he wanted to buy the best Arabian horses in the world. Would I prepare a proposal? Yes, I responded enthusiastically.

Leaving Lake Geneva, I returned home to Scottsdale, where I had just resigned from my position at Karho. I was excited to put together a package of horses for this new enthusiast. Over the following months, we had multiple conversations, where the man on the other end of the phone finally told me his identity, not Paul Garwood, but Paolo Gucci was his real name. Gucci? Yes, that Gucci. He explained the reasons for using an alias; I understood.

Fall turned to winter, Christmas to New Year's, and we rang in 1988 with optimism. The phone conversations continued with Paolo Gucci, but nothing was getting finalized. Frustrated, I went into the Scottsdale show still trying to put this deal together. At this point, we were talking about some of the most spectacular mares in the world. I knew this could be huge, but how to get closure? I kept engaged. The Scottsdale show began. I stayed in touch, trying to find a way to close a deal that could be life-changing. Finally, Paulo offered a plan: as soon as Scottsdale was over, I would fly to London, where we would meet and finalize the deal. I was all in. I was going to London. He told me to check into the Dorchester and await his call. I booked a room at the Dorchester (gulp, the cost was way over what I could afford) and a flight to London; I was off to close this huge deal. 

Arriving in London in late February is not the ideal time to visit the city; it's cold and dreary, but I wasn't there as a tourist; I was there on business. I checked in, apprehensive of what kind of hotel bill I was getting myself into, and promptly called Linda Garwood. ( By now, I knew this was his sister in law). Everything was done by landline, as this preceded the everyday usage of cell phones. Linda welcomed me and informed me that Paolo had gone to Sweden on business, but the moment he returned, he would call me. I was a bit stunned. I had an appointment, I was at a hotel that I couldn't afford, and I was to stay there until he called me. At the time, that meant staying in the room; there was no other way to receive his call, so I waited.

Entertaining oneself in the smallest room available was challenging. I was determined not to miss the call. Periodically, I would call Linda to check in; she told me he would call as soon as he returned. I looked at the room service menu repeatedly. Dover Sole? I had never tried it. But at a considerable price, I don't need it, but I wanted it. I ordered it. And every day after that. The creamy butter sauce on a delicate, beautiful fish, accompanied by luxurious mashed potatoes, was decadent. I shouldn't have, but did, and have been a fan ever since.

Finally, the call came, "Hello, sorry to have made you wait; I've been introducing a line of lampshades. Can you come in the morning"? "Of course," I replied. "Where to"? "Sussex, take this train, and I will meet you." "How will you know me?"  "I know you; wait for me outside the train."

Arriving in Sussex, departing the train, I wondered. But didn't need to, here, on the other side of the tracks, outside the station, was a little man, waving, alongside a small nondescript old model car. Paulo Gucci was very animated, very friendly; it was as though I had known him forever. He had no pretense or formality, just ready to talk, show his horse farm, his house, talk about what he felt about the English food; he was all go, go, go! During that visit, I learned about creating a fake floor to get art out of Italy in a truck and how to meet an opera singer; it was terrific. And the purple room with the priceless Italian artwork was memorable to this day.

The visit ended with a deal done. Money was wired, six horses were purchased, and many more would follow. Kajora was one in this deal. The world was hurtling towards a new future.