Azcárraga

"The old man’s strategy worked better than he could have imagined. At the suggestion of his friend Gerardo Rodríguez, with whom he used to go horseback riding every morning, Emilio traveled to San Sebastián, Spain. There, through Gerardo’s friends, he joined a circle of friends that included several expatriate French. At a party he met a young and wealthy Parisian girl, who would surely meet Don Emilio’s approval. Her name was Pamella de Surmont, and she would be the next Mrs. Azcárraga."

"On one occasion, Miguel Sabido, head of research at Televisa and a theater director, got into an argument with the boss when he learned that Azcárraga planned to get rid of the Alameda Theater, a renowned movie palace that had belonged to the family since the 1930s. “Please, don’t give it away,” Sabido complained, horrified. “It’s mine,” Azcárraga replied. In a theatrical outburst—very much in his style—Sabido knelt down and began to plead: “Not the Alameda!… Not the Alameda!… Please!” Somewhere between astonishment and anger, Azcárraga shouted at him: “Get up, you fucking bastard, you’re a vice president of Televisa!” Nonetheless, Sabido kept protesting until Azcárraga, exasperated and unable to hide a smile, gave in: “All right, we won’t give away the Alameda.”"

"Some journalists who wrote about him claimed it was due to the streak of gray hair he combed back, which enhanced his stately bearing. Businessmen attributed the nickname to his tendency to pounce on some coveted asset or to rush into a new venture; his decisions seemed based more on animal instinct than on any analysis. “If you propose an idea to him, right then he tells you whether he’ll buy it or whether he thinks you’re stupid,” said Ambassador Agustín Barrios Gómez, who worked for many years at Televisa. “He never says ‘Call me Monday.’ It’s ‘Let’s do it’ or ‘Fuck off.’” Rather than spend time reading up on a subject, Azcárraga preferred to seek out experts, bombard them with questions, and then make a quick, Solomonic decision."

"Like his father, Azcárraga devoted many of his resources, both personal and professional, to the poor. Publicly, he believed that his television channels served the humble classes by giving them free entertainment. Privately, in one of the lesser-known aspects of his life, he made secret donations—from his own pocket and not from Televisa—to numerous charitable projects. These included shelters for street children and people with disabilities, as well as schools in Chiapas. He also contributed to the environmental advocacy group Greenpeace and funded trips for nuns to Rome. Very few knew about these donations, since he usually sent them anonymously, asking his trusted secretaries or some executives to handle the transfer of the funds. He did not like to be thanked, and even less when the gratitude was emotional, because it totally disconcerted him."

"The sharp angles of Azcárraga’s personality were most evident in his language. Just like his father, he had the habit of addressing people by calling them “dumbass,” and he enjoyed using threatening expressions when he wanted something done. “I’ll hang you by your balls if you don’t do it on time!” he would shout at his employees, or as he threatened his Buenos Aires executives when launching Televisa Argentina: “And whoever doesn’t understand my words and doesn’t achieve the objectives will be speaking in a very high-pitched voice.”"

"Contradiction is perhaps the term that best synthesizes Azcárraga’s character, but it would rather be his capricious nature and his interest in control—in some way, those very contradictory forces are the principal determinants in the trajectory of his life. His autocratic leadership style was not simply a habit typical of Mexican businessmen. His temperamental outbursts—of anger, generosity, or enthusiasm—stemmed from something more than a magnate’s tendency to give free rein to his ego."

"It also illustrates his influence on power that Joaquín Vargas had to wait almost five years to operate a pay-television concession in Mexico City. Azcárraga filed an injunction to delay the entry of this new signal, Multivisión, since it would compete directly with his company Cablevisión. The only explanation that President Miguel de la Madrid gave Don Joaquín was that he would have to wait because Televisa was “very important” to him. Days before his six-year term ended, De la Madrid authorized the concession of Multivisión to begin operations."

"Azcárraga held two beliefs that he defended with conviction: one, in his own greatness, demonstrated both in his boldness and in his arrogance; and two, faith in the power and importance of images, especially when transmitted by television."

"This was not as manipulative as it might seem. When he was young, seeking to craft his public persona, he certainly calculated the effect of these confidences. But once he was firmly established as El Tigre, that behavior was by then, without a doubt, part of his nature. Moreover, there was also Azcárraga’s sentimentality; when he said: “No one but you,” he surely felt that way."

"Moreover, for most of his reign, Televisa was subject to a highly centralized decision-making system, even by Latin American standards. When Azcárraga left the country, as happened frequently, operations beyond day-to-day entertainment production practically ground to a halt. The court barely functioned without the king. Co-investment projects lost momentum, the launch of subsidiaries was delayed, and new programs piled up waiting for the green light. To the repeated frustration of its foreign partners, clients, and suppliers, the refusal to delegate decisions was emulated by executives across much of the company."

"Azcárraga enjoyed a strong presence among lower-ranking workers; following his father’s example, he visited the San Ángel studios every month to peek in on how the latest telenovela was going and to lift morale. His arrival seemed to make the earth tremble; conversations would abruptly stop. But then, surrounded by a crowd, the boss would set about asking about their families, congratulating the actresses on their marriages, lamenting that a relative was ill, or cracking jokes with the older employees. Almost everyone was proud that El Tigre was their boss."

"“Televisa is the owner of the free time of Mexicans,” Monsiváis has said. And Azcárraga embraced that. For him, the goal of his family business was to be able to guarantee entertainment through television, radio, magazines, film, video, soccer, bullfighting, and even museums. He also believed he was the only one who could do it."

"It is common for television executives to extol the success of certain programs, the financial strength of their company, or the prospects of new technologies, but it is rare for them to praise television in an abstract sense. That was Azcárraga’s pleasure and his forte. He usually did so in private, sometimes during spontaneous appearances at special events, and on one unprecedented occasion, during a formal interview."

"Although there is no doubt he was a man of the system, Azcárraga never courted officials. He spoke with presidents as equals and handled his affairs with the top tier of the cabinet, not with ceremony or reverence, but as if he were closing yet another deal with some partner or client, and to some extent that is what it was: Televisa served the system and the system served Televisa."

"Emilio Jr. made other loyal friends among the TSM executives, learning from his father what was required to establish himself as “the boss.” There was, for example, Aurelio Pérez, who came to TSM in 1955 after having been head of production at Channel 4. That year Pérez got married and felt flattered when Emilio, who was seven years younger, agreed to be his best man. When Pérez returned from his honeymoon, Emilio told him that he was aware that, since his father had died, Aurelio now had to support two households, his mother’s and his own. Therefore, Emilio had decided to grant him a raise. Anticipating his employees’ needs and showing them gestures of generosity, in private, was a gift that the young Azcárraga inherited and that he would practice throughout his life."

"Don Emilio’s favorite was Fernando Diez Barroso. Married to Laura Azcárraga, his eldest daughter, Diez Barroso served as the company’s chief administrator and chief financial officer. Since Othón Vélez Sr. had remained at XEW-Radio and because television had become Azcárraga’s main interest, Diez Barroso once again became Don Emilio’s right-hand man. This hierarchy, together with his undeniable professional talents and his close relationship with the Azcárraga family through his marriage to one of the daughters, made him the apparent heir to the leadership of TSM. In a bitter irony, Diez Barroso had a nickname that Emilio Jr. surely felt ought to be his: The Prince."

"In his quest to prove that he could be a businessman on his own, the young Azcárraga invested in several independent companies. One of them, which he had started shortly before Emilio and Silvia met, was Super Remate de Autos. The idea was to sell used cars and loose spare parts through long advertisements that ran on Channel 2 on weekend mornings, airtime for which there was little demand. The business was launched in 1954 and was so successful that it continued for 19 years. Don Emilio did not grant him loans, but beginning in 1955 Emilio Jr. was able to obtain his own capital by offering his shares in TSM as collateral. Thus, he invested in the first Broadway musicals that came to Mexico, including Bells Are Ringing (Ring-ring, Love Calls), which starred Pinal. Although audience response was good, the 12-peso cap that the government imposed on ticket prices prevented these shows from turning a profit."

"An unconditional ally of the president of the Republic —more unconditionally with some than with others— and of the PRI, Azcárraga did not conceal his partisanship or his willingness to support the official party with money or in kind. Every time an electoral process approached, Azcárraga would make off-the-cuff remarks at official events about his support for the PRI. The quotations varied, but in essence he repeated the same words: “We are with the PRI, our boss is the president of the Republic, and we are part of the system.”"

"Even though Don Emilio was promoting his son as an executive, he did not give him special treatment in day-to-day work. He was concerned about and disapproved of the playboy turn his son’s life had taken after Gina’s death. Don Emilio thought that the only way his son would mature would be if he put more energy behind the desk and less in bars and bedrooms. Emilio Jr. liked to argue about everything and often interrupted his father, so he was frequently reprimanded: “Don’t be stupid, this is a serious business!” or “Let’s see, Mr. Know-it-all!” On one occasion, Don Emilio explained this strict attitude to a friend: “I demand a lot from my son for two reasons: because he is Emilio and because he is an Azcárraga.”"

"By the time Don Emilio decided to scale back his daily activities, he had already begun to shed some of his other businesses to prioritize investments in TSM. The first thing he gave up was his equity stake in the film industry. Paradoxically, Azcárraga had enjoyed an enviable position in it. He was president and co-owner of Estudios Churubusco — which since 1947 had produced more than half of Mexican films — and the owner of about 20 movie theaters. But the golden age of Mexican cinema had begun to decline at a time when Azcárraga needed cash to establish Channel 2. In 1952 he initially sold a portion of his shares in Churubusco to Gabriel Alarcón, one of the leading theater owners. As the decade went on, the film industry declined even further, as the audience for Mexican cinema, both in Mexico and in South America, shrank while American films gained ground."

"Azcárraga and his partners invested first in San Antonio, the Texas city where he went to school and where his son was born. In September 1961, they put up $200,000 to acquire KCOR-TV (Channel 41), which had been founded in 1955 as the country’s first all-Spanish station and obtained most of its programming from TSM. Unfortunately for its founder, Raúl Cortez, it had never sold enough ads to be profitable. Fortunately for Don Emilio, Cortez—who had been resisting the idea of new shareholders—chose to throw in the towel just as the Mexican government’s complaints about TSM imports were reaching a climax. Close to the border, an affiliate station in San Antonio would be the perfect anchor for a string of acquisitions in the United States. Fouce and Noble took 20% each. Azcárraga kept the legal maximum of 20% in shares, but since his employees Anselmo and Kaufman took 35% and 5%, respectively, and since Noble was surely a front man for Don Emilio, he was in fact illegally controlling a majority of 80%. There were no objections from the powerful regulatory body, the Federal Communications Commission (FCC); this was, for the time being, too small a business to attract Washington’s attention."

"But Anselmo did fall in love with Mexico. He and his wife Mary stayed for 12 years and had three children. Anselmo wrote copy for radio commercials for JWT, and in his free time directed plays for the English-speaking community theater group. He quickly built a network of contacts in the Mexican media and ventured into Spanish-language theater. Since at that time Emilio Jr. was also dabbling in theater, it was inevitable that their paths would cross. In 1954, Emilio and René became friends. Over the following years, together with Luis de Llano of TSM, they produced various Broadway musicals. Generally, Azcárraga provided the capital, Anselmo produced, and De Llano directed. For those who worked with the trio, René was the diplomat: if Emilio lost his temper with someone, René would smooth things over, waiting until his friend was out of earshot to say, “Don’t worry, what Emilio meant is…”"

"“Is that what I pay you so much for?” —Azcárraga complained—. “So you can wear the badge on your balls?” A terrifying silence fell. El Tigre had roared. But the employee managed to mumble a reply. Bringing his hand to his throat, he exclaimed: “No, sir, I keep those here.” Azcárraga burst into a tremendous laugh, one of those broad and sonorous guffaws of his that were characteristic of him. Nervous, his employees began to chuckle under their breath. When the elevator reached his floor, Azcárraga took off his Rolex and gave it to the worker. “You deserve it, you bastard,” he said, and walked out through the doors."

"Azcárraga knew not only what a few personal remarks meant to certain employees, but how effective they proved if spoken rarely but with emphasis. In the course of some conversation he might comment to an actor that such-and-such new venture was causing problems, or to a sales agent that a certain program was a disaster. He could reveal vulnerable details; he could even sound depressed or say: “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” The employee, flattered to have earned Don Emilio’s trust in a matter about which he knew little, would reiterate absolute confidence in Azcárraga’s leadership. Then the boss would drop a brief but memorable compliment like: “You know what? No one had told me what you’re telling me,” and the result of the brief conversation was the employee’s admiration and loyalty strengthened."

"This does not mean that Azcárraga was a man without convictions, a businessman interested only in expanding his empire. His political affiliation, his Guadalupanism, and his family values were sincere, and heartfelt, up to a certain point. Although all of them raise doubts as to their expediency and benefit."

"Upon launching KMEX, Don Emilio made another smart decision: to create an independent company—a “network” in industry terms—that would be 100% owned by him and would supply programs to the two stations. He called it Spanish International Network (SIN). This network acquired the rights to TSM’s programs for later sale to the stations. It also set out to boost national advertising sales to complement those the stations made locally, as well as TSM’s international sales. Since SIN had a captive market and a small staff, its profitability was a sure bet. The stations, given the cost of equipment, the purchase of programs, and the costs of producing local newscasts, would take much longer to recoup the investment, but that did not worry Azcárraga because he shared ownership of the stations, whereas he could legally hold outright ownership of SIN. Separating SIN from the stations, while ensuring the stations’ complete dependence on the former, was the second maneuver that, although very astute at the time, would cause serious tensions among the partners in the decades to come."

"But in Mexico, between 1955 and 1968 (and again after 1972), there were no rival “studios,” no place that dissatisfied actors and singers could turn to, aside from poorly paid jobs in theater or some role in the decaying film industry. It wasn’t as much of a problem for the big stars who were well paid and pampered, but for those who were not so famous work was often scarce. Even with three television networks and two radio networks, the Azcárraga empire could not offer employment to everyone at the same time. Those who had no work were forced to wait to be called for the next variety show or series, or chuck it all and risk ending up blacklisted by RPM/TSM for performing for independent stations. Either way, it was a difficult decision."

"Azcárraga’s main maneuver was to sell Radio Programas de México. His partner in the network, Clemente Serna Martínez, had been pressuring Azcárraga to define his stake. “Let me buy your share or I’ll sell you mine,” Serna went so far as to tell him. Since Don Emilio was investing most of his radio profits in TSM, and as many performers increasingly had to choose between working for radio or for television (with Azcárraga pressuring them to choose the latter), Serna was concerned about the evident conflict of interest. In 1961, Azcárraga completed the sale of his shares in RPM in favor of Serna and kept only a few stations, among them his beloved XEW and XEQ. As part of the deal, Serna ceded his stake in TSM’s stations in the provinces. Azcárraga owned shares in broadcasters outside RPM, and he sold most of these to his nephew Rogerio Azcárraga, who grouped these and others into the Organización Radio Fórmula."

"Although the nickname El Tigre has a unique origin, there is a trace of truth in each and every version of its meaning. There is also a bit of myth. Any man who reaches the pinnacle of fame inevitably finds himself surrounded by misperceptions that, through repetition, become an important part of his public image. Azcárraga was aware of the value of popular myth and he himself fed the blurry line between facts and fiction. Neither he nor those close to him tried to correct the errors and exaggerations the press published."

"Azcárraga had, however, a talent that is fundamental in a manager: fostering the loyalty and dedication of his people. He managed to inspire those closest to him with private sermons in which he conveyed his enthusiasm for the television business. “Look, Gastón,” he once said to Gastón Melo, his personal assistant in the nineties, “if you’re going to work with me, I want you to know what communication is. Transportation (what moves on land, ships at sea, buses) is what politicians see as the means of communication” —he paused to achieve greater effect and concluded—: “I see the air, Gastón. That’s my business.”"

"Azcárraga sometimes differed from some government positions, but those disagreements rarely came to light. In private he expressed support for the legalization of drugs, a policy that a wing of the government viewed favorably but which publicly has been unacceptable. In the mid-1990s, Azcárraga told the U.S. financial daily The Wall Street Journal: “There is no way to stop the drug traffickers except through the legalization of drugs. There is too much money at stake.” That is what he thought, but he never took the initiative to start a campaign in this regard. He respected the official position."