Sol

"Within days of the grand opening, most people in South Africa had heard of The Beverly Hills. It became an instant “must-see/must-visit” destination, even to the many who could not afford it. “If they can’t afford it, they can fucking dream about it,” Sol would mutter while lighting yet another Peter Stuyvesant."

"Even before concluding the deal with SAB in 1969, Sol had identified Plettenberg Bay as a potential jewel on the future tourist map of South Africa. The first time he set eyes on it, Plett was a tiny village near the Port Elizabeth (now Gqeberha) end of the Garden Route, which runs primarily from George to Storms River. The village comprised a short main street with a tiny stone church, elevated above two spectacular ocean bays on the southern side. A mountain range to the north curved around the sides of the village until it touched the sea. Cradled by the mountains, this little gem overlooked an ocean replete with whales, dolphins and other exquisite marine life. A small peninsula divided the two bays at the point where the Piesang River trickled – and sometimes gushed – into the sea."

"Sol soaked up every ounce of knowledge that he could from the American. He now had to get back to South Africa and build his mini-Fontainebleau. Even if he did not fully realise it at the time, he had learned far more from Ben Novack than just how to design a resort hotel; he had also seen how to run one. The result was not a 1 000-room beachside hotel in an established resort town but a 72-room replica of the giant Miami hotel, located in an undeveloped village on South Africa’s Natal coast. Sol stopped short of naming his hotel the “Fontainebleau”, which his prospective local clientele would not have understood. Instead, he settled for “The Beverly Hills”. Everyone in South Africa knew what that meant."

"The selection of uMhlanga as a location for his first major foray into the hotel business also highlighted other aspects of Sol’s business philosophy. At the time, the obvious place to build a new hotel would have been Durban’s Marine Parade. The small but elegant Edward Hotel had been successfully trading there for many years, and boarding houses and small hotels for domestic tourism flourished in the area. The Parade offered views of a long, sandy beach that appealed to the tourists who flocked to “Durbs” from the Highveld every year."

"As we passed a huge billboard advertising a Frank Sinatra show, Sol – who was to address an international conference of casino owners and managers but had given little thought to what he would say – exclaimed, “That’s it! That is what I am going to tell them. Las Vegas has lost the plot.” The offending billboard that we’d just passed had announced: “Frank Sinatra – direct from his triumphant performance in New York!” “No one should ever come to Las Vegas from somewhere else,” said Sol. “They should only go somewhere after they have been in Vegas. Vegas used to be first in everything. Entertainment, hotels, gambling; now they even advertise that they are not. This is the fucking kiss of death – and I’m going to tell them!” Which, of course, he did later that night – expletives and all."

"He was not shy to recognise and copy an innovative idea, but he would always find a way to make it better and bigger – and, therefore, completely his own. This was a man who transformed, even invented, the modern hospitality industry in South Africa and went on to build the largest casino resort in the US, the most successful beach resort in the western hemisphere and the most opulent hotel in the Middle East. Sol was indeed the Sun King."

"In the late 1960s, Sol approached Ted Sceales, then the chairman of SAB, with a proposal to build and operate a chain of resort properties in South Africa, aimed at both domestic and foreign tourists. The proposal went way beyond SAB’s modest plan to build motels for travelling salesmen. Sol’s proposal was straightforward. He would contribute his controlling interest in The Beverly Hills and a 50-year land lease that he had recently acquired on Durban’s Marine Parade, while SAB would fund the construction of resort hotels in Durban (on Sol’s land and on other sites), in the Eastern Transvaal (near the Kruger National Park), in Plettenberg Bay on the Garden Route, and at other sites still to be agreed. Financially, Sol’s proposal was simple: SAB would put up the money, he would do the work and they would split the ownership 50/50."

"For a few years, at least to all outward appearances, the marriage stayed on track. But Sol was not cut out to be a devoted family man. His appetite for a bigger and more successful life was far greater. With his rudimentary insight into the hospitality industry, he realised that there was an opportunity just waiting to be exploited. He was tired of auditing others’ books; he wanted his own business, and he believed he knew how to get it."

"Investing in a hotel development in uMhlanga was a huge risk, particularly when the hotel was aimed solely at the wealthy. Sol would probably have preferred Durban’s Marine Parade but simply did not have the funds. And, putting aside the budget limitations, if he had invested in the popular Parade, he would not have been the “first”. In uMhlanga, he was taking a risk on the location but knew that he would be the only one doing so. If he got it right, his hotel would have something that he rated highly: he understood that people paid for exclusivity. In doing so, he set a precedent for a lifetime of being the first to establish exclusive destinations, underpinned by his talent for drama and flair."

"did not take long for Sol to figure out that the planned critical path to construction work was often flawed. He would spot men tiling bathrooms when the plumbing work had not been finished, or painters daubing away at surfaces that would be covered up and did not need paint. He would see men doing nothing because they were waiting for others to finish something before they could start. Although he complained angrily to the general contractor, things rarely improved for long and he would soon be prowling the site again, demanding more efficiency and, of course, at less cost. With a supply of rand notes in the back pocket of his jeans, he would frequently cajole a…"

"He knew little about construction or critical paths of building, but he could see what he could see. He would count the bricks that had been laid day to day. If the difference did not seem reasonable, he would question it. The answers were often unacceptable, and before long, Sol would be yelling at the workmen that he could “fucking well do it better myself”. To the annoyance of the construction firm, some workers did what Sol had suggested: they “fucked off”. Others realised that he was right, and in a strange way, it motivated them to do better and work harder. At least he showed a keen interest in what they were doing. And, to Sol’s surprise, some of those workers suggested shortcuts or ideas that would reduce the cost of the project. Working with the men at the coalface became a lifelong habit of Sol’s, and in the years that followed, it surprised many of his backers and partners."

"Much to the satisfaction of his investors, Sol worked hard at every operational aspect of The Beverly Hills. Just like Ben Novack, his mentor at the Fontainebleau, he was everywhere. He was just as likely to pop up in the laundry or the boiler room as he was to be found at the front desk. He wanted to know what was going on at all times. He knew exactly how many people had visited the Copa or dined in the restaurant the night before. He knew how many check-ins and check-outs there had been and whether he had too many or too few staff on hand. He met his guests frequently and observed his staff while doing so."

"Sol hated not being in control. Throughout his life and career, he was a control freak of note, and so, while others were encouraging him to start the project, he examined every line on the architect’s drawings with a microscopic lens and asked a thousand questions."

"Sol strongly believed in giving his customers more than they expected."

"Sol was seeing what others had missed. It could be the opportunity of a lifetime to enter the mighty North American market. Doing the deal would take guts, but he had plenty of that. He could somehow make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. And, because he did not have the money to do it alone, he would have to convince others that it was a sensible, dream-come-true investment."

"The interiors of the gambling hall, which had been expanded to 9 200m2, were decorated with massive Dale Chihuly glass sculptures and chandeliers. No expense had been spared in creating a glamorous space that could compete with the best in Las Vegas, and Sol had found a new soulmate in Dale."

"I was duly dispatched to Florida’s SeaWorld Orlando. They had plenty of fish there. I found my way to the general manager, and before long, I had the man sufficiently excited about the Paradise Island concept to agree to fly over to meet Sol."

"Construction finally began in 1962 and, to the amazement of the builders, Sol was everywhere. Although his wife, Maureen, and their young family were now residing in Johannesburg, Sol practically camped out in Natal. He visited the building site daily, but mostly at different times. Much to his frustration, he discovered that the people he had interacted with during the planning phase were almost never there. The actual construction work had been delegated to the site foremen. Those who had worked on the designs were nowhere to be seen, apart from monthly review meetings. Sol was apoplectic. The people he had entrusted with control of his project – and, by extension, his money – had presumably moved on to their next project."

"On paper, this looked like a good deal. When I explained it to Sol, he was still doubtful but gave me the green light to carry on, provided that I reinforce with the new partners the Al Capone rule in the contract. This simply said that if any partner was found to be involved in bribery or corruption, Sun would walk away and claim damages for lost profits and expenses to date. I explained this to the three partners. They all laughed but signed anyway."

"To appease the South African haters, Sol offered to introduce Ingraham to Nelson Mandela; in fact, he practically promised to see to it that Mandela would visit the Bahamas as a guest of the prime minister. That would be huge for the islands. If Mandela were to put his stamp of approval on Sol’s ownership of Paradise Island, it would surely seal the deal."

"When I moved back into the corner office in Henley, once again working for Sol, I soon got a call from an old friend who advised me that the Greek government was about to launch a tender process to build and operate a casino in Athens. I had previously looked at acquiring the old casino on Mount Parnitha outside the great city. Despite being exceptionally difficult to access from downtown Athens, the place did very well. To get there, you either drove up a narrow and precarious road from the city or took a jerky old cable car. Now the Greek government apparently saw dollar signs in allowing a modern casino much closer to the city, on the site of an old air-force station abutting the Mediterranean between Athens and the Port of Piraeus. It seemed that for the privilege of building and operating a large casino for a term of 50 years, the government would charge $50 million in key money. It was about to launch a request for candidates to design, build, operate and pay for the casino. I practically salivated at the idea. A casino so close to Athens and with such easy access was a no-brainer. Coupled with the Greeks’ love of gambling, it could be the proverbial licence to print money. I went to tell Sol. “There is no fucking way we are going to operate in Greece,” he muttered. “They are all a bunch of crooks.”"

"Soon came the hammer blow. On the day that the government announced that Sun would be awarded the casino rights for Athens for the next 50 years, I went out with Marc Roussos for a celebratory dinner. We had put in a lot of hard work to win the bid. While we were seated at the dinner table, an acquaintance of Roussos’s strolled up. “You guys did well,” he said, “only having to give a $10 million backhander. You got it cheap.” The whole conversation was in Greek, so I did not understand at first. Then Roussos translated for me. It seemed that it was widely known, including by the press, that at least one of Sun’s Greek partners – if not all of them – had allegedly participated in a huge bribe to ensure that our bid would win. I simply could not believe it. I called the senior partner and demanded a meeting. It was true, the partner confirmed, stating that I must have been naive to think that we could win the bid based only on my excellent presentation. “That’s not the way it works here,” he said with a smile. “What else did you expect?” I did not need to phone Sol to know what to do. I called a partners’ meeting and announced that Sun, despite having won the bid, was walking away and would sue the partners for our costs to date and $10 million. “That’s a number that you seem to like,” I announced as Roussos and I stomped out of the room. When I called Sol to give him first the good news and then the bad, his reaction was immediate. “You did the right thing, Pete. But you had better get your arse out of there before they find you tied to a concrete slab at the bottom of the Med.”"

"When it came to his abode in the south of France, Sol really had some amazing luck. His villa was perched on a hillside on the ocean side of the lower corniche between Beaulieu and Monte Carlo. This heavily trafficked road was a major link between Monaco and Nice. One day, Sol came home to find a huge tunnel-boring truck parked a hundred metres up the road. The authorities had decided to build a tunnel through the mountain, diverting the main road and leaving the old road as a personal drive to Sol’s villa and his only neighbour’s. This unexpected move from the provincial government instantly added millions of euro to the value of Sol’s property."

"On the property front, things could not have been better for Sol. He owned a smart apartment on Cadogan Square, off London’s fashionable Sloane Street. He also had the huge country house, Ibstone, and, in the south of France, a fantastic villa in Èze, a stone’s throw from Monaco on the one side and Nice on the other. In South Africa, he still had Leeukoppie, the sprawling estate on the coast of Hout Bay near Cape Town that he’d bought during his brief marriage to Miss World. And, of course, there was Sun Manor in Johannesburg. In addition, Sol continued to be the proud owner of a luxurious private jet that he kept in Farnborough in the UK. Strangely, he seemed most at home on the jet."

"As the days passed, Sol never left the house. Others rallied around with support. Everyone preached the same message, that it was not Sol’s fault, but not all of them believed what they were saying. There was no denying that Sol had been an absent husband, but he now needed practical help. Sol told me that he intended to resign to concentrate on the children, but then Colin Hall from SAB located a prospective nanny in then-Rhodesia of whom he had heard good things. She seemed to be an ideal prospect."

"After several months of lobbying, Sol got his way. The French government amended the gaming laws to allow slot machines under conditions that suited Sol and SPIC. The aim was now to buy up as many casinos as possible in French towns, small and large, before anyone else cottoned on to the revenue potential of the machines. The acquisition of the Casino Le Ruhl was followed by three smaller casinos in the south of France. The new gaming laws imposed a low tax on slots. In Nice, Sol quickly installed 350 slot machines in the basement of the casino, with easy access from the Promenade des Anglais and the car park to the downtown shopping area. It was a licence to print money. The “win” from each machine was more than $500 per day – four times the average yield in Las Vegas. Slot machines were also installed in the smaller casinos along the coast, and SPIC was off to the races."

"The first opportunity popped up before I had even packed my bags in Florida to return to the UK. “Change of plan,” said Sol from Ibstone. “Don’t come here now. I want you to go to Panama. They are looking for someone to buy their nationalised casinos. Might be worth looking at.” “Want to go to Panama?” I asked Diana as I ended the call. “I’ve got to go there tomorrow.” Diana smiled. “I thought we were going to London?” “Change of plan – temporarily.” “Here we go. We’re back on the roller-coaster. Yes, of course, I’ll come to Panama with you. It’s a place that we’ve never been to.” In the end, Panama came to nothing. Bribes would be involved in the deal, which was asking for trouble."

"As I drove them back into the city, the chief’s son suddenly announced, to my surprise, that, after discussions with his father, the cabinet would sign the deal with me. The “key” money payment for the rights would be R1.9 million. If I could go to KwaNdebele the following week, the signing would take place. I was truly delighted but also surprised. “Why, may I ask,” I said, “have you agreed to sign now?” They explained that Diana had shown them my bed. “We have seen the bed you sleep in. In our society we have a saying, ‘You can never trust a man until you have seen the bed he sleeps in.’” “Good God,” I thought, “Sol didn’t need to take them all the way to Japan; he could have just taken them to Sun Manor.”"

"frustrated working for a demanding and ill-tempered boss. One day, just over a year after I had taken control of the South African Sun International company, I received a phone call from Bacon. He was at his lowest ebb and could not take the abuse from Sol any longer. He wanted out, and he wondered if I would be interested in taking him on as deputy managing director in the South African company. He knew, of course, that Sol was a director of Sun International, but at least it would put distance between him and his soon-to-be ex-boss. I had no objection, but I had to consult Sol. He agreed in a flash. What he had in mind was to swap Bacon for me. He told me he was more confident that he would make international deals with me at his side. To me, however, the deal was not that attractive. I would have been happy to have the other Peter as my deputy and remain in South Africa, but I did not relish the idea of relinquishing my role and returning to the UK just as we had settled down. The thought of telling Diana that we would never move into the house in Bryanston that she had just finished furnishing was not one to relish. The poor woman had been through so many changes already, and she deserved a break. But to my surprise, my wife, the trooper that she was, somewhat reluctantly agreed. Once again, we were on the move."

"Sol had always been a fan of the entertainment provided in Vegas. He was determined that “his” shows in the Sun City theatre should equal or surpass the high standards set in Nevada. It would require a big budget and a super-sharp professional team of producers and performers."

"That’s the problem with value engineering. It’s easy to cut a bit here and there, but you just never know when you have cut too far and lost the impact.’” To Sol, every decision on detail was important. He preached it and demanded it, and he hated being lied to by his managers. He could spot a lie a mile off. He could smell a lie. And once he had caught you lying, he…"

"In consultation with Sol, we determined that 2 000 visitors might show up on day one, and the catering facilities were equipped, stocked and staffed accordingly. As it transpired, 7 000 bodies were bussed up the hill from the car park on the day. We were overwhelmed. The restaurants could not cope, the bars were swamped and the toilets were a disgrace – but, thankfully, there were lines at every slot machine and table. Everything that could go wrong did. Bacon and I were run ragged fighting fires. The new man, Wagner, looked on in terror. At 2am after the first day, I practically ordered a hollow-faced Bacon to go to bed. The man was exhausted. I, too, was shattered, but the adrenalin kept surging. I finally sought the haven of my room at about 3am. At 7am, the phone rang. It was Sol, summoning me to meet him in the office behind the front desk. I was sure that I was going to be fired. After all, I had been assigned to cope with the deluge of the opening day, and I was fully expecting a repeat performance on day two. I dragged myself to the office. Sol, who had also had little sleep, was sitting at a desk with paper and pencil. Despite his fatigue, his countenance was breezy. He did not look as if he was about to fire his chief executive. “Sit down, Pete,” he instructed. “We’ve got work to do.” I sat down nervously. “Sol, I know there’s a hell of a lot of cleaning up to get on with and preparation for—” Sol interjected, “No, man, Peter Bacon can get on with that. What we’ve got to do is build another hotel – fast. We’ve cracked it, man. This place is going to be a success. We need more rooms!”"

"The bid was accepted after I spent a lot of time schmoozing with the owner, Bill Zeckendorf Jr, one of New York’s most eminent landowners. However, Sol refused to let me proceed until he had personally inspected the property – but he never came. He also wanted to stamp his authority on the deal by insisting that Zeckendorf lower the agreed price by $250 000. Both Zeckendorf and Stigwood were frustrated with Sol’s delays and prevarications, and they eventually walked away from the deal."

"Sol also knew that almost all hotel supplies were things that his staff needed too. Whether it was bedsheets or the food in the kitchen, the hotel storerooms and bedrooms were full of items that the employees could use in their own homes. Therefore, we needed proper control and inventory procedures – but the best control of all was managing it by walking around. Sol drummed this into his managers and got angry if they did not practise it. He hated it when they sat in their offices. He wanted them to be out and about, witnessing what was going on…"

"In designing his Sun City theatre, Sol decided it was a theatre, not a restaurant. People came to watch a show, and there were plenty of restaurants right outside in the lobby. He also wanted his patrons to be seated comfortably, not on cramped little seats. So, the 600-seat theatre had wide, luxurious seats with plenty of legroom and a rake steep enough that even the shortest of patrons would have an excellent view."

"For most people, owning a private jet, particularly one with the range to cross the Atlantic, would seem like an expensive and self-indulgent luxury. Sol would have been the first to agree, but given the amount of travel that his business demanded, he had rationalised plane ownership as a necessity rather than a luxury. And, as it turned out, putting aside the cost to the environment, his foray into jet ownership was not expensive at all. He bought his first plane for R11 million when the rand was worth more than the US dollar. As the rand plummeted, the value of the…"

"What was real, however, was the opportunity to establish a chain of resorts of the same quality as Southern Sun somewhere else in the world. The financial performance of the company over its first five years had been outstanding, achieving well over 20% annual compound growth in profits. In the days before the digital era, this rate of growth was unheard of, and it had attracted the attention of investors both in South Africa and abroad. The time was right, it seemed to Sol and Dick Goss, to take Southern Sun abroad. Dick favoured Europe, but Sol had his eye on a bigger prize: the US."

"Regarding the management of his hotels and resorts, Sol was a great proponent of the “management by walking around” method. “If you walk around enough,” he would tell his managers, “you will…"

"Sol soon set up an office on Jermyn Street, London, which he shared with Charles Fiddian-Green of Rennies and a young Johann Rupert. Peter Bacon, who had also left South Africa with his then-wife Vicky and their three girls, joined the rebounding Sol, too. Peter and Vicky bought a home in Hampstead from the musician Sting. Their hopes of settling down in London were quickly dashed, however, as Sol put together a deal in Monte Carlo, Monaco, to create Monte Carlo Sporting, a proposed leisure and sport centre with, of course, a casino. Bacon therefore moved to Monte Carlo."

"Sol was also a stickler for detail, something he also hammered into his managers. Years later, his highly professional marketing executive, Howard Karawan, told this story: “We were walking around the construction site of the Royal Towers at Atlantis in the Bahamas, and I looked at a tradesman doing some plastering work some 40 feet above the Great Hall of Waters lobby. I said to Sol, ‘Nobody is going to pick up on the detail in the ceiling. Why don’t we value-engineer it out and save a few bucks?’ “Sol…"

"Why were Southern Sun hotels so successful? How were they different from the hotels that had gone before them? First, there was Sol’s belief that a hotel had be more than just a place to sleep and to satisfy your hunger. Those were just the basics to provide – the things that guests expected but which did not necessarily bring them satisfaction."

"For most of our staff, particularly on the lower rungs of the business, Sol was a legend – a leader they looked up to and were proud to work for. He was not a snob by any means, nor was his head turned by the levels of luxury that he sought to provide for others."

"It also highlighted Sol’s talent for and obsession with siting his buildings in exactly the right spot. In this case, as you arrived at the hotel, the view through the long lobby was straight onto the bluest stretch of ocean water along the beach. A few metres one way or the other, and the view would not have been that good."

"“But Sol,” insisted Patrick, “they shouldn’t be here. I can’t plant things that don’t belong. The next thing you’ll want is roses.” Sol kept trying to reason with Patrick, who remained stubborn about the purity of his landscape design. Finally, Sol lost his patience. “Listen, my friend. I don’t give a fuck about your fucking purity. The guests will want palms, I want palms – so plant the fucking palms, or fuck off!” Patrick planted them."

"This was also the project where Sol developed his life-long belief that landscaping was the secret to successful resort design. Clever landscaping can obscure an ugly or boring building."

"at the new Le Saint Géran in Mauritius, Sol embarked on a love affair with landscaping. The relatively simple and mundane buildings were unnoticeable because the beautiful gardens simply obscured them."

"As was his way, Sol had again been overseas to “investigate”, taking Barry King and his sketchpad along. The pair had been particularly impressed by Chez Régine in Paris and New York, where Barry had sat with his pad under the table."

"For several nights before the nearly 400 guests invaded, Sol hardly slept. Like the Duracell battery in the adverts, he just kept going – and bit by bit, corner by corner, things fell into place. The last thing to do was to tarmac the sloped drive from the road up to the entrance of the building. At 10pm the night before the opening, Gordon and I were astounded to see our boss wielding a rake as he smoothed out the hot, black goo right up to the front door. Finally, at midnight, just hours before opening, the hotel was ready – or, to be precise, the hotel building was ready."

"With the clock ticking and only two weeks to the deadline, Sol was still making changes to the construction work and adjusting costs in his quest to improve the finished product. As he flew over the unfinished building en route to Plett airport from Johannesburg for one final “push”, he asked the pilot to make another pass over the building. “Shit!” he said loudly. “We’ve built the wrong fucking pool!” Since Sol’s last visit a couple of weeks earlier, Gordon Hood had started and finished construction of the hotel’s swimming pool, a rectangular structure in the centre of the beach-facing garden. Sol, browsing an international travel magazine on the plane, had just seen a picture of a resort swimming pool of highly irregular shape, wrapping its way around a rocky crag and an island bar. It was, at the time, an extremely unusual design. “Shit,” said Sol again. “We should have fucking well done that.” When he reached the construction site, he stomped into the hotel lobby, head down and walking swiftly with distinct purpose. Gordon was waiting for him. “Fuck, Gordie,” said Sol, even before greeting his colleague. “We’ve built the wrong fucking pool!” Gordon had no idea what Sol was talking about. In fact, he was proud of the pool project he had just overseen. He thought it looked great. “No, man,” Sol ranted on, seeing that Gordon was about to get defensive. “Look at this.” He thrust the travel magazine in Gordon’s face. “Come on, man. We haven’t got much fucking time. Let’s find a place for a new pool, and rip that one out.” Gordon looked at the magazine as he scurried after his boss. He liked the picture, but he did not like the idea of ripping up what he had just painstakingly built. “It can’t be that important,” he mumbled to himself, “and we are already over budget for the job. Building a new pool will just exacerbate the problem.” As he hurried along behind a striding Sol, he tried to protest. “But Sol, we can’t afford to build a new pool. We don’t have the budget.” “Now listen to me, Gordie,” his boss retorted. “If we don’t change it now, we never will – and that would be a huge mistake. So, fuck the budget. Rip this one out and build another.” Sol was right, of course."

"Although they had been taught the differences between Burgundy and Claret, Champagne and Prosecco and so on during their training, by the end of service they were resorting to “red”, “pink” or “white” in their descriptions of the copious wine list. As things started to go wrong, Sol’s anger rose. He’d had no time during construction to concern himself with service; now his attention was clearly required. His scowling face told me everything. But then two strange things happened. Shirley, sensing that her fiancé was about to blow a fuse, got him to laugh. She was the only person in the world who could do that when tensions were running high. Second, the seasoned travellers who were our guests found the restaurant experience charming. They knew that they were in Africa, that the hotel had just opened its doors and that the staff were doing their best. In fact, the people who had arrived that day were so impressed by the achievement of building and opening such a unique place that Sol could have served them baked beans on toast and gotten away with it. They were in awe of him, and as they drifted out of the restaurant to the bar or to bed, many told him so. As chaotic as it had been, the first day in the life of the Beacon Isle was over. Somehow we had managed to pull it off."

"Since there were no other prospective buyers, Sol carved out a fabulous deal for Southern Sun that left Stanley and Bea almost nothing but the “Roller” and the diamonds. However, in addition to the three buildings in Johannesburg, the deal included a small hotel near Marble Arch in London – the Montcalm, a curved white terraced building that the Tollmans had recently acquired. It seemed nice, but neither Sol nor I had seen it. I was quite pleased that a hotel in central London would shortly be added to my portfolio. It would be useful to me personally. I was, however, somewhat taken aback when Sol and I were driving to the meeting to sign off on the deal and Sol suddenly announced, “You know what? We should let the poor Tollmans keep the Montcalm. Neither of us has even seen it, it’s not very big and how are we going to manage it from here? No, let’s be nice. Let’s let them keep it.”"

"In South Africa, the construction industry practically shuts down from mid-December to mid-January. If the building was not finished in time, there would be a delay of up to two months. The only guaranteed customers would arrive over this period, and missing the proposed opening date would be a disaster. If Sol and Gordon did not have the hotel ready by 5 December, Sol’s reputation would take a severe hit – as would his pockets and the confidence of his investors. Not completing the Beacon Isle on time was simply not an option."

"What I did not find were any of the morning kitchen staff who were supposed to be signing in to prepare the breakfast, nor any of the staff who had to prepare the restaurant for service. As the minutes ticked by, any hope of having workers to prepare and serve breakfast for up to 400 guests began to evaporate. I rushed back to my room and woke up Diana. “Round up as many wives and partners as you can. I am going to need every bit of help in the kitchen and dining room. Now!” I then called Sol. Shirley answered, and I explained the situation. I would be supervising in the kitchen. As my bleary-eyed crew of bookkeepers, housekeepers and wives slowly traipsed into the kitchen, I handed out the jobs. Adele Lucas, the effervescent public relations executive, was primed to handle the door, while Sol pressed oranges. Shirley boiled eggs while I orchestrated a simple breakfast buffet."

"It was also crucial to fill the place from day one, as had been his practice at the Elangeni and the Malibu – especially as the window of opportunity was tight: he needed to get as many patrons as possible through the doors in December and January. Word of mouth had to spread to Johannesburg, the hotel’s prime market. And so Sol decided to offer, for a limited period only, ridiculously low room rates. By restricting sales to a package that comprised room, breakfast and dinner, and by…"

"Stanley and Bea Tollman owned three hotels in Johannesburg: the Tollman Towers and the Rand International downtown, and the newly opened Tollman Airport Hotel. To complete the airport building, their finances had been severely stretched and they had filed for bankruptcy. (Not that anyone would have guessed this, as Stanley still drove around town in a new Rolls-Royce, always puffing on a Cuban cigar, and Bea’s finger sported one of the largest diamonds that Sol and I had ever seen.)"

"On 6 December 1964, The Beverly Hills opened with a splash. Sol organised the biggest fireworks display that South Africa, at that point, had ever seen. Pictures of the hotel, the party and the glamorous invitees were plastered all over the front pages of every newspaper in the country and beyond. Articles soon appeared in magazines and journals in countries that had been carefully selected by Sol as potential sources of business. Back then, the printed word or photograph was the most important means of promotion, long before social media and influencers. Sol was demonstrating what would become one of his most potent tools: his ability to promote his unique products."

"What Sol and Barry created at the Landdrost was remarkable, especially considering that the basic structure had not been designed as a hotel. As usual, Sol was not shy to copy a good idea. The restaurant, Barnato’s, was a knock-off of the Rib Room at the Carlton Tower in London, with a brilliant innovation: a special dining table set up under a chandelier in the heart of the kitchen. Recognising the power of celebrity, Sol set out to position the Landdrost as the hotel of choice for the rich and famous in Joburg. He loaded the new hotel with sumptuously decorated suites and a fabulous nightclub, cheekily called Annabel’s after London’s celebrity-packed disco nightclub. Annabel’s boasted columns around the dance floor that, when the cabaret acts appeared, miraculously disappeared into the glass ceiling."

"Having settled on a finishing date, Sol would share it with the travel trade, which meant that they could take bookings in advance, knowing they would be honoured. This meant, of course, that he would have immediate cash flow from the established opening date. It also meant that the hotel staff had to be ready. There was no debate. There was, in Sol’s…"

"Two weeks later, Sol was back at the Carlton Tower to offer me a job as personnel director of Southern Sun. He explained that he had started a fledgling hotel company, but his goal was to develop a chain of resorts across South Africa and beyond. He needed a man who knew where to find – and how to attract – quality hotel management, and he believed that man was me. I was taken aback by the offer. I thanked Sol for his interest but politely explained that I had no intention of leaving my current managerial job and no interest in working in South Africa."

"When Sol proudly announced to his investors that construction had come in well below budget, they were thrilled – that is, until he told them, and not for the last time in his life, that he would blow the difference on the opening party."

"The attraction between Sol and SAB was too strong for them not to work out a deal, and it was finally agreed that SAB would fund his resort chain. Provided he continued to match their investment with 10% of his own, he could also maintain 10% ownership in all the properties. He would, however, be given a management contract for their operation, which he would own outright."

"The two sides clearly had different views regarding their new arrangement. To SAB, Sol’s new Southern Sun was a subsidiary of their huge company. To Sol, SAB was his banker, not his boss. However, to protect their position, SAB insisted on planting two of their men in Southern Sun’s management company – one at a very senior level and the other in administration. Gordon Hood, a long-time SAB employee, was duly installed in Southern Sun, effectively as Sol’s “number two”."