NS business profile: Marc Rich, Glencore's fugitive founder

Glencore's worst kept secret.

Glencore’s worst kept secret – the company’s former name was that of America’s once wealthiest fugitive. When Marc Rich & Co AG was renamed Glencore after a management buyout in 1993, its founder and namesake was already on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List.

Ironically, Marc Rich was not born in the US. He immigrated there in 1941 when his parents fled the war in Belgium. Instead of studying – he enrolled at New York University but dropped out – Rich started his commodities career early at Philipp Brothers (now Phibro LLC).

At Philipp Brothers, Rich pulled off his first Middle Eastern corporate coup. It was 1973, the spring before OAPEC countries imposed the oil export embargo that would wreck havoc on the world’s economies. How he predicted the embargo, and the threefold price increase that accompanied it, is uncertain, but that spring, Rich more or less pioneered a new form of commodities trading. Future trading was the norm in the crude oil market, but realising a price hike was imminent, Rich started buying and selling on the spot (immediate) market. This allowed him to sell on demand as the embargo took effect and, of course, demand and price rose catastrophically.  

Philipp Brothers were appalled, and sold most of the oil before the embargo took effect. Rich resigned and, together with partners Pincus Green and Alec Hackel, founded Marc Rich & Co AG in the laid back rural town of Zug, Switzerland. It was 1974, 20 years before Marc Rich + Co AG would be renamed Glencore, and 37 before its giant IPO.

Trading from his own company, Rich quietly ignored international sanctions. From 1979 to 1993, his company imported 50,000 tons of oil to the heavily sanctioned South African apartheid government according to the Shipping Research Bureau. Then there was Iran.

In the midst of the 1979 hostage crises, the United States banned all oil trading with Iran. Rich, however, ignored these and purchased crude through a maze of front and shell companies.

It was a crime that was only picked up in 1983 by Rudoph Giuliani, then a US Federal Prosecutor. Amid more than 51 counts of tax fraud, $48 m in tax evasion and a 300 year prison sentence, Rich fled to the hills of Zug, not to return to his Fifth Avenue apartment for many years.

Glencore, or Marc Rich + Co AG as it was then, was to remain in Rich’s hands for another 10 years. In 1990, Marc Rich & Co AG became a majority shareholder of another Swiss commodities company called Xstrata.

It was only after nearly bankrupting the company in 1993 through zinc trades that Rich was forced to sell his entire stake of the company to its management. Only then did the company drop the founder’s name, along with his notoriety, to rename itself Glencore.

Bitter at being forced out of his company, where there were already rumours of a Glencore-Xstrata merger, Rich founded another trading company called MRI Trading AG. In 2003, with a $7.5 billion turnover and 240 employees, MRI was sold to Russian Crown Resources.

Rich’s controversy reached its pinnacle when he was pardoned by the US President in 2001. President Clinton made a total of 396 pardons, but the one made to Marc Rich during his last day in office was his most notorious. It emerged only afterwards that Rich’s ex-wife, Denise, was a close friend of the Clintons. The pair had made sizable donations to the Clinton Presidential Library and the Clinton Foundation. 

Although a free man, Rich lives in Switzerland where he enjoys dabbling in the commodities market from time to time. His family office, The Marc Rich Group, guards his estimated $2.5 bn fortune, according to the global wealth consultancy, WealthInsight. This figure includes the superyacht, Lady Joy; a notorious art collection and property in St Moritz, Lucerne, Marbella, Lisbon and Moscow. Through his ‘The Rich Foundation’, he has donated large amounts to Israeli causes and, as a result, been bestowed with honorary doctorates from Bar-Ilan and Ben-Gurion Universities.

No longer a thorn in Glencore’s side, Rich still maintains opinions in the deal that set last week’s headlines: "It is not necessary, because Glencore dominates Xstrata anyway thanks to a large minority stake....The larger a company is, the more market power, it has controlled and thus easier to pricing. In the end, this means higher profits." Rich told the Swiss magazine, Bilanz.

Not that Rich’s opinion counts anymore. No longer a shareholder in either Glencore or Xstrata, he is rarely credited with paving the way for what could be the largest corporate merger in history. As each company comes under scrutiny ahead of the deal, they probably want to forget their match made in lawlessness.

House Hearing on President Clinton's Pardon of Marc Rich. Photograph: Getty Images

Oliver Williams is an analyst at WealthInsight and writes for VRL Financial News

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war