书名：Barbarians at the Gate: The Fall of RJR Nabisco口的野蛮人
作者：Bryan Burrough;John Helyar
商品尺寸：13.5 x 3.6 x 20.3 cm
Barbarians at the Gate《口的野蛮人》（20周年纪念版），华尔街商战纪实经典！
“《口的野蛮人》是值得企业家和银行家阅读的书。想要进入企业界和银行界的年轻人也应该读这本书。警惕口的野蛮人。贪婪意味着毁灭，脚踏实地干实业才是正路。” ——刘妹威 财经大学中国企业研究中心主任，研究员
A #1 New York Times bestseller and arguably the best business narrative ever written,Barbarians at the Gateis the classic account of the fall of RJR Nabisco. An enduring masterpiece of investigative journalism by Bryan Burrough and John Helyar, it includes a new afterword by the authors that brings this remarkable story of greed and double-dealings up to date twenty years after the famed deal.The Los Angeles TimescallsBarbarians at the Gate, “Superlative.” TheChicago Tribuneraves, “It’s hard to imagine a better story...and it’s hard to imagine a better account.” And in an era of spectacular business crashes and federal bailouts, it still stands as a valuable cautionary tale that must be heeded.
“It’s hard to imagine a better story...and it’s hard to imagine a better account”—Chicago Tribune
“A superlative book...steadily builds suspense until the very end.”—Los Angeles TimesBook Review
“The fascinating inside story of the largest corporate takeover in American history… It reads like a novel.”—Today Show
“The most piercing and compelling narrative of a deal to date.”—Boston Globe
“Impressive qualities... delicious scenes... a cinematic yet extraordinarily careful book.”—Ken Auletta,New York Daily News
The fight to control RJR Nabisco during October and November of 1988 was more than just the largest takeover in Wall Street history. Marked by brazen displays of ego not seen in American business for decades, it became the high point of a new gilded age, and its repercussions are still being felt. The ultimate story of greed and glory, Barbarians at the Gate is the gripping account of these two frenzied months, of deal makers and publicity flaks, of an old-line industrial powerhouse that became the victim of the ruthless and rapacious style of finance in the 1980s. Written with the bravado of a novel and researched with the diligence of a sweeping cultural history, here is the unforgettable story of the takeover in all its brutality.
Bryan Burroughis a special correspondent at Vanity Fair and the author of five books.
约翰·希利亚尔（John Helyar），曾在《华尔街日报》、《财富》和ESPN供职，著有运动类书Lords of the Realm: The Real History of Baseball。
John Helyaris a columnist for Bloomberg News. He previously wrote for the Wall Street Journal, Fortune, and ESPN, and is the author ofLords of the Realm: The Real History of Baseball.
Ross Johnson was being followed. A detective, he guessed, no doubt hired by that old skinflint Henry Weigl. Every day, through the streets of Manhattan, no matter where Johnson went, his shadow stayed with him. Finally he had had enough. Johnson had friends, lots of them, and one in particular who must have had contacts in the goon business. He had this annoying problem, Johnson explained to his friend. He’d like to get rid of a tail. No problem, said the friend. Sure enough, within days the detective vanished. Whatever the fellow was doing now, Johnson’s friend assured him, he was probably walking a little funny.
It was the spring of 1976, and at a second-tier food company named Standard Brands, things were getting ugly. Weigl, its crusty old chair-man, was out to purge his number two, Johnson, the shaggy-haired young Canadian who pranced about Manhattan with glamorous friends such as Frank Gifford and “Dandy” Don Meredith. Weigl sicced a team of auditors on Johnson’s notoriously bloated expense accounts and collected tales of his former protégé’s extramarital affairs.
Johnson’s hard-drinking band of young renegades began plotting a counterattack, lobbying directors and documenting all the underlying rot in the company’s businesses. Rumors of an imminent coup began sweepingthe company’s Madison Avenue headquarters.
Then tensions exploded into the open: A shouting match erupted between Johnson and Weigl, a popular executive dropped dead, a board of directors was rent asunder. Everything came to a head at a mid-May board meeting. Weigl went in first, ready to bare his case against Johnson. Johnson followed, his own trap ready to spring.
As the hours wore on, Johnson’s aides, “the Merry Men,” wandered through Central Park, waiting for the victor to emerge. Things were bound to get bloody in there. But when it came to corporate politics, no one was ready to count out Ross Johnson. He seemed to have a knack for survival.
Until the fall of 1988 Ross Johnson’s life was a series of corporate adventures, in which he would not only gain power for himself but wage war on an old business order.
Under that old order, big business was a slow and steady entity. The Fortune 500 was managed by “company men”: junior executives who worked their way up the ladder and gave one company their all and senior executives who were corporate stewards, preserving and cautiously enhancing the company.
Johnson was to become the consummate “noncompany man.” He shredded traditions, jettisoned divisions, and roiled management. He was one of a whole breed of noncompany men who came to maturity in the 1970S and 1980s: a deal-driven, yield-driven nomadic lot. They said their mission was to serve company investors, not company tradition. They also tended to handsomely serve themselves.
But of all the noncompany men, Johnson cut the highest profile. He did the biggest deals, had the biggest mouth, and enjoyed the biggest perks. He would come to be the very symbol of the business world’s “Roaring Eighties.” And he would climax the decade by launching the deal of the century — scattering one of America’s largest, most venerable companies to the winds.
The man who would come to represent the new age of business was born in 1931 at the depth of an old one. Frederick Ross Johnson was raised in Depression-era Winnipeg, the only child of a lower-middle-class home. He was always “Ross,” never Fred — Fred was his father’s name. The senior Johnson was a hardware salesman by vocation, a woodworker by avocation, and a man of few words. Johnson’s petite mother, Caroline, was the pepper pot of the household — a bookkeeper at a time when few married women worked, a crack bridge player in her free time.