Winter 2006

Alumnus and supporter prized people and learning throughout his life

by Brenda Pittman

Scandling's senior portrait

When recalling William Scandling, many speak of his infectious smile and keen wit. His affability and warmth left a lasting picture with all who crossed his path.

But the portrait of a life is harder to paint than taking a fleeting snapshot. And behind Mr. Scandling's friendly demeanor were deeper colors that illustrate as much about his time on earth as did his easy smile.

A youngster who disliked school and balked at the idea of college, he became one of the nation's most ardent supporters of higher education.

He was a man of almost single-minded confidence and persistence, who along with two college buddies started a successful meal service program at Hobart and William Smith Colleges when others had failed.

Business success brought him millions, but he measured the value of his wealth not so much in material rewards for himself as in what he could do to help others to succeed.

Mr. Scandling's accomplishments were great, yet his values were simple. An inauspicious beginning The elder of two sons, Mr. Scandling was raised in Rochester. His father, Frederic Scandling, worked with a bank supplies manufacturer, providing the family with a reasonably comfortable existence during the cloud of the Great Depression.

Mr. Scandling was not fond of school. His wife, Yvette, said he was a "terrible student" who considered school "a tiresome thing he had to do everyday."

While his indifferent academic performance concerned his parents, it didn't bother Mr. Scandling, who had made up his mind he wasn't going to college.

Writing in his 1994 book about his company, "The Saga of Saga - the Life and Death of an American Dream," Mr. Scandling said he became a traveling clothing salesman for Levy Brothers after high school because he believed four years of experience would put him ahead of those who chose college. He enjoyed the work and the traveling and was quickly promoted to the firm's New York City office.

But World War II interfered and he quit in July 1942 to enter the Army, taking part in the Pacific Theater with the Army Airways Communication System. Serving in many capacities, he was a technical sergeant when discharged in 1945.

It was in the service that Mr. Scandling had a change of heart about college. After many conversations with an officer who had taught at Deerfield Academy, he began to see success would come easier to those with degrees. The GI Bill further persuaded him and he decided he would do whatever necessary to get the coveted diploma before "time and the world" passed him by.

Henry Wheat '24 was a friend of Mr. Scandling's father and helped Mr. Scandling land a hearing with Dean Walter Durfee, who admitted him on probation.

At Durfee's suggestion, before starting at Hobart Mr. Scandling took some night courses in subjects he did poorly in during high school. By the end of his first semester, he'd shed his poor academic record and made the dean's list.

For pragmatic reasons, he was really after a degree, but, "If some education were to be acquired along the way, that was okay: it was the price I was willing to pay," he later wrote in his book. "During my time at Hobart, my understanding did change to some extent, and I began to desire the education rather than suffer it."

Just how radically Mr. Scandling's attitude changed is demonstrated by his remarks at the 1993 ceremony renaming the University of Rochester's Warner School. He had donated $14 million to the Graduate School of Education and Human Development in honor of his late wife, Margaret Warner, who attended the U of R.

"There is no question in my mind today that an education is one of the greatest gifts that can be bestowed upon an individual: It enriches his or her quality of life. It deepens that person's intellectual and spiritual awareness, and widens his or her sense of what life can hold. And today, more than ever, it improves a person's chance of finding work that will be fulfilling and that will enable him or her to be economically independent and support a family."

Michael Scandling said his father expressed his appreciation for his Hobart education by giving to the Colleges.

"It's simple and uncomplicated - Hobart gave him a chance," Michael said.

Hobart College provided a place for Mr. Scandling to grow as a student, and also as a businessman.

He and fellow 1949 classmates Harry W. Anderson ("Hunk") and W. Price Laughlin ("Willie") became known on campus as "The Corporation," even before they started their meal service enterprise. They sold advertising on student desk blotters to area merchants and meticulously prepared study notes (with the Colleges' permission) for the difficult Western Civilization course.

So when the enterprising trio approached Hobart College officials with the idea of running a meal service - even though others had proved unsuccessful - they got the go-ahead on one condition: they had to obtain insurance.

So they did.

Saga's Founders with their first employee, Herb Remick

Armed with only Laughlin's background feeding 30 fellow Kappa Alpha Society fraternity brothers and Mr. Scandling's experience paying the bills as its treasurer, they determined to forge ahead if they could sell 100 two-week meal tickets.

Anderson managed to sell 99. Thinking that was close enough, they put Herb Remick, a former Sampson Naval Base cook, in charge of food preparation and student cafeteria workers, who were paid with meals. ALS and Company began serving meals on Nov. 22, 1948.

The venture was a hit. The trio was asked to take on the additional responsibility of running the William Smith food service operation after the dietician in charge quit in February 1949.

The three thought they would be in business only until they graduated that spring. But the prospects for continuing into the next year were excellent and grew even more attractive as the job market tightened.

And for Mr. Scandling, a steady paycheck was a must. Four years earlier, he and his sweetheart, Margaret, agreed they would marry after he graduated and "had his feet on the ground."

During the Christmas holiday in 1948, they decided to wed after Easter, as Mr. Scandling was fairly confident he could earn a living. With the addition of the William Smith meal program, he was right.

The determined young men successfully administered both Hobart and William Smith's food service programs and signed on for another full year. They renamed their company Saga, inspired by the name of the Indian village Kanadasaga, on which the city of Geneva was built.

The young entrepreneurs soon expanded their winning concept to other colleges. Saga gained its first outside account with Kalamazoo College in Michigan in 1951, paving the way for decades of phenomenal growth.

"We didn't know it couldn't be done, so we just went ahead and did it," Anderson said in an October interview.

The company went on to operate food service programs for colleges, universities, hospitals and businesses - not to mention seven restaurant chains - at 1,430 locations throughout the U.S. and Canada.

Bil and Margaret Scandling in 1984

Its unparalleled achievements led to its designation in 1984 as one of the 100 Best Companies to Work For in America. A year later, it recorded sales of $1.3 billion and profits of $29 million.

The coveted distinction was earned by operating the company under an ethical code called the Saga Way, which Anderson said was akin to the Golden Rule.

Saga hallmarks included hard work, impeccable management practices and ethics that placed the highest value on customers, employees and their ideas - all while serving terrific food, Anderson said.

"Together we were a pretty good team," said Laughlin recently. "But Bill was the best liked of the founders. He was always very conscious of the working people and their morale."

Michael Scandling remembers his father's rapport with and respect of employees. In the early days, while still living in Geneva he and his parents often ate Sunday dinner on a card table in Mr. Scandling's office in Comstock House. Michael remembers trailing his dad into the kitchen, where Earl Lawson-whom his father called "Boss"-was cooking up a storm.

"Calling Earl "Boss" was part of Dad's personal style, but it was also an important part of his management style. Dad was boss in the office, but the kitchen was Earl's domain. Helping to manage Saga was a 14-hour-a day, seven-days-a-week job in the early days. Michael recalls his father relishing naps on the couch on cherished days off.

"The rule around the house on Sunday afternoons was to keep quiet," he said, noting his father also relaxed by reading, which he loved to do his entire life.

Despite the hectic schedule, Michael said he didn't remember spending any less time with his father than his friends spent with theirs.

After the founders moved Saga headquarters to California in the early 1960s, Anderson said he and "Willie Lock" and "Willie Scandling," as he called them, decided in 1978 to hire a chief executive officer to oversee day-to-day operations.

"It was not our intention to let go completely, but rather to turn the operation of a very successful business over to others. We planned to stick around and, if the experiment worked, worry about getting all the way out at some future dim date. We were not unlike the father of the bride who thought his new son-in-law would be okay, but who wasn't quite ready to give up his concern for his daughter and her welfare quite yet," Mr. Scandling wrote.

Later in his book, he described the changes that eventually led to Saga's hostile takeover by Marriott eight years later - one of the most upsetting chapters in his life.

"It was an extremely hard time for him. He was as unhappy as anyone would have been losing something he helped create and that he spent the better part of a lifetime nurturing and helping to grow. He wrote his book to tell his story," Michael said.

Mr. Scandling called his book a "tragic adventure story" about the people and events that shaped the company, nurtured it and finally destroyed it.

His pain is poignantly reflected in the following passage: "On April 1 (1987), I drove into the headquarters compound and found a scene of almost complete desolation. As I sat in my car watching, a few stray scraps of paper blew across the driveway. I thought of all those who had been part of the dream and the reality that had been Saga. I thought of Bill Marriott's grand, false promises, and tears and anger came easily. Not only was a dream gone, we had been sentenced to watch its new masters dismember it before our very eyes. Our thoughts toward those responsible were not kind and our hearts were heavy. "

Four years after losing Saga, Mr. Scandling suffered another devastating loss with the death of his wife, Margaret, in 1990.

He carried on by filling his days even more with family, friends, philanthropy and his work on the Colleges' Board of Trustees. Mr. Scandling had been a trustee since 1967 and chairman from 1972 until 1983.

Bill and Yvette Scandling aboard a friend's yacht

To everyone's surprise, mostly his, he unexpectedly fell in love with Yvette Farquharson-Oliver. She was a good friend of his and Margaret's who owned a resort in Cornwall, England, where they had vacationed.

After selling that resort and purchasing another in Portugal, Yvette invited Mr. Scandling in a Christmas card to visit. He decided to combine a trip to see friends in England with a visit to Portugal. When he returned, Mr. Scandling told his son how surprised he was that there was a "click" between them, and asked if he would mind should it turn serious.

With Michael's blessing, their relationship deepened. Mr. Scandling later asked his son what he would think if he asked Yvette to marry him.

"I told him he had my blessing and he asked me to be his best man. It was a rare honor. Their wedding in 1995 in the Chapel (at HWS) and the reception at the Scandling Center was a joyous occasion. Clarence Butler did the ceremony. We had a great time. Yvette and Dad had a wonderful relationship. They loved each other and loved to travel."

Both Michael and Yvette said Mr. Scandling was not beholden to "stuff."

Michael said his father had two indulgences - a few unusual cars and his beloved 100-foot yacht, the Seneca. He spent as much time as he could, often six months a year, aboard his yacht. And he and Yvette frequently invited family and friends to join them.

"He had a 1971 Rolls-Royce until someone drove into it and totaled it. Then he had a 1977 Cadillac Milan, which was a standard Seville four-door sedan shortened into a two seat convertible. It was his everyday car for the rest of his life - it's still in his garage. He had what he liked but he wasn't out to impress anyone. The house in Atherton had a big-screen TV, but he didn't like it and had it taken out. He preferred a 27-inch Sony."

Just because he was not one to put on airs didn't mean he wouldn't use his wealth for a good time. Once, about five years ago, Mr. Scandling pretended to be talking to the president of the United States while some curious onlookers gawked at his yacht as it was docked at a marina in Montreal.

"He was very careful with his money, even more so as he got older," Yvette said. "He made wonderful gifts with it."

Asked how Bill would like to be remembered, both Michael and Yvette said as some one who cared most about people.

Michael Scandling said his father managed to remain a common, ordinary person despite his millions.

"He was a modest guy who never talked with me about what he donated, and I strongly doubt he talked much about it with anyone else. He did the right thing simply because it was the right thing - not to gain recognition. I deeply love and respect my father, but I am not in awe of him. He was not perfect, but damned good."

Michael called his father an uncomplicated person whose "values remained remarkably consistent throughout his life."

Scandling, with wife Yvette, daughter-in-law Kathy and son Michael after receiving the Hobart Medal of Excellence in 1997.

Both he and Yvette say Mr. Scandling's greatest possessions were always his family and friends - many of them everyday people with whom he kept in close touch.

Mr. Scandling always kept two pages in his wallet with contact information for his closest friends. Before cell phones, Michael said his father would often dock the yacht by a pay phone and spend one or two hours a day calling people.

"People mattered most to him. He liked them for who they were, not what they did. He felt treating people with respect and dignity were the most important values," Michael said.

As just one of many examples, Michael remembered his father taking a special liking to a busboy at a favorite restaurant in Menlo Park. They would often chat for several minutes whenever Mr. Scandling dined there. He respected him greatly because he worked so hard to support his family in Mexico. When Mr. Scandling learned he was going home for a few months, he wanted reassurance from the owner that this hard worker would still have a job when he returned.

"While Dad tipped based on the quality of service, he would always slip this busboy something extra because he was aware of how hard he was working and that waiters get tips, busboys usually don't," Michael said.

Lillian Collins, a researcher at the Colleges' Alumni House, became known to Mr. Scandling as the "happy voice" there. Whenever he came to campus, he would visit. They established a special connection in 1990, after her mother died in September and his wife died in October, Mr. Scandling called her several times during the year to see how she was doing. A year later, he invited her and others from the Colleges to join him for a cruise on the Seneca. They remained in contact ever since.

"He was so kind. And that cruise on the Seneca was so special. He didn't have to include me. He rubbed elbows with millionaires, but he was very, very comfortable with everyday people. I really miss him," Collins said.

Retired New York City policeman John Collins became one of Bill's closest friends and confidantes. He piloted boats for the NYPD for years and was hired in the late 1970s to work on the HWS Explorer and do other campus maintenance. Collins, the father of Trustee Maureen Zupan '72, maintained the campus guest house where Mr. Scandling stayed during trustee meetings.

During breaks, the men would discuss boats, the world and anything that concerned them. They kept in close contact throughout the years; Collins was a frequent guest on the Seneca and also visited Mr. Scandling at his California home.

"We could talk to each other," Collins mused. "We were close, not in the respect we saw each other that much, but if I needed him, he'd be there for me and vice versa. I don't think there is a stronger friendship than that. I miss him."

After Mr. Scandling's death in August, Michael and Yvette were deluged with calls and notes from so many - each wanting to express his or her own deep sense of loss and share sweet remembrances or funny stories.

As of late October, Michael said he was still answering "scores and scores" of cards and letters.

Michael said everyone who knew his father has a special story to tell about how he touched his or her life in such wonderful and unique ways.

"If I were to hear Bill Scandling stories at a rate of two a day for the next hundred years, I still wouldn't have heard them all," he said.