#235 Outliers: Jimmy Pattison — Building a $16B Empire Without Connections, Capital, or Credentials
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It's May 8th, 1945. Germany has just surrendered. It's the biggest news story of the century. Teenage James Pattison invests his life savings, all $15 at the time, in 500 newspapers. By 7:00 a.m., he's stuck with 350 copies nobody wants. Radio has already broadcast every detail. He's selling yesterday's news.

Most kids would eat the loss. Jimmy drives to the suburbs and knocks on doors, only he's not selling newspapers anymore. He's selling souvenir editions of Victory in Europe Day. He sells every last copy.

Eighty years later, that newspaper still hangs in his office, not as a reminder of the war's end, but as proof of the principle that would make him Canada's fourth richest person. When markets shift under your feet, don't change your effort, change your story. Welcome to The Knowledge Project. I'm your host, Shane Parish. In a world where knowledge is power, this podcast is your toolkit for mastering the best of what other people have already figured out.

Jimmy Pattison is 96 years old and still runs a $16 billion empire every single day. That's not a ceremonial title. That's not showing up for board meetings. That's running 50,000 employees across 600 locations from his Vancouver office. While most founders sell out, burn out, or get pushed out, Jim's been building the same company for 63 years. His ownership stake, 100%.

He never finished college, never worked at Goldman Sachs, never raised venture capital. He got fired by his mentor after 10 years of loyalty, had his bank loans called with 60 days notice despite perfect payment history, and he lost multiple acquisition battles to the biggest players. Instead of folding, he learned three principles that let him outlast every competitor.

First, when markets shift, don't change your effort, change your story. The same newspaper that's worthless at 7 a.m. becomes a collector's item by noon. Most people see problems. Patterson sees opportunities.

Second, boring businesses that print money beat exciting businesses that burn it. While everyone chased the next big thing, Pattison bought coal terminals and grocery stores. Guess who's still standing? Third, anonymity is the acquirer's best friend. He executed Western Canada's first hostile takeover using his car dealership credit line. Then he did it again and again.

This episode reveals how a kid selling garden seeds door to door built one of North America's last great private empires. But here's why it matters to you. His playbook is still relevant. It still works. Whether you're buying your first business or running your tent, these aren't historical curiosities. They're executable strategies. Fair warning. After hearing this, you might never look at public companies the same way again.

Remember to stick around at the end for my reflections and lessons learned or visit fs.blog slash podcast to see them. It's time to listen and learn. This episode is for educational and informational purposes only.

In 1935, a seven-year-old boy in desperation era Saskatchewan saw a classified ad for piano lessons. 20 lessons for $40. The problem was he didn't have $40. Nobody had $40 at the time. His family barely had $7 for monthly rent. Jimmy Patterson found another ad that day. Sell garden seeds door-to-door on commission.

And this is how one of Canada's richest people got their start. Not with venture capital, not with connections. With vegetable seeds and a better sales pitch than grown men three times his age. Jim's father ran a car dealership in Saskatchewan. Business was good for a time, but when the Depression hit, followed by crop failure, the combination was known as the Dust Bowl. Two thirds of rural Saskatchewan went on social assistance.

Farmers couldn't pay for their cars. The dealership couldn't collect. The business failed. Pow was a drinker and gambler in those days, and things went from bad to worse. It would have been expected, normal even, under the circumstances, to declare bankruptcy. Pattison made a different choice. It happened one night when he was walking home in the snow. He heard singing from the church.

Seeking warmth, he stepped inside and heard the preacher say, if you're in despair and you give your heart to God, then God can change your life. Pat was saved. And that night he stopped drinking. Within days, he quit smoking. The transformation his wife would go on to say was like black became white. He refused to walk away from his dad's.

Instead, he found whatever work he could mechanic labor, anything slowly, but surely he started paying back every single creditor from that failed dealership. It took him 25 years. Think about that a quarter, a century of payments for a business that died in 1929. Jimmy watched his father worked those decades and learned that your word matters and your reputation outlasts your circumstances.

His father's unwavering commitment to his word became a cornerstone of Jim's character. His father, though far from a financial success, taught him that you pay your taxes and you settle your debts no matter what. Back to that seven-year-old with his seed packets walking door to door. His first attempts failed. Simply asking the question, "Want to buy some seeds?" got him nowhere. Pattison needed to adapt, so he developed a system. He started asking, "What kind of vegetables do you like?"

If they said beans, he talked beans. If they said carrots, he became the world's foremost carrot seed expert. I wouldn't waste 20 minutes talking to somebody about beans if she was crazy about carrots, he reasoned. He learned that wives typically make gardening decisions, so he pitched directly to them. Most importantly, he stopped selling seeds and started selling the outcome, the vision of fresh, healthy vegetables on their dinner table.

By age nine, he was outselling grown men at magazine contests, not because he was cute, though being a blue-eyed, freckled kid didn't hurt, but because he discovered the fundamental law of sales. Find out what people want, then show them how your product delivers it. He was so good at selling that he started selling magazines too. He even won a contest for the highest sales of the Saturday Evening Post, competing against grown men.

Fast forward, it's May 8th, 1945. Germany surrenders. It's the biggest news story in years. Perhaps the biggest news story ever.

Now a teenager, Pattison sees opportunity. He takes his entire life savings, all $15 of it, and invests in 500 newspapers at 3 cents each. His plan is simple: sell them for a nickel and walk away with an easy $10 profit on the most important news day of the year. The headline couldn't have been better. Germans lay down arms. Churchill Truman proclaim victory.

But by 7:00 AM reality hits pretty hard. He's stuck with 350 papers that nobody wants. Why? Because the radio has already broadcast every single detail. He's trying to sell yesterday's news in real time. This is where most people cut their losses and go home. But outliers make different choices. They don't give up so easily.

Patterson loads those papers into a car and drives to the suburbs. He goes door to door. But here's the key. He's not selling newspapers anymore. He knows that won't work. Instead, he's completely reframed the product. These aren't just papers. They're souvenir editions of the day the war ended. And it works. He sells every last copy. We talk about the power of positioning your product in episode 201 with April Dunferk.

40 years later, that newspaper still hangs on his office wall, not because it reminds him of Victory Day in Europe, but because it taught him three lessons about business. First, when you get knocked down, you bounce, you don't break.

Second, when markets shift underneath you, sometimes you just need to reposition the product. And third, inventory has a hidden expiration date. Even newspapers, which everyone thought were good for 24 hours, can become worthless in minutes when better technology comes along and makes them irrelevant. Jimmy enrolled at the University of British Columbia for Congress, but he only lasted three years. He dropped out just nine credits short of his degree.

So why would someone quit that close to the finish line? Because he was getting a different education, one that happened in the driveways and parking lots and not lecture halls. His operation was beautifully simple. He knew broke college students needed cars but lacked buying savvy, so Jimmy became their trusted advisor. He'd borrow $350, buy a car, and sell it within a week to repay the loan.

Then he'd repeat the cycle every evening, scouring classifieds from mispriced cars, driving them to campus and flipping them for $50 profits and taking the bus home. It was exhausting, but it worked.

During summers, he tried to get a job selling cars, but his youth and small frame were met with skepticism. He accepted a job washing cars on the condition that he could try his hand at sales when the main salesman took lunch. This was the only opportunity he needed. In his first week alone, he sold three of the seven cars on the lot. Before long, he was their top performer.

The university wanted to teach him about business, but the used car lot, that was teaching him business. The choice became obvious. Jimmy went on to become a manager at one of Dan McLean's dealerships. Once he started working under McLean's mentorship, Jim's natural talent evolved into something more precise.

Maclean was a figure of silver-haired aristocracy, part of Vancouver's elite, with a straightforward philosophy. You're my servant, I'm your boss. This translated into a rigidly formal relationship for Pattison, characterized by yes, Mr. Maclean, and no, sir. Despite never sharing a meal or casual conversation over the years together, Pattison held enormous admiration for Maclean.

More valuable than friendship, McLean granted him complete autonomy to run the new lot, which was precisely what Patterson wanted. Much like Anna Wintour, episode 233, who went to run Viva, not because it was her dream job, it wasn't, but because it offered her complete autonomy. Understanding from his father that reliability built trust, Jimmy ensured he was always present whether McLean dropped by at 10 in the morning or 10 at night.

This dedication helped keep McLean satisfied as his new lot under Pattison's diligent management became highly profitable. Under McLean's mentorship, Pattison perfected the close, that crucial moment that turns interest into commitment. His main move was deceptively simple. When customers hesitated, he'd lean in and ask, whose name would you like me to put this car in? Not if they wanted it, but whose name should it be in?

If they worried about color, he wouldn't dismiss their concerns. Instead, he'd patiently explain why white was easier to maintain in Vancouver's climate. If payments were the sticking point, he'd sit down with their entire household budget, actually pull out a pencil and paper, and find small savings in their cigarettes or entertainment budget.

He wasn't just pushing products, he was solving problems. Every obstacle was simply a problem to be overcome. Running McLean's lot provided Pattison his first real taste of management.

He handled hiring and firing and conducted the weekly sales meetings, always seeking fresh, impactful ways to motivate his team. Once famously throwing a rock through a plate glass window to jolt a lethargic sales force. Behind this spectacle and showmanship, he was learning harder lessons about leadership.

In December 1950, just before Christmas, he had to fire a salesman who wasn't performing. The man was married, about 10 years older than Pattison. And when Jimmy called him into his office and said, it isn't working out, Charlie, I have to fire you, the man started to cry. Jimmy cried with him and then fired him anyways.

Two years later, Jimmy had developed what outsiders would call ruthless, but what he saw as a very necessary policy, crystallized in one brutal rule. Every month, whoever sold the fewest cars got fired. No exceptions, no negotiations, no second chances.

Now, that sounds harsh, and it was, but Jimmy saw it differently, in whose mind he was doing them a favor. As he put it, they were never going to be successful at selling cars, so why shouldn't they cut their losses and become mechanics or teachers or something they'd be good at?

This wasn't cruelty, it was clarity. Everyone knew the rules when they signed on. Complete transparency from day one. It's the same philosophy that Reed Hastings would later make famous at Netflix. Treating the company like a professional sports team where only the best players stay on the field. By 1956, something shifted in Jim's approach. He partnered with Will Frey, a radio announcer turned advertising genius. And together they discovered a truth that would define Jim's entire career.

Business doesn't have to be boring. In fact, excitement drives business. Their sales meetings became legendary performances. One day, Jimmy would announce, "Today we're going to sell 100 cars and to do that we have to pull some rabbits out of the hat."

On cue, Wilf would appear dressed as a magician yanking actual rabbits from a top hat and letting them loose across the showroom floor. The customer promotions got even wilder. They staged the world's largest checker game, models in bathing suits as human pieces. They brought in performing monkeys wearing overalls. They even hired the Levy brothers, two seven-foot tall twins, just to stop traffic. But the real showstopper was what everyone called Pattison's Folly.

It was a freestanding electrical sign more than 10 stories tall that cost $100,000 in 1959. You could see it from 10 miles away, a blazing monument to automotive excess. Was it ridiculous? Absolutely. Did it work? Absolutely. They sold 1,046 cars in a single month, more than any North American dealership had ever achieved. The numbers didn't lie.

The lesson here, you need to find a way to get your message heard. Timothy Eaton learned theater was the best way to get people into his department store. Richard Branson learned showmanship is the best way to get media to cover you. Elon Musk does the same thing. In a crowded world, you need to find a way to get people's attention. Of course, showmanship isn't always loud. In episode 218, I talk about how Estee Lauder mastered the art of quiet showmanship.

After 10 years of building McLean's empire into something extraordinary, Dan McLean made Jimmy an offer that should have been irresistible. 25% ownership paid from future earnings. This was it. Instant millionaire status. The dream Patterson had chased since childhood.

But there was one catch. He'd have to partner with McLean's son-in-law, Peter Burks. And something about that arrangement didn't sit right with Patterson. His response was immediate and absolute. I wouldn't be interested.

A month later, Jimmy walked into McLean's office to do the professional thing. He gave a year's notice, plenty of time to find and train a replacement. McLean's response a few weeks later caught him completely off guard. We've decided that there's no reason for you to stay here anymore. We want you out of here today.

Just like that, after a decade of loyalty and record-breaking success, Pattison found himself standing on the street with nothing but a white Cadillac convertible and a decade's worth of hard-won wisdom. The most devastating part wasn't the firing itself, it was the silence that followed. McLean never explained why, no discussion about what went wrong, no acknowledgement of what they'd built together. Just done.

Step back and look at the pattern emerging here. A seven-year-old boy learns to sell by asking what people want, not what he has. A teenager discovers that the same newspaper becomes a different product when you change the story around it. A college dropout realizes that trust is built by solving problems, not pushing solutions.

As manager, he creates clarity through brutal transparency. Everyone knows exactly where they stand. As a showman, he understands that entertainment doesn't distract from business. Sometimes entertainment is the business.

Each lesson built on the last, each failure becoming tomorrow's advantage. Jimmy Pattison started with nothing but prairie dust and determination, no trust fund, no connections, no safety net. Just an uncommon willingness to knock on doors and ask better questions than everyone else. The boy who couldn't afford piano lessons would eventually own the company that made pianos.

But first he had to learn something fundamental about human nature. Success isn't about what you're selling, it's about understanding what people are buying. As Jimmy Pattison stood on a Vancouver street corner with nothing but a white Cadillac convertible and a reputation, he didn't see disaster, he saw opportunity.

Within weeks he was back to curbing cars, buying from classifieds, selling from parking lots, just like his college days. But this time was different. This time he was hunting bigger game. His own General Motors franchise. Good news arrived quickly. GM was willing to grant him a franchise with one catch. It could be anywhere in Canada except Vancouver where his ailing father lived.

Jimmy knew the first no is rarely the final no, so he did what outliers do and found a workaround. Through persistence and connections higher up at the GM food chain, he secured permission to take over Marshall Pontiac Buick, a failing Vancouver dealership that was bleeding money. Now, he just needed to pay for it.

His net worth at the time was $22,000 and it was mostly tied up in life insurance and home equity. The purchase price, however, was much, much, much more. This is where reputation turns into currency. Harold Nelson, a Royal Bank manager who'd watched Jimmy rise, saw potential where others saw risk. After Harold's supervisor rejected the loan due to Pattison's age, Harold escalated and

and then escalated again. Finally, the regional manager approved $40,000. The collateral at the time was everything Jimmy owned, his house, his life insurance, 100% of the new company's shares, plus personal guarantees. As they told Harold Nelson, this is on your head.

But that was just the appetizer. General Motors then offered Jimmy a loan of $190,000 at what amounted to 80% simple interest. Highway robbery by any measure. Pattison took it. Two things stand out for me here. First, your reputation opens doors you didn't even know existed. Jimmy had spent a decade paying on time, showing up early, and delivering.

Now that track record was his only real asset and it prompted a Royal Bank manager to not only ask for him to get a loan, but to fight for him to get one. Second, Pattison believed in himself and was willing to go all in. He put everything on the line. The dealership Jimmy inherited was, in his words, "run like a country club." His previous operation had moved a thousand cars monthly. Marshall Pontiac barely managed 25.

Pattison applied everything he'd learned /staff from 100 to 57. Brought in his own salesman, battle-tested from his previous dealership. No sentiment, no second chances. Month 1: $14,000 loss. Month 2: $12,000 loss.

In 60 days, he'd burned through most of his personal net worth. By month three, the dealership turned profitable. By month 19, he'd repaid General Motors their entire $190,000, the fastest payoff in history. When he exceeded GM's forecast for both volume and profitability in year one, GM's vice president sent him a note. Keep reaching, Jim.

The stars are never beyond the touch of those who see them clearly. Pattison had it aimed high and others were starting to take notice. They had no idea what was about to come.

While other dealers focused on selling cars, Jimmy discovered leasing, an emerging market everyone else ignored. The economics were beautiful. Steady margins, predictable cash flow, and when leases ended, it created a continuous supply of quality used cars to sell. He built one of Canada's largest fleets with over 4,000 vehicles. My philosophy has always been that I'm in the new car business to buy and sell used cars, Patterson explained.

New cars were commodities, same model, same price at every dealer. But no two used cars were identical. That's where the real money lived. More importantly, leasing guaranteed future business. If he buys a car from us, he may not necessarily come back, Patterson said. But if he leases our car, he has to return and we get the chance to sell to him again.

Pattison understood that in a commodity business, you win by changing the game. Leasing wasn't just a financing option. It was a customer retention system disguised as a payment plan. Success, however, created its own problems. Jimmy found the perfect location for a bigger dealership. GM killed it because it was too close to another dealer. They countered with a site on Main Street and an ultimatum. Take it or leave it.

Jimmy was horrified. There's never been a single successful retailer on Main Street. Never. Ever. But he had no choice. The Main Street location never thrived. Yet, this constraint became a gift. GM policy prevented him from owning multiple franchises at the time. Stuck in a mediocre location, his growth was capped.

So he started looking beyond cars. Two things stand out for me here. First, the environment matters. Patterson had the same skills in two different car dealership locations, and one thrived, and one was, as the kids say, mid. Second, constraints don't limit options. They reveal them. Blocked from expanding horizontally into cars, Jimmy was forced to think vertically into other industries. As a major advertiser, Jimmy understood radio. He also understood opportunity when he saw it.

CJOR was perfect because it was perfectly terrible. It was dead last in Vancouver ratings for 15 years, and it was known mainly for its religious programming and racetrack coverage. But Pat Burns had changed everything with his provocative hotline show pioneering call-in radio in Canada.

The show's success came with controversy. The broadcast board criticized Burns for wild opinionizations and ordered the station sold, the first license revocation in Canadian broadcasting history. 20 companies lined up to buy. Jimmy needed an edge. He found it in Rolf Cunningham,

owner of Cunningham Drug Stores and president of the Vancouver Board of Trade. The partnership gave Jimmy both capital and credibility. They won the license but inherited a disaster: half a million dollars in losses the year they bought it. Pattison's playbook was consistent: fire underperformers, find better talent. The talent was Jack Webster, the Scottish investigative journalist earning $100,000 at competitor CKNW.

When CKNW balked at his contract renewal, Webster's lawyer called Jim. They sealed the deal over dinner and a handshake. Webster brought his entire audience with him. CJOR began climbing the ratings.

One station became two in late 1969. A Winnipeg law firm calls and said CFRW went off the air today. Maybe you should look at it. The station hadn't turned a profit in six years. Now it was dead. In Canada, if a station stops broadcasting, the government can cancel its license. Patterson checked the airline schedule and called five staff members. Get on a plane tonight.

Before dawn, they were in the abandoned station signing on with a newscast cobbled together from newspapers. Winnipeg woke up to the headlines, mystery radio station on air. The station that had signed off forever the night before at 5 p.m. was somehow broadcasting by morning with a ghost staff nobody recognized. Patterson bought the station for $100,000. Within six months, it was Manitoba's top rock station.

What's instructive here is that speed matters more than perfection. While competitors formed committees and conducted studies to see if it made sense, Jimmy put people on a plane. By the time others finished their analysis, he'd already turned the business around. By 1967, his empire gave him a net worth of $760,000. More importantly, diversifying from cars into media had given him something money couldn't buy.

credibility with Canada's financial establishment. At a young president's organization's meetings, Jimmy encountered a new breed of businessmen, conglomerate builders. Companies like Lytton Industries and Jimmy Lin's LTV Corporation had cracked the

the code on rapid growth through acquisition. The magic was earning per share. If your stock traded at a higher multiple than your target, you could buy their earnings and instantly improve your own. Do this repeatedly and you could create growth impossible through operations alone.

Growth was rewarded with a higher share multiple, creating a flywheel. Listen to episode number 225 with Henry Singleton to learn more about conglomerates at this time and how the acquisitions worked.

At one YPO seminar, Patterson met Bob Halliday from Boise Cascade. Under Halliday's leadership, Boise had grown from $35 million to nearly $1 billion in a decade. Their earnings per share had increased sevenfold. Jimmy approached him with characteristic trust.

Directness. I'm about to build one of the first Canadian conglomerates. I picked out a company and I'd like your advice. The company was Neon Products, the finest signed company in Canada.

They manufactured Neon signs, dominated Vancouver billboards, and had $16.4 million in forward contracts, predictable cash flow that Jimmy had learned to value from leasing. They were also publicly traded. With 600 employees and $8.5 million in sales, Neon generated $664,000 in profits and sat on about $1 million in cash.

The company was dramatically undervalued relative to its earning power. There was just one problem: Neon wasn't for sale. Walking through a hotel lounge one day, Jimmy overheard the conversation that changed everything. The apparent controlling shareholder, Arthur Christopher, didn't own much stock personally. What Christopher had was control of the board, a loose set of alliances, as well as being able to set the default recommendation on the proxy card that gets mailed out to shareholders.

While large shareholders often take the time to read proxies, many individual shareholders do not. They simply just follow the board's advice. If such a small percentage could control the company, Pattison realized then theoretically he just needed to own more shares than the current group. But executing a hostile takeover would require Wall Street expertise and complete secrecy. Bob Halliday gave him exactly the introduction he needed.

"My name is Jimmy Pattison. You don't know me? I want to build a Canadian conglomerate." "Who are you?" Mike Dingnan asked. "Jimmy Pattison, a car dealer in Vancouver.

The chutzpah of this moment is breathtaking. A small-town car dealer cold-calling a Wall Street partner with dreams of building an empire. Most people would have hung up, but Mike Dingman didn't hang up. Mike understood ambition. At 35, he was a general partner at Burnham & Co., later to become Drexel Burnham Lambert.

Like Patterson, he dropped out of college and had taken an unconventional path. He'd taken a pay cut from $50,000 to $30,000 just to learn investment banking. Jimmy flew him out to Vancouver, took him on a harbor boat tour, and delivered a slide presentation of his business. It was corny, Patterson admitted, but it worked. Mike saw past the small scale to the obvious energy of the man running them.

Here's what fascinates me here. Jimmy didn't pretend to be bigger than he was. He showed exactly what he had, a car dealership, some radio stations, and a bet that his ambition would be more compelling than his assets. And he was right. For the takeover to work, Patterson needed to move in silence. These guys, they control the town, Jimmy explained. If I had said I'm a car dealer and I want your company, I would have been thrown out.

Neon's board was considered Vancouver establishment, and while he owned only a few percent, Arthur Christopher de facto controlled the company.

A vulnerability Jim could exploit. Starting in September 1967, Jimmy bought small blocks through the New York and Toronto brokers. Never enough to trigger suspicion, he used his $1 million credit line originally for car inventory to accumulate shares at $7 each. By November, he controlled 6%. Then came the call that changed everything. Christopher himself wanted to sell his entire block of 175,000 shares.

He had no idea who the buyer was and Pattison wanted to keep it that way. The negotiation happened by phone through intermediaries. Christopher wanted $11 per share. Jimmy countered at 10 and they settled at 1075. When the deal closed, Christopher's reaction was priceless. Jesus Christ, the guy only lives two miles from me. Where the hell is Jimmy getting all that money from? With that, Jimmy Pattison then executed Western Canada's first main

Major hostile takeover. He'd gained control of a public company with 8.5 million in sales and 600 employees. The establishment directors resigned in protest. Jimmy was named managing director with a mandate to acquire more companies.

The car dealer from Saskatchewan had entered the big leagues. What strikes me most about this story is Jimmy didn't wait to be ready. He didn't ask permission. He wasn't qualified to run a conglomerate. He didn't have Wall Street connections. He didn't have the capital. But he started anyway, figuring it out as he went. That's the difference between dreamers and builders. There are no perfect conditions, only imperfect starts.

In 1968, Jimmy Patterson was about to learn the most expensive lesson of his career. Sometimes being right about the idea means nothing if you're wrong about the timing.

The conglomerate era was in full swing. Jimmy Lin had turned $2,000 and an electrician shop into Ling Temco Vought, a $3.7 billion colossus. Stock multiples made acquisition math irresistible. What Patterson didn't know, what he couldn't know, was that he'd arrived at the party just as the cops were pulling up outside.

Patterson renamed Neon Products to Neonex International. The name itself was peak 1960s corporate ambition. Neon from the Greek word for new, X for expansion. International for dreams bigger than Canada. In Neonex's first year, Patterson evaluated over 200 companies and bought 13.

The first major score was overweight tea. A grocery store with a quirky origin story founded in 1915 by a tea blender who gave customers an extra two ounces. Over. Weight. Tea.

It had 51 stores, but just 3% of the BC food market. The deals came fast. Northern Paint in Winnipeg, Reamer Express Lines, a trucking company run by Mennonites who made Jimmy go to church with them for months before agreeing to sell. Acme Novelty built on the brilliant scam of membership cards that make customers feel like insiders while paying retail.

By the end of 1968, the transformation was staggering. Neonex had grown from 600 to over 4,000 employees. Annual sales jumped from 8.5 million to 159 million. Pattison hadn't just become a millionaire by 40, he'd blown by it. The stock market aided up. Shares jumped 20% in one hour after announcing a carpet acquisition. With multiples of 15 to 20 times earnings, each acquisition made the next one cheaper.

As Pattison noted, the magic to this game is that because we were out there doing deals, the market began to anticipate our earnings growth. They bought everything. Helicopter companies serving oil pipelines, mobile home dealerships, camping trailer manufacturers. Pattison got one of Canada's first Learjets with an 8-track player. Sometimes the pilot would tip the wings to the music.

everything felt possible because everything was. What's important to take away here is that Jimmy understood the game he was playing perfectly. He saw how growing led to higher multiples and higher multiples led to better acquiring economics. It was the same game Henry Singleton played, but playing the game and knowing when it's about to end are two very different skills.

Pattison was just getting started around the time Singleton stopped abruptly. Not every deal worked out. When Pattison pursued a snowmobile manufacturer offering $26 million, another company swooped in with a higher bid.

Sitting alone in a Montreal hotel room after losing, Pattison called room service, "I would just like a piece of toast." "Toast, monsieur?" "Yes, and burn it on both sides, please." That burnt toast moment captures something profound about ambition. The loss stung, but it taught Pattison about competing against American companies with better tax advantages for acquisitions. He sent a telegram to the prime minister

about unfair tax advantages for American acquirers. Amazingly, the Prime Minister listened.

Pattison presented it to the finance minister, and in 1971, Canadian tax laws changed. But winning battles doesn't mean you're winning the war. Maple Leaf Mills was a 60-year-old Canadian institution. Purity flour, monarch cake mixes, Red River cereal. With $150 million in sales, equal to all of Neonics, it would double his empire overnight. But

Better yet, it was controlled by two men who hated each other. Jack Leach, Toronto establishment royalty, and Bruce Norris, a loud American who owned the Detroit Red Rings at the time. Their fathers had been partners, and the sons couldn't stand to be in the same room together.

Jimmy saw opportunity in their dysfunction. Through Wall Street connections, he arranged to buy Norris' shares and approached Leach with the same offer. Leach's response: "Neonex? I've never heard of it. What is it? A contraceptive?" Then Molson Industries entered the fight. The headlines captured the mismatch.

Jimmy Patterson versus the Molson family. This is not to be believed. It's like the Bowery Boys versus Chase Manhattan Bank. It was like David versus Goliath. Jimmy, however, won control of 51% of the shares, but he made one fatal error.

He never told his banker, Neil MacKinnon, the chairman of Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, about the takeover attempt. Two days before Christmas, as he scrambled to close the Maple Leaf deal, his bank delivered a message that changed everything. They'd lost confidence in him. All loans due within 60 days. Pattison was stunned. I just didn't appreciate how the Canadian banking system really worked.

When he finally met bank president Larry Greenwald, the message was brutal: "Fire yourself as CEO or lose all credit." Pattison spent two weeks at the Royal York Hotel in downtown Toronto while McKinnon refused to see him. A bank executive later confessed, "It was the old boys' school that put you down, Jimmy. You never had a chance." The Canadian banks operated as a cartel.

When Jimmy tried shopping for new credit, another bank president delivered the truth: "You're wasting your time. You won't get any major Canadian bank to take over our loan." Only Dick Thompson at TV Bank broke ranks, extending $2.5 million, barely enough to make payroll.

The lesson here is clear. In establishment games, the rules aren't written down. Jimmy had broken no loan covenants, missed no payments. His crime was threatening the order of things. Sometimes the most dangerous competition isn't in the market, it's in the country club.

By February 1970, Jimmy was down to his last card. Through Wall Street contacts, he'd arranged British financing at 13% interest, usury rates that would hand over control to foreigners. Instead of taking it, he used it as leverage.

Walking into Greenwald's office, he laid it out. Gentlemen, you called our loan and we've now got the ability to pay you, but I've decided it's wrong for a Western Canadian company that has broken no agreements to dilute its ownership to foreigners. I started as a used car salesman and I'm prepared to go back and be a used car salesman again. The bluff worked. The banks extended credit for six months, but the damage was done.

Sometimes the most dangerous moment in business is when everything seems to be working perfectly because often that's when the music is about to stop. As the conglomerate bubble burst across North America, Neonex shares fell from $45 to $80.

Jimmy faced a board revolt from the two original Neon directors he'd foolishly kept on. They demanded his resignation, striking when he was weakest. But Jimmy had learned about power. He called a board meeting in Toronto when one director couldn't attend, flew in loyal directors by private jet, and outmaneuvered the coup. The two directors resigned in protest.

Meanwhile, as companies collapsed like dominoes, the carpet wholesaler lost its key supplier, $1.4 million write-off. The 1973 oil crisis killed recreational vehicles as gas prices tripled. Acme Novelty's membership card gimmick got crushed by real discount change.

The failure taught Jimmy why the entire conglomerate movement was doomed. First, financial engineering is no substitute for operational excellence. The accounting that made conglomerate math work was being exposed as sleight of hand. Growth through acquisition was being replaced by actually improving the businesses you own.

Second, the myth of management genius transferable to any industry was just that, a myth. It turns out running a carpet company required different skills than selling cars. Who knew?

Third, market cycles matter more than market genius. The conglomerate era was built on rising markets and cheap credit. When conditions changed, the model collapsed. Without high stock prices, you couldn't acquire. Without acquisitions, you couldn't show growth. Without growth, your stock price fell. The circle became a death spiral.

What strikes me the most about this story, Jimmy learned these lessons the hard way, but he learned them completely. Most people who ride a bubble convince themselves they're geniuses. When it pops, they blame bad luck or unfair treatment. Jimmy didn't either. He looked at the wreckage and asked, what did I miss? That question and the honest answer to it made all the difference in what came next. The boy who repositioned newspapers as souvenirs was about to reinvent himself one more time.

Recovery during the early 1970s was slow and humbling for Jimmy Pattison. He had to liquidate entire companies, sell his Learjet, and even return paintings from his office walls. The empire he'd built through financial engineering had collapsed into rubble. But here's what separates survivors from casualties. Jimmy didn't blame the market, the banks, or bad luck. He blamed his philosophy. Jimmy gathered his remaining executives for what he called a corporate pep rally.

Sitting around a simple table, they heard a transformed leader deliver a message that was part confession, part warning, part battle cry. Things were about to change. "We aren't going to suffer fools gladly," he began. "And we have been tolerant in the past on a few occasions, but we don't intend to be anymore. People are going to come through for us. You know, this starts from Jimmy down. We all got to produce. I've got to produce. Everybody around me has to produce.

Gone was the hands-off conglomerate philosophy. No more, we acquired it, you run it. The new rule was brutal in its simplicity. We acquired it, so let's run it together.

Most importantly, he was abandoning the drug that had nearly killed them, growth for growth's sake. We're not interested in doubling the size of the company for the sake of having more sales. We're only interested in what it's going to do for the share growth of this company. He slammed the table with each word. The only thing that's going to count is solid earnings, quarter by quarter by quarter.

What strikes me here, most leaders who fail this spectacularly either disappear or double down on their mistakes. Jimmy did neither. He looked his team in the eye and said, essentially, I was wrong. Here's what we're doing differently. That takes a particular kind of courage. Jim's transformation went beyond speeches. He implemented three concrete changes that would define his companies forever. First, brutal honesty about problems.

One thing we must not have are financial surprises. We can't find that we've got half a million dollar bad debt on our hands. Bad news would travel fast or heads would roll. Second, pay is tied to performance.

Every operating guy in our company has got to be on the incentive system. If a guy can triple the earnings in his company, then he should participate directly in the results. He needs no more salary socialism. Third, intellectual humility. Just because we happen to be sitting in Vancouver doesn't mean to say we've got the answers, because we don't have the answers. And we welcome criticism. It wouldn't take long for a crisis to test the changes. When the 1973 oil crisis hit, Jimmy showed what this philosophy meant in practice.

His recreational vehicle business saw profits crater 80% as gas prices tripled. The old Jimmy might have waited for recovery. The new Jimmy amputated fast. We sold our RV plants in Red Deer, Alberta, Winkler, Manitoba, and Woodstock, Ontario. Our total investment in the industry was down by about half. Pop shops seemed brilliant. Discount soft drinks sold direct to consumers. After a month watching management operate,

Jimmy killed it. The only moral of the story is that when you make a mistake, recognize it and get the hell out right away. His most painful decision was Acme novelty. After two management changes and $2 million in advances, he shut it down completely. His explanation was visceral. If I had cancer of the arm, I'd chop off my arm to save the rest of my body.

The lesson here is timeless. Sunk costs are called sunk for a reason. The money you've spent is gone. The only question that matters is, what's the best decision going forward?

By 1973, Jimmy was rebuilding on solid ground and focusing on what he understood. Overweightia Foods was thriving. His news distribution was profitable. The car dealerships where he'd started continued to perform. Never mind acquisitions, he told his team. This company is going to grow and produce earnings per share on internal growth. If we never make an acquisition...

our earnings growth is going to continue to grow. He wasn't abandoning acquisitions entirely, just doing them differently, saying, which we've probably had more experience with it than anybody in Canada. Now, we've played it pretty cool for the last year and a half or two years, but I'll tell you, we're back on the track.

The difference was discipline. Future acquisitions would have to meet specific criteria, and they would be in industries where Jim's team had expertise, and they would be managed hands-on, not left to run themselves. But the real breakthrough came at a 1976 dinner. Bill Bellman, one of Jim's executives, had just returned from a young president's meeting, buzzing about something called Return on Invested Capital.

A consultant named Kurt Simons had presented a new way to measure diverse businesses with a single yardstick. We won't wait till tomorrow, Jimmy said, when Bellman suggested they attend Simons' lecture the next day. That night, they took Simons to dinner at High's Encore and hired him on the spot.

ROIC became Jim's new religion. Instead of just measuring profits, they'd measure operating profit against capital invested, receivables, fixed assets, inventory, minus operating liabilities. This revealed true returns without the distortion of debt financing. Even better, Jimmy established different hurdle rates for different businesses. Stable billboard advertising could accept lower returns. Cyclical businesses like RVs needed higher returns to justify the risk. He would

He would add two more principles. Market share, are we gaining or losing ground? And quality, are we getting better or worse? Return on invested capital, market share, and quality, these three tenets have become our corporate gospel, Jimmy explained. Those are the targets for all of our presidents. From the start, our managers know where the pins are.

What I find fascinating, Jimmy discovered what Buffett and Munger had been practicing for years, that capital allocation is the CEO's most important job. But he learned it the hard way through near total failure. By 1977, Jimmy had learned his most important lesson. Being public wasn't for him. The market that once celebrated conglomerates now punished them. Neonex traded at $2.50, implying the company was worth more dead than alive.

The quarterly earnings calls, the short-term pressure, the market's bipolar moods, all of it distracted from building real value. Let's see if the shareholders want to sell out to us, Jimmy suggested one morning. He offered $3 per share, a 20% premium. When some shareholders demanded $4, Jimmy patiently negotiated. On November 1st, 1977, Neonex International disappeared into Jimmy Patterson Lanneter at a private company. As Jimmy joked...

If we wanted, we could hold our next annual meeting in an elevator. Investment Reporter captured the moment. It seems to symbolize the end of that brief era when any company with a name ending in dash x dash i x dash or dash tron was assured of some following with a certain segment of the investing public. Jim's new philosophy was crystal clear. No partners, no shareholders, no relatives.

In January 1981, Jimmy stopped to help a boy with a broken bicycle. Hit a rock that had fallen from the cliffside, the boy explained. As Jimmy loaded the bike, the boy added proudly, "'Oh yeah, the best bike I've ever had. It's Japanese. This is my third bike, but this is the very best one.'" Driving away, Jimmy had an epiphany. His calculator? Sharp. Japanese. The Nikon camera his photographer friend called the finest in the world?

Japanese, the motorcycles roaring past, Japanese had 90% of that market. I remembered when Japan used to export almost nothing but shoddy imitations, Jimmy reflected. Something fundamental had changed. The numbers from his new Toyota dealerships confirmed it. General Motors spent $331 per car on warranty repairs. Toyota spent $30.

$31, while 64% of American cars had defects in the first six months, only 32% of Japanese cars did. Jimmy flew to Japan to meet Eiji Toyoda, chairman of Toyota Motor Corporation. His question was direct. What is the secret of how you've captured market after market? Toyota's answer was simpler than Jimmy expected. There is no secret. The whole of Japan has a strategy, a national strategy of commitment to quality.

How do you teach 100 million people about quality? One by one. Japanese executives spelled out five keys to their quality system. 1. Tally the defects in the system. 2. Analyze the facts of their tally. 3. Trace the defects to the source. 4. Correct the defects at the source. Record what happens thereafter. The quality revolution. At Toyota City, Jimmy discovered quality circles. Small groups of employees meeting voluntarily to solve workplace problems.

The statistics staggered him. 40,000 Toyota employees submitted 400,000 written suggestions in 1980. 10 suggestions per worker per year. But would it work with North American workers? Jimmy found proof at a former Motorola plant now run by the Japanese. When American managed, the plant produced 140 defects per 100 TV sets. Under Japanese methods with the same workforce, defects dropped to 4 to 6 per 100 sets.

Warranty costs fell 90%. At age 52, I had found religion, Jimmy wrote. Not the spiritual kind, but a philosophy of running a business in the best interests of both the corporation and the employee. Jimmy introduced quality circles across his companies. Never mandatory, but eventually 125 circles operated throughout the group. A computer services company improved accuracy from 78.5% to 97.7% in under a year. A

A car dealership's inspection checklist increased service revenues by $140,000 annually. At Mainland Magazine, employees solved in one weekend a problem that had stumped managers for three months. The first three years, the Quality Circle program cost us $1 million annually, Jimmy noted, but the return on our investment is tremendous. Whatever you want to call the Quality Circle concept, it's employee involvement, Jimmy concluded. And with a real commitment from management,

Boy, does it work. The pattern here is unmistakable. Jim's greatest insights came from his greatest failures. The conglomerate collapse taught him about capital allocation.

Being fired taught him about control. And watching Japanese companies eat his lunch taught him about quality. Each disaster contained the seed of his next breakthrough. The used car salesman had become a student of excellence. And class was just beginning. Jim's conversion to quality fundamentally changed how he thought about his business.

Jimmy Pattison is 96 years old and still runs his company every day. Think about that. Pattison's been building the same empire for over 60 years. That's not normal. That's not even close to normal. That's an outlier.

The book we've been following was published in the late 1980s. Jimmy was already a success story then. He'd rebuild from the conglomerate collapse. He discovered quality management. He'd taken his company private. Most people would have called it a career. Pattison was just getting started.

Armed with his quality of religion and freed from quarterly earnings calls, Pattison embarked on one of Canada's great acquisition sprees. But this wasn't the scattered shopping of his conglomerate days. It was targeted. Every move now reflected hard-won principles: buy good businesses in industries you understand, improve operations relentlessly, build dominant market positions, and most importantly, think in decades, not quarters.

Entering the 1980s, Pattison executed one of his shrewdest strategic pivots. Sensing an economic downturn on the horizon, interest rates were soaring and a recession loomed in the early 80s, he bucked the prevailing corporate trend of aggressive empire building.

Instead, he did the opposite. He liquidated the weakest 20% of his assets, converting them into about $140 million in cash and liquid investments. This was a contrarian move that puzzled some observers at the time. But when the recession hit Canada in 1981 and 1982, Pattison's company was not only insulated, it was positioned to go bargain hunting.

As John D. Rockefeller said, "The strong feed during the depressions." As the economy recovered in 1984, he unleashed that war chest a little to acquire new businesses at distressed prices. That year he bought Canadian Fishing Company, entering the resource sector. The next year he bought Ripley's Believe It or Not, launching him into entertainment.

These weren't random purchases. They were patient moves into industries with durable, competitive advantages. The 1990s reveal Paterson's evolved strategy.

In 1990 alone, he acquired four packaging companies: Food Service Packaging Group, Flexible Packaging Group, Coroplast, and Montebello Packaging. This wasn't conglomerate thinking. This was strategic clustering, building scale, and industrial manufacturing where operational improvements compound. In 1994, he bought control of West Shore Terminals, a publicly traded company in BC that's a coal export facility.

Infrastructure plays like this generated the steady cash flows that let him be patient everywhere else. What fascinates me here is that Patterson learned the best acquisitions aren't the exciting ones, they're the boring ones. The ones that print money for decades. The ones that nobody pays attention to. Coal terminals aren't sexy, neither are packaging plants, but they fund empires.

Pattison's most visible empire building happened in plain sight, your local grocery store. Starting with Overweed Tea in 1968, he systematically assembled Western Canada's largest food retail network. Bilo Foods in 1995, Cooper's Foods in 1999, Quality Foods, and Choice Markets in 2017. Each acquisition strengthened his regional dominance. Then, in 2024, at age 95, Pattison made his boldest grocery move yet.

He acquired Save Mart companies, Save Mart, Lucky, and FoodMax stores across Northern California. Suddenly, his grocery store empire stretched from British Columbia to Sacramento. This is where private ownership shows its power. A public company making this many grocery acquisitions would face a little bit more scrutiny, activist investors, and quarterly earnings pressure.

Jimmy faced none of that. He could build patiently, improve operations quietly, and strike when opportunities appeared. Parallel to groceries, Jimmy built something even more powerful. Control over commercial communication across Western Canada. Radio stations, outdoor advertising, television properties. Then in 2020, he bought the remaining Canadian magazine and book distribution business.

the news group became the sole major distributor of periodicals in Canada. If you bought a magazine anywhere in Canada, Jimmy Pattison's company probably delivered it. That's not market share, that's market control. The lesson here is clear, and winner-take-all markets being number two is just a polite way of saying you're losing. Pattison didn't want to compete in these markets, he wanted to own them. Let's just think about the numbers here for a second. By 2023, the Jim Pattison group had become a

a behemoth. 50,000 employees across over 600 locations. Operations spanning multiple countries. Annual sales exceeding $16 billion. Canada's second largest privately held company. Over 300 grocery store locations. Over 25 car dealerships.

The second largest John dealership in Canada, out of whom advertising, which is billboards and transits ads, is another strong arm. The divisions like Patterson Outdoor and Neon Products, the group is the largest player in Canadian outdoor advertising, controlling a huge share of billboards and signage.

Perhaps a poetic outcome given Pattison's first neon sign endeavor in the 1950s. And the entertainment group, which owns Ripley's Believe It or Not, the Guinness Book of World Records, and Great Wolf Lodge. The empire now spans 25 to 30 divisions from automotive dealerships, food retail, media packaging, resource extraction, financial services, entertainment. It looks like a conglomerate.

What is remarkable is that Jim Patterson owns 100% of this. Each business meets Jim's three criteria, strong returns on invested capital, leading market share, and obsessive focus on quality. Each acquisition gets integrated, improved, and held forever. No financial engineering, no quick flips, just patient operational improvement compounding over decades.

From a seven-year-old selling seeds door to door to running a $16 billion empire at 96, Jimmy Pattison's journey defies every modern business convention. He never went to business school, never worked at McKinsey, never raised venture capital, never IPO'd. Well, he once, he did sort of take over a public company, but he hated it so much that he bought the company back. Instead, he learned by doing.

He failed spectacularly with King Glamourites, got schooled by Japanese quality, discovered that boring businesses with good returns beat exciting businesses with poor returns, and most importantly, he learned that private ownership lets you play a different game entirely.

The empire continues to grow. It's still privately held, still focused on operations, and still driven by principles learned when a Saskatchewan farm boy discovered that success isn't about financial engineering. It's about the fundamentals. Serve your customers well, treat employees fairly, measure what matters, and never stop improving.

What strikes me most about this story is that Pattison built one of North America's great business empires without ever forgetting the lessons he learned selling seeds door to door. Find out what people want, give it to them better than anyone else. And when you make a promise, whether it's delivering seeds or running a billion dollar company or paying back your debt, keep it.

The boy who couldn't afford piano lessons didn't just end up owning the piano company, he built an empire that will outlast him. All because he'd learned that in business, like in life, fundamentals never go out of style. For six decades, he's reframed every obstacle into opportunity, just like those worthless newspapers became priceless souvenirs.

That Victory Day in Europe newspaper still hangs in his office. Proof that when you refuse to accept failure as final, even yesterday's news can fund tomorrow's empire. All right, let's go off the cuff here and talk about some of the things that I learned, my reflections while researching, and some lessons you can take away here. One, Patterson has what I like to think of as the money-making gene.

His formative years during the depression instilled frugality, work ethic, and perseverance in the face of hardship. Even as a youth, he showed so much entrepreneurial initiative, launching many ventures from seeds to donuts and working multiple jobs, which I

which honed its sales skills. You know, one of the things that struck me reading about Jimmy Patterson was my conversation with John Bragg and the episode we did and John's reason for staying private. And I think that there's a lot of similarities between Jimmy Patterson and John Bragg. And if they haven't met, I'm willing to connect to you, reach out to me.

I'll make it happen. But these guys, there's a lot of similarities. So John Bragg, you know, he likes being private. He doesn't like having to answer to shareholders. He likes being the flexibility that being private forwards. Patterson sort of learned that lesson too. Can you imagine your share price going from $45 to 80 cents?

And then taking out the company at $3 and just operating it in private. There's so much less scrutiny, so much less regulatory. You know, not everybody's in your business. You're not giving information to your competitors. There's a lot of advantages to being private over being public. One of the sayings that Patterson said over and over again that I love that didn't sort of make its way into the episode is, if you like your work, it's not work.

And so he quips this every time he's asked why he never takes a vacation. So if you like your work, it's not work. For all of his wealth and influence, Pattison remains really intensely private and hands-on. Still works full-time. He's only six days a week now instead of seven.

often arrives at the office before dawn and personally visits his far-flung operations in his pickup truck. He's not above sleeping in his truck when he's out visiting parts of his business empire and driving across Western Canada in his pickup truck. Can you imagine driving across Western Canada, basically the Midwest, in your pickup truck at 90 with a pillow and a blanket in case you can't find a hotel and being one of the richest people in the country?

Jimmy Pattison is often dubbed as Canada's Warren Buffett, a comparison that Buffett even himself playfully flipped and said back in Omaha, unknown as the Jim Pattison of the United States. He was also relentlessly focused on cutting costs. In the early 80s, as they were heading into the recession and before it had

Even before it hit, he imposed belt tightening across the company. He personally cut head office staff by 25%. He slashed travel and overhead perks, even canceled newspaper subscriptions to save pennies. And he told everybody, we've got to get our costs down if we're going to continue to grow. And I think ruthless expense management is key.

He did the expo in 1986, the Vancouver Expo, and we didn't talk about this in the episode, but he ran this and he ran it successfully and under budget, brought in all this money, all these companies to Vancouver. But, you know, his management style by all accounts is intense, right?

He has what other people see as unreasonably high standards. He pushes his team and he doesn't tolerate any excuses, but he holds himself to the same standard. He also had like this very tough love approach. He didn't hesitate to shut down underperforming divisions or fire long-time employees if they weren't delivering results.

Yet employees who embraced his high standards often stayed with him for decades, and they were richly rewarded. Pattison fostered loyalty by sharing the wealth with top performers, but he expected them to run a lean, results-focused operation, just as he did. In a 2020 interview, he had this quip that I loved, and you know, he was 91 at the time, and he said he was actively looking for acquisitions because if you're not growing, you're dying.

Okay, let's talk about some of the key lessons here that we can take away and learn from this episode. What a fascinating guy Jimmy Pattison was. He was phenomenal.

There's so much to learn and love about him, and you can't help but falling in love with him when you're reading about him. Okay, lesson one, reputation compounds. When Jimmy's father, Pat Patterson's, car dealership failed in 1929, bankruptcy was the obvious choice. Instead, he spent 25 years paying back every creditor while working as a mechanic and laborer. Jimmy watched his father make those payments day and night.

decade after decade. The payoff, when he needed a $40,000 loan to start his own dealership, banker Harold Nelson looked past his thin balance sheet to his reputation. Most people think reputation is about being liked. Patterson learned reputation is about being trusted, being reliable, and trust takes decades to build and seconds to destroy. Two, balance don't break. Most people see failure as final. Jimmy saw it as raw material for success.

When his newspapers became worthless at 7 a.m., he didn't dump them, he rebranded them. When CIBC called his loans with 60 days notice, he didn't panic, he bluffed.

When humbled by Maple Leaf Mills, he recouped with a more cautious approach. The lesson isn't avoiding failure, it's refusing to let failure define the outcome. 3. Keep going At an age when most start to wind down, Jimmy flew to Japan and discovered his entire business philosophy was wrong. Toyota spent $31 on warranty repairs per car. GM spent $331.

One boy's comment about his Japanese bicycle triggered a complete operational overhaul. True leaders don't defend outdated methods. They abandon them instantly when shown something better. 4. Cash flow is my religion When others chased growth, Jimmy worshipped predictable revenue. He pioneered car leasing not for the margins but for the guaranteed return of business.

When evaluating Neon products, he gave a lot of weight to the $16.4 million in forward contracts. Every empire needs a foundation, and Pattison's was knowing exactly what next month's revenue looked like. 5. The Prison of Public Markets

After building Neonex into a high-flying public company that went up to $40 a share, Jimmy bought it all back at $3 per share. His new philosophy. No partners, no shareholders, no relatives. Public companies optimized for quarters. Private companies optimized for decades. Six, bet on yourself. Patterson continuously took daring risks and bet on himself.

He leapt to buy his own car dealership going all in, leveraging up and paying crazy interest rates. He cold called a Wall Street partner, Mike Dingham, with nothing but chutzpah. When he took on the Canadian establishment in the Molson family for control of Maple Leaf Mills, he was mocked in the press. He won.

Most people wait for permission to play at the next level. Patterson just showed up and started playing. The gap between where you are and where you want to be isn't bridged by credentials. It's bridged by action. Seven, information asymmetry is everything. Jimmy executed Western Canada's first hostile takeover because Arthur Christopher didn't know who was buying his shares. Christopher's shock revealed the edge.

In negotiations, what matters isn't what you know, it's what the other side doesn't know you know. When you make a move, do it in silence. 8. Brutal clarity beats false kindness.

Yes.

Only the best players stay on the field. The paradox, his ruthless transparency, created more loyalty than managers who strung people along with false hope. Number nine, pick the right co-pilot.

Sometimes that means avoiding the wrong ones. Dan McLean offered Jimmy 25% ownership, instant millionaire status. One catch, he'd have to partner with McLean's son, Peter Burks. Jimmy's response was immediate. I wouldn't be interested. A month later, he was fired. The lesson, bad partnerships don't just slow you down, they kill your future. Jimmy learned it's better to own 100% of something smaller than 25% of something with the wrong people.

Number 10, autonomy is the best teacher. Jimmy's greatest education came not from mentor's wisdom, but from their neglect. Dan McLean gave him complete freedom to run a dealership. You're my servant, I'm your boss. But he never interfered. Like Anna Wintour at Viva, Pattison took a lesser position than he was capable of doing for greater control. The paradox? The best mentors teach by letting you learn. Number 11, unreasonable standards.

Patterson is known for expecting a lot from his people, firing underperformers, cutting costs ruthlessly, and insisting on his vision. Yet he also inspired loyalty by working as hard as anyone and rewarding success. He set clear, non-negotiable standards.

Thanks for listening and learning with us. And be sure to sign up for my free weekly newsletter at fs.blog slash newsletter. I hope you enjoyed my reflections at the end of this episode. That's normally reserved for members. But with this outlier series, I wanted to make them available to everyone.

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