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The episode with Harold Hughes would prove to be the peak, the nadir, and—thanks in part to Richard Nixon’s eventual reelection—for many years the end of Buffett as would-be kingmaker. But throughout it, Buffett paid careful attention to the overwhelming influence of media in politics; he wanted some of that. A childhood throwing newspapers, his friendship with Fortune reporter Carol Loomis, the purchase of the Sun, a search for other newspapers to buy, and his investment in the Washington Monthly—Buffett’s interest in publishing had grown and compounded. He had seen the overwhelming power of television to capture attention throughout the tumultuous 1960s, from the JFK assassination to the Vietnam War to the civil-rights movement. Now, as the profitability of television became apparent, he wanted a piece of that business too.

Then Bill Ruane set him up at a dinner in New York with an acquaintance, Tom Murphy, who ran Capital Cities Communications, a company that owned broadcasting stations.

Murphy, the son of a Brooklyn judge, had grown up in the spicy chowder of New York politics before joining the Harvard Business School class of ’49. Jowly, balding, easygoing, Murphy had started by managing a bankrupt TV station in Albany so frugally that he painted only the sides of the building that faced the road. Then he started to buy broadcasters, cable companies, and publishers, creating a media empire. Before long he moved to New York and recruited another HBS classmate, Dan Burke, brother of Johnson & Johnson CEO Jim Burke.

After their dinner, Murphy strategized with Ruane about how to get Buffett on his board of directors. Ruane said the way to Buffett’s heart was to visit him in Omaha. Murphy promptly made the pilgrimage. Buffett plied him with a steak dinner, then drove him home to meet Susie. She must have known by now what to expect: Her husband had met another new object of infatuation. Buffett liked to show new people his totems: the office, Susie, and sometimes the train set. After the tour he and Murphy played a couple of games of racquetball in the Buffetts’ basement court, Murphy running around in his oxford dress shoes. Buffett saw where he was headed before Murphy could pop the question. “You know, Tom,” he said, “I couldn’t become a director because I’d have to have a major position in your company, and your stock is too high.”9 Even though the rest of the market was stumbling downhill, investors were excited about television stocks. Cable television was new, and local franchises were consolidating into newly visible public companies, whipping up investors’ excitement about the medium. “Lookit,” he said, “you can have me for nothing, you don’t need me on the board.”10

So Murphy started calling Buffett every time he made a deal. Buffett, just over forty, was flattered and made unlimited time for Murphy, then in his mid-to late forties, even though he thought, “This guy is old.” But “he understands the whole world,” and “I was in awe of Murph,” Buffett says. “I thought he was the ultimate businessman.” One evening, Murphy phoned him at home and offered him first shot at a Fort Worth TV station that was for sale.11 Buffett was interested but, for reasons he doesn’t recall, turned Murphy down—which he later called one of his greater business mistakes.12

What Buffett really wanted was to be a publisher. In fact, he thought he had a hot scoop, but when he gave the editors at the Washington Monthly the idea, they pooh-poohed it. “I’m just sure in my heart,” says Charles Peters, the Monthly’s publisher, “that the editors were offended at the idea of having an investor call them up and tell them to do a story.” They told Peters it was “no real story for the Monthly” and Peters did not push back. Then Buffett turned to the Omaha Sun, which might not have a national platform but was better than no newspaper at all. As matters turned out, says Peters, “I could have shot everybody on my staff.”

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