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By Root 3391 0

Spurgeon one of his new people, a great rarity that now occurred only at intervals of years. Buffett had actually suggested that she get married at the meeting, where he would walk her down the long, long center aisle to the front and give her away as a bride. “Imagine how many gifts you would get from Borsheim’s,” he said. Genuinely touched by his offer—but warily envisioning news stories portraying her nuptials as the Berkshire version of a Moonie wedding—Spurgeon and her fiancé Kevin Helliker decided to get married in Italy instead. Buffett had granted her a seat with the managers in their reserved section;4 Osberg and Loomis, who were de facto family, sat in the section reserved for family and directors.

Everyone else had to scramble to avoid a place in the rafters. This year, so many requests for passes had come in that almost twenty thousand people were expected.

A black market of scalpers had sprung up on eBay, selling meeting credentials for as much as $250 for four passes. Buffett was mildly awestruck. Who ever heard of tickets scalped to a shareholder meeting? The eBay listing said: “Possibly meet in person Warren Buffett or ask him a question at the meeting…. Winning bidder also receives the visitor’s guide. The pass also allows you employee pricing at Nebraska Furniture Mart and Borsheim’s Jewelry Store…. BBQ party…Cocktail party at Borsheim’s…Shareholder party at Buffett’s favorite steak house…View displays from many of the Berkshire companies.”

As much as the P. T. Buffett loved it, Howard Buffett’s son wanted the scalping stopped. He couldn’t allow people to be gouged by scalpers just to attend the shareholder meeting. The man who, a year or two earlier, had professed (for good reason) ignorance of technology set up his own e-tailer on eBay, hawking meeting credentials at $5 a pair. People e-mailed anxiously. Would these credentials be “real,” or would they look different, stigmatizing the buyer as not a “real” shareholder? The question implied that this would be awful, labeling them as not a member of the “club.”

But, no, the credentials would be real, however obtained. And with that, Berkshire Hathaway—once a cozy club made up of rich partners whom Buffett considered friends—suddenly became a fan club. Buffett had opened up the tent and invited everybody in.

Omaha’s brand-new Qwest Center rose like a great silver circus tent near the Missouri River. Its facade reflected like a mirror on the grimy old Civic Auditorium across town, scene of the last four meetings. Kelly Muchemore strode around the floor for days ahead of time with her walkie-talkie, overseeing forklifts filled with bales of hay and crates of flowers, lampposts, and tons of mulch that would be landscaped into garden and seating areas in the exhibition hall. Construction crews built neighborhoods of booths to display awnings, air compressors, blocks of knives, encyclopedias, vacuum cleaners, and picture frames. Workers installed signage marking the “Berkyville” streets and avenues that snaked in between the furniture showroom, the kitchenware store, the Western boot–fitting area, the Bookworm book shop, the candy store, the insurance sales counter, and the women’s shoe store. Upstairs in the arena, the stage crew set up the white-covered table with microphones backed by oversize screens where Buffett and Munger would sit, while the lighting crew tested the panel that created the orchestrated light show that would open the event. A “star” private dressing room was outfitted backstage so that Susie would have a place to rest. An armored truck pulled in with a $250,000 pair of jeweled cowboy boots destined for the Justin exhibit. A movie projector and screen and giant pillows waited in a casbah party room, where the hundreds of exhausted Berkshire Hathaway employees who would be working free of charge could drag themselves to collapse after the event.

Buffett bounced around the office like a teenager. Visitors, including a group of college students, dropped in to see him. His voice grew hoarser as the week wore on and the number of visitors