Word: randolphs
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1950-1959
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Francis Fitz Randolph, a 62-year-old Yaleman (Skull and Bones) who collects first editions, likes to go fishing in such far-off places as Iceland and Norway. A lawyer turned investment banker, he is little known outside Wall Street. But there Fisherman Randolph has a prize catch on the end of his line. As boss of Manhattan's Tri-Continental Group, composed of six investment trusts with assets of nearly $200 million, Randolph votes huge blocks of stock in scores of top U.S. companies. His two biggest trusts are Tri-Continental Corp. ($86 million in assets) and Selected...
Baited Hook. Most speculators have bought or sold Tri-Continental and Selected stocks "for the move," without bothering to find out just what they were buying, or even wondering what Randolph and his colleagues might be doing in their Broadway headquarters. But two months ago, Randolph did something that sent many a stockholder scurrying to find out what he held. Randolph proposed that Selected Industries be merged with Tri-Continental...
Both were run by virtually the same management, with almost identical investment policies; it was wasteful, said Randolph, to keep two sets of books, hold separate meetings, etc. Randolph had long wanted to merge the two; at last the time seemed ripe. To stockholders went a complicated plan for a stock swap. Part of Randolph's bait was an $8.70 dividend on one class of Selected Industries stock (the convertible) should the merger be approved...
Wiesenberger lost his battle. At successive meetings, a majority of both companies voted to approve Randolph's merger. Last week, as Tri-Continental took over Selected's assets, it became the biggest closed-end trust in the U.S. ($144 million in assets) and fifth among all US trusts.* With that big fish in his creel, Francis Randolph this week was planning some other business-a month of salmon fishing in the Pyrenees...
...Beverly Hills home, old William Randolph Hearst pulled the fat swatch of clippings out of a letter from a correspondent in Paris, sent them off to his editors for a quick translation. Cut from last month's Paris Le Figaro, they were the most sensational parts of the World War II memoirs of José Doussinague, Spanish diplomat, now ambassador to Chile. When Hearst read the translation, he thought he had a big beat on the rest of the U.S. press. On his orders, his papers last week splashed it across front pages from coast to coast. Screamed...