The Trouble With Barry -- Ackerley: An Enigma Who Attracts Negative Publicity His Critics Say Is Well-Deserved, But Others Say Is Wrong

In the pantheon of Seattle's family businesses, there are the Nordstroms, the Bullitts, the Fishers, the Skinners - sterling models of the Northwest ideal.

Then there's Barry Ackerley of Ackerley Communications.

Ackerley was known as the baron of billboards until 1983, when he bought the SuperSonics basketball team and brought his personality to what fans often think is theirs, a public trust.

For many of these past 11 years, Ackerley has been entangled in lawsuits and invective. Unfairly, says his son and business lieutenant, Bill Ackerley. Deservedly, say a number of ex-employees, sports columnists and others.

Always, there has been a mystery to Ackerley, who nearly everyone says can be hardheaded and remote.

What is it with him? Does he enjoy squabbles?

Financially, Ackerley has been rewarded for his troubles - a salary of $500,000 and company stock worth $75.5 million.

The latest incident has Ackerley putting Sonics President Bob Whitsitt - NBA executive of the year - on a paid leave as the two argue in public over whether Whitsitt wanted to quit or just suggested it as an option to discuss.

Running a modern business involves litigation but Ackerley, 60, almost needs a luxury box at the King County Courthouse.

Ackerley was sued when he bought furniture for his house (claim: didn't pay his bill; case settled). Sued when his daughter got married in New York (claim: florist wasn't paid; case dropped).

Sued by the executive search firm hired in 1986 to find a president for the team (claim: didn't pay his bill; case settled.) And that's not counting suits by ex-employees and disputes with governments over taxes owed, trees cut down, etc. Why does so much bile flow around his personality?

Ackerley was traveling this past week but left his son, Bill, to take the questions.

Bill Ackerley says the public image of his father is dead wrong.

"I can't explain how he's gotten that picture publicly," says young Ackerley. "I just don't know. The circles I run in, he is very much admired and respected by the people who work for him and who do business with him. He has 1,000 employees, many of whom have been with him for years and he is revered by most of them."

"He's living in a time warp," says Joe Fasi, agent for talk-show host Nanci Donnellan, "The Fabulous Sports Babe," who had to struggle to get released from a contract with Ackerley-owned KJR-AM to join cable sports channel ESPN.

"He thinks he's still in the time of the serfs and that he owns people," Fasi says of Barry Ackerley.

A MODERATING FORCE

Bill Ackerley, 34, is widely described as personable and bright. Some say he is the moderating force in the Ackerley organization, a court of last resort when the father won't listen to nonfamily members. Bill Ackerley gives an appealing view of his father, who adopted him 31 years ago when Barry Ackerley married Bill's mother, Ginger. For both, it was a second marriage.

Bill Ackerley says his adoptive father coached his Little League team, (placed second), put him through school and made him president and chief operating officer of Ackerley Communications, a job that last year paid $150,000.

The father taught what Bill Ackerley calls old-fashioned values: loyalty, trust, honesty and charity. Bill Ackerley got no breaks from his father, even as a Little Leaguer.

His father said Bill had to work a bit harder than everybody else, so Bill carried the bats and set them up before games and practices - to show he cared for the team.

Two other children work in the company - Kim Ackerley Cleworth is a corporate vice president of marketing and Ted Ackerley is sales manager for Northwest Sport Sales, a corporate subsidiary.

Ted's twin brother, Chris Ackerley, is a banker with Seafirst. (Two daughters by Ackerley's first marriage have other interests and are not involved in the company, by their choice, says Bill Ackerley.)

Barry Ackerley cannot stand attacks on his motives and behavior by people who don't know him, says his son. By that standard, perhaps, almost no one should criticize the boss because few people get close to him.

Harold Katz, owner of the Philadelphia 76ers, was described by the Ackerley organization as a close friend but the description stops short of the reality. Katz praises Ackerley as warm and witty, someone he enjoys being with, but says he does not see Ackerley outside of NBA functions. He wasn't sure if he had ever met Bill Ackerley.

"He's not inclined to get chummy," says Philip Tocker, former president of the Outdoor Advertising Association of America and one of two major investors who backed Ackerley in the late 1960s. Tocker, who required Ackerley to buy him out in 1980, says Ackerley always honored their agreements and their parting was amicable.

GETTING CLOSE NOT EASY

Bill Ackerley says getting close to his father is not easy, but worth it. He characterizes his father as at times a stern business leader, not the autocrat seen by some others: charming one day and slamming phones and shouting expletives the next.

If Ackerley perceives disloyalty in an employee, he is quick to end the relationship.

Peter Hurd started working with Barry Ackerley in 1966, helped him build Ackerley Communications, rose to the rank of senior vice president, saw himself as the closest Ackerley friend, and was godfather to Ackerley's son Ted.

In 1990, says Hurd, Ackerley abruptly fired him - by letter. And refused to come to the phone to discuss the matter.

"It hurt, believe me," says Hurd, now owner of a small billboard company on Long Island, New York.

Firing Hurd was one of the hardest things Barry Ackerley ever did, says his son. But Hurd was fired in person and after Ackerley discovered Hurd had invested in a competing company. Hurd says it was not a competitor and other employees had made similar investments.

"I don't think Barry has ever wanted anybody close to him," says Hurd. "Barry has always ruled by fear."

Karl Eller, owner of Eller Outdoor Advertising in Phoenix and a founder of the Phoenix Suns, has known Barry Ackerley since the mid-1960s and helped him get started in the industry. Eller admits he's baffled by the departures of several longtimers such as Hurd.

"I know he's had problems with people who work for him. He's very tough-minded and he's short-tempered," says Eller.

But Ackerley has many good qualities, says Eller. He's truthful, energetic, intelligent, generous with his time and a good friend.

Walt Sorenson served 13 years as Ackerley's corporate pilot and says the boss in later years became demanding to the point of irrationality, cursing and screaming if the plane wasn't available when needed.

One time, says Sorenson, Ackerley chewed him out in front of his 9-year-old daughter. "Why did Mr. Ackerley talk to you like that, daddy?" the girl said, according to Sorenson.

Bill Ackerley says he had never heard of anything like that taking place and doubts its truthfulness.

"He's a toad," says Sorenson, who quit four years ago. "He just crushes people."

Gary Spinnell, former vice president of marketing and sales at Ackerley Communications, considered himself one of Barry Ackerley's favorite guys. Then in 1992, Spinnell went to a meeting with 80 other staff members to meet Kim Ackerley - the new vice president of marketing and sales. Spinnell was out.

Spinnell, now with Blockbuster Video, has filed a lawsuit against Ackerley and his company, claiming wrongful termination and unpaid commissions and bonuses, charges denied by Ackerley attorneys.

A few years ago, Ackerley had a new phone system installed at the Sonics office. A number of times, Ackerley called in while the staff was still learning the new system.

"Barry was the type that if he were put on hold accidentally, heads would roll," a former receptionist says. "He'd say (in a tight, castigating voice) `THIS IS BARRY ACKERLEY,' and you would just quake in your boots. If you had to drop everything and run to the bathroom to find the guy he was looking for, that's what was expected. "

Not all Ackerley ex-employees are disgruntled. Kathy Scanlan was executive vice president of the Sonics for two years before she left in 1992. Scanlan insists she left on good terms. She says she worked primarily with Bill Ackerley and has nothing but the utmost respect for him.

As for Barry Ackerley, she says, "I don't know why there seem to be so many disgruntled employees. I did not have that experience and I'm not prepared to dump on the guy now."

She offers this perspective on Barry Ackerley:

"Sometimes I think he doesn't think through how comments he makes will be portrayed in the newspaper. He's not the most astute PR person for himself. He says what's on his mind and sometimes that's not the best thing."

Scanlan says there are a couple of key points to know about Barry Ackerley. No. 1: He wants to win. No. 2: He is tremendously loyal to his family. Almost everything he does can be traced back to one of these two driving forces. Woe to anyone Barry Ackerley sees as threatening or besmirching his family.

On Ackerley's orders, the Sonics in the 1991-92 season denied press-box access to Seattle Post-Intelligencer sports columnist Art Thiel. Thiel's offense was to write that he would rather lie in a bed of broken light bulbs than do business with Barry Ackerley.

The Ackerleys have a low opinion of nearly all sportswriters, whom they characterize as mean-spirited.

While some see Ackerley as too sensitive to perceived slights on his family, Bill Ackerley sees this quality as praiseworthy. But Bill Ackerley has few clues as to where such sensitivity came from.

Bill Ackerley says he knows little about his father's upbringing, other than that Barry Ackerley grew up in Iowa, the son of of a beef-rendering plant operator.

Barry Ackerley doesn't volunteer much about those days but gave a clue recently when he urged his son to have a second child: Barry Ackerley was an only child.

AN ESTABLISHED PATTERN

Some people familiar with Barry Ackerley see Whitsitt's trouble as following an established pattern: When something goes wrong, Ackerley looks for someone to punish.

The Sonics' surprising loss in the first round of the NBA playoffs to Denver, they say, would have been felt by Ackerley as not just a loss but a humiliation of his family. Bill Ackerley denies this, saying the family took the loss as hard as everyone in the organization, but no one was targeted to be punished.

After the loss, Eller, the old friend, just couldn't call Ackerley. "I just knew he must have been lower than a mole. I think he was counting on that championship."

One thing is clear. The family had hoped to improve Barry Ackerley's image. In 1992, a public-relations firm was hired. More attention was focused on the company's giving program and, coupled with the fact that Barry Ackerley a year earlier had faced mortality after undergoing quintuple heart-bypass surgery, there was talk that a mellower Ackerley had emerged.

And there were signs of change. Ackerley spoke publicly of his pleasure of bringing happiness to Sonics fans and even shook hands with Thiel, who was returned to the press box.

UNDER ATTACK AGAIN

But now, with the Whitsitt-Ackerley flap in the news, Barry Ackerley's behavior is again under attack and Bill Ackerley is again trying to explain his father.

Understanding Ackerley may take time, even though the boss himself is not known for his patience. Seattle is being asked to trust someone who, to borrow a phrase from Ackerley's hero, Winston Churchill, is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

"I've spent the last 31 years of my life with him. I've been a student of his," says Bill Ackerley. "Everything he knows I've been trying to get out of him all that time. I'm just starting to make headway. He knows a lot."