Winemaker Robert Mondavi passed away at the age of 94 on May 16, 2008.
His life story has special meaning to me because I developed my first sense of professional identity in the wine business beginning in the mid 1970s. I was looking for “traction” in my life, evidence that I was on a career path where my aptitudes and abilities would enable me to make a contribution. I wasn’t at all sure what those aptitudes and abilities might be. Robert Mondavi’s enthusiasm, confidence, and business success served as evidence to me that I was in an exciting industry, and it was until the giant beverage conglomerates took it over.
Men—and women—of extraordinary passion and zeal are often deeply flawed, as Mr. Mondavi was. He was vain, emotionally stunted, and notoriously flirtatious. He brought enormous conflict to two families, his birth family and the family he established when he married his first wife, Marjorie Declusin. He started the famous fistfight with his brother Peter that became a legend in the wine industry. His life was characterized by incredible flights of success and shocking amounts of emotional pain that he spread around rather indiscriminately, seemingly unaware of how he was contributing to one emotional disaster after another. He seemed to lack any sense of proportion, and that may be the key to both his remarkable success and his outrageousness.
“CALL it Greek tragedy or Shakespearean drama, Biblical strife, Freudian acting out or even soap opera. You wouldn’t be exaggerating, and you wouldn’t be wrong,” Eric Asimov wrote in his review, published in The New York Times, of Julia Flynn Siler’s book, The House of Mondavi, The Rise and Fall of An American Wine Dynasty. All of those characterizations fit Mr. Mondavi and his family. He was, as they say, bigger than life.
In any case, I try not to begrudge a person his or her weaknesses. With extraordinary power one often gets extraordinary flaws. In our present culture we are quick to dismiss the successes of anyone who has also failed. It is one of the tragedies of our times that we cannot reconcile strength and weakness in the same individual.
Mr. Mondavi’s accomplishments are worth remembering. He envisioned dignity and stature for California wines at a time when all good wine was deemed to come from France, and when Californian’s themselves favored sweet wines and cheap reds and whites of no pedigree at all poured from gallon jugs. California wines were scorned by the wine stewards at great restaurants. He also singlehandedly brought sauvignon blanc into fashion by renaming it fumé blanc. Wine snobs discovered that fumé blanc actually tasted good, unlike its boring alter ego, sauvignon blanc.
Yes, his flaws were real, but so were his energy, courage, and imagination.
The Associated Press obituary, published in The New York Times, among other places, was devoid of any sense of wonder or joy about Mr. Mondavi’s accomplishments. Its tone reflected our current fascination in finding weaknesses in famous people. Frank Prial and Eric Asimov, former and current wine writers respectively for The New York Times, understandably and appropriately showed more sensitivity when they wrote about Mr. Mondavi. Ms. Siler’s book is incredibly detailed and informative, but she too seems to lack a sense of wonder about her subject. The text on the back flap calls the book “A balanced and richly-detailed account.” Balanced with what? The Mondavi empire was indeed “brought to the brink by hubris,” but Ms. Siler found no joy at all in Mr. Mondavi’s life worth recording.
The photo with this article was taken by me at Mr. Mondavi’s birthday party at the Robert Mondavi winery the year that Ms. Biever presented him with two llamas. What else do you give a man who has everything?
I propose a toast to the flawed man who taught us much about what to do and what not to do. Fare thee well, Mr. Mondavi.
