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Vanguard’s John Bogle leaves behind a legacy of grit, integrity and friendship | Opinion

Bill Marimow: I had breakfast with Jack Bogle for nearly 12 years. As I think about Jack today, what I know for certain is that Philadelphia and the world have lost a giant.

John C. "Jack" Bogle (left) receives icon award from Inquirer Editor Bill Marimow at the Industry Icon Awards, 2016.
John C. "Jack" Bogle (left) receives icon award from Inquirer Editor Bill Marimow at the Industry Icon Awards, 2016.Read moreElizabeth Robertson / Staff Photographer

I first met Jack Bogle, who founded the Vanguard mutual funds, when I introduced him in October 2000 as the keynote speaker at the Baltimore Sun’s personal financial conference. His talk was riveting — full of wisdom about the risks and rewards of Wall Street, the principles that guided Vanguard and a sobering, prescient note of caution for investors who had been mesmerized by the meteoric rise of dotcom stocks.

Within a month of Jack’s talk, the stock market was plummeting and a bear market was underway. Jack’s address established him — at least, in my mind — as a stock market seer. But most importantly, it marked the beginning of an 18-year friendship that spanned the rest of his life. Jack died on Wednesday at the age of 89.

About 18 months after first meeting Jack, I gave the commencement speech at the University of Maryland. I told the saga of the “two Jacks” — Jack Bogle, who had issued his blunt warning about the dotcom bubble, and Jack Marimow, my Dad, an inveterate investor and a risk taker, who had purchased a dotcom stock at $12 a share, watched it soar to $232 and sold at $32 as it went into a long-term tailspin. I sent the talk to Jack Bogle, and he responded with an enthusiastic letter and sent me one of his books.

When I returned to Philadelphia in 2006, Jack invited me to breakfast. That meal began an almost uninterrupted 12-year string of breakfasts where Jack regaled me with tales of his life in business, his family (six great children, a posse of grandchildren, and his charming wife, Eve), and the vicissitudes of his career at Vanguard, the $5 trillion group of mutual funds he created. At Vanguard, he was a hero to the “crew,” the Vanguard employees who worked in the trenches, but he was not always a welcome presence to the executives who followed him and refused to waive Vanguard’s mandatory retirement rules for their founder.

Those long conversations with Jack provided insight into his values: He was dedicated and loyal to the institutions and the people who had helped him throughout his life — first, as a scholarship student at Blair Academy and, later, on scholarship at Princeton University, where he supplemented the financial aid he received with campus jobs and full-time work every summer.

At Blair, where he created the Bogle Brothers Scholarships, more than 150 students have benefited from his largesse, and he did the same for a generation of students at Princeton. Although he never told me, I know that Jack set aside one half of his annual income for philanthropy.

Beyond his generosity, Jack radiated integrity. At Vanguard, he espoused an ineradicable commitment to Vanguard’s clients and the “crew.” Writing in his book, “The Man in the Arena,” Jack said, “Over the years, I have come to love and respect the term human beings to describe both our clients and our crew members.” He lamented the fact that he never encountered the words “human beings” in any books he’d read on corporate strategy, and he once challenged a classroom of Harvard Business School students to prove him wrong.

Jack also loved the affection of grateful investors, especially the “Bogleheads,” who gather yearly to discuss the benefits of investing in Vanguard index funds, which Bogle pioneered. One morning at breakfast — where Jack gave his typical request that he’d like his scrapple “burnt to a crisp" — another diner told Jack that he recognized his voice from listening to his interviews and speeches over the years. He thanked Jack profusely for how Vanguard had buttressed his family finances.

I could never quite figure out why Jack and I became friends, but friends we were. His last email to me — sent on New Year’s Day — ended with the words “peace and love to all.” As I think about Jack today, what I know for certain is that Philadelphia and the world have lost a giant — a financial visionary whose bedrock integrity, competitive grit, compassion, and contributions to millions of investors — will endure.

Bill Marimow, who received two Pulitzer Prizes as a reporter at the Inquirer, was the editor of the Inquirer for eight years. He is now the vice president of corporate strategy for the Inquirer’s parent company.