Byline: By danny hakim section: Section B; Column 0; Metropolitan Desk; Pg. 1 Length

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SUBJECT: BOXING (90%); SPORTS (90%); ARTISTS & PERFORMERS (90%); REALITY TELEVISION (89%); RAP MUSIC (69%); ENTERTAINMENT & ARTS (69%); MUSIC INDUSTRY (64%); MOVIE INDUSTRY (64%); TELEVISION PROGRAMMING (64%); AUTO RACING (50%)
PERSON: MUHAMMAD ALI (58%); 50 CENT (54%); BEYONCE KNOWLES (54%)
GEOGRAPHIC: ORLANDO, FLORIDA, USA (79%); INDIANAPOLIS, IN, USA (54%) FLORIDA, USA (79%); INDIANA, USA (54%) UNITED STATES (79%)
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GRAPHIC: PHOTOS: POUND FOR POUND FOR POUND ...: Mayweather in his gym in Las Vegas. Born into the family business of boxing, he grew up at the gym (pg.59)

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE FAN BASE: Mayweather (in chinchilla) and World Wrestling Entertainment's Shane McMahon at WrestleMania in Orlando, where Mayweather tangled with the wrestler Big Show (listed height: 7 feet). Leonard Ellerbe, the boxer's manager walks behind. (PHOTOGRAPHS BY FINLAY MACKAY FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES) (pg.60)

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The New York Times
June 1, 2008 Sunday

Late Edition - Final

Do You Love the Job, Or Just the Paycheck?
BYLINE: By PAMELA SKILLINGS.

Pamela Skillings is the founder of Skillful Communications, a consulting firm in New York and the author of ''Escape from Corporate America: A Practical Guide to Creating the Career of Your Dreams'' (Ballantine).

SECTION: Section BU; Column 0; Money and Business/Financial Desk; PREOCCUPATIONS; Pg. 15
LENGTH: 812 words
AFTER 12 years climbing the corporate ladder to the upper reaches of middle management, I found myself facing a surprising career conundrum: My big paycheck was making me miserable. In short, I hated my job, but I was afraid to give up my hard-earned six-figure salary for what I really wanted: a career as an entrepreneur.

Even after saving diligently, developing a solid business plan and lining up my first customers, financial fears kept me too paralyzed to quit my job. My terror wasn't rational. Based on my projections, there was no reason to believe that I couldn't make a decent living as an entrepreneur. Even so, I was up night after sleepless night imagining worst-case scenarios and picturing my future self as an utter failure reduced to picking through the Dumpsters behind my old office tower.

As much as I wanted to believe in a brighter future, I didn't really think it was possible to both love my job and make a good living, so I took the practical (and cowardly) approach of swapping my dreams for financial success. After all, I didn't have a trust fund or a wealthy benefactor to bail me out if I failed at fulfilling my entrepreneurial vision.

I enjoyed living in a nice apartment, taking nice vacations and wearing nice shoes. I wasn't exactly dripping in diamonds and Dior, but I was earning more than I'd ever dreamed possible as a penniless kid fresh off the bus from rural Pennsylvania. I remembered all too well what it was like to exist on the edge of poverty as a new college grad in an expensive city. I had no desire to go back to sharing a rat-trap apartment in a bad neighborhood with a rotating cast of roommates.

At the same time, a big part of my identity was tied up in my success. My sense of professional accomplishment was determined by the size of my bonus checks. I felt that my title and salary were all that I had to show for those long years of hard work, political maneuvering and Dilbertian despair.

Like many of my co-workers, I thought I could eventually earn enough money to make up for the fact that I dreaded going to work every day. Then I would be happy, I told myself. The funny thing was that I already had a very happy life outside the office that had nothing to do with my salary. I had a loving husband and great friends who didn't care how much bacon I brought home.

But in fact, my high-paying but soul-draining job was beginning to take a toll on my personal life. Nobody enjoys hanging out with a perpetually tired and cranky middle manager.

To be honest, I wasn't even taking pleasure in my disposable income. Most of my extra cash went toward medicating my work stress. Because I wasn't getting satisfaction from my job, I distracted myself with overpriced restaurants, tropical vacations and retail therapy. I traded up to a bigger, nicer apartment, but I didn't spend much time in it because I was always at the office justifying my paycheck.

Eventually, I realized that my salary wasn't worth the emotional price I was paying for it. My compensation package was standing in the way of true success, which for me meant doing work that was meaningful and made me happy.

Instead of continuing to indulge my vague fears of homelessness and ruin, I got out my calculator and figured out the reality of what it would take to make a change. As expected, I discovered that some sacrifices would be necessary. Once I did the math and saw my finances in black and white, however, I realized that the budget cuts wouldn't be nearly as painful as I'd feared. I was more than willing to cut back on indulgences like foamy lattes, shiny highlights and overpriced designer handbags for a while if it meant that I could escape from corporate America and strike out on my own. Suddenly, my impossible dream seemed within reach.

The last step in letting go of my financial fears was facing the fact that my salary had never truly been a reliable safety net after all. Over the years, I'd seen some of my most qualified and highly paid co-workers learn the hard way that the big money and the fancy title can disappear in a flash. On the other hand, no one can ever take away your talents, your experience and your skills -- the assets that constitute the only safety net you can ever really depend upon.

THIS understanding finally gave me the courage I needed to say goodbye to my steady paycheck and embrace my thrilling -- but still scary -- future as an entrepreneur. The transition wasn't easy. I've had my share of tribulations along with the triumphs, but I have never once regretted my decision to leave.

In the three years since, I've learned that I have the skills and drive to build a successful business, even in the face of challenges.

More importantly, I've learned that finding a career that you love is well worth enduring a few sleepless nights and sacrificing a handbag or two.

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SUBJECT: WAGES & SALARIES (90%); ENTREPRENEURSHIP (90%); TRUST ARRANGEMENTS (71%); WEALTHY PEOPLE (66%); BUSINESS PLANS (73%)
LOAD-DATE: June 1, 2008
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GRAPHIC: PHOTO: Pamela Skillings dreamed of becoming an entrepreneur, but feared losing the salary and luxuries her old job afforded. She later founded a consulting firm. (PHOTOGRAPH BY HIROKO MASUIKE FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES)
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The New York Times
June 1, 2008 Sunday

Late Edition - Final

The Discipline of the Violin
BYLINE: By SHEILA JOHNSON; as told to PATRICIA R. OLSEN.

As told to Patricia R. Olsen.

SECTION: Section BU; Column 0; Money and Business/Financial Desk; THE BOSS; Pg. 14
LENGTH: 619 words
MY father was a brilliant neurosurgeon who worked mostly in Veterans Administration hospitals. He had a hard time finding a job in many hospitals because of the discrimination at the time. We moved every 10 months as his assignments changed, which made my brother and me resilient. We learned to adapt.

My father played the piano to relax when he came home from work. I wanted to play the violin from the time I was 4 or 5, but he insisted I learn the piano. When I was 9 we made a deal. I could take violin lessons if I continued with piano lessons.

In high school I was the concert master for the Illinois All-State Orchestra, and I played for the Civic Orchestra of Chicago. I've also played with string quartets. I studied music at the University of Illinois and worked on a research project that looked at making it easier for children to play stringed instruments. I was the only undergraduate asked to teach in the program.

The arts are crucial for young people's development, especially in music. Music teaches communication skills and builds self-esteem. It teaches young people to focus and is the basis of learning. Research shows that children who cannot repeat simple rhythmic patterns will have reading problems. In 1971, after I graduated from college, I taught music in Woodbridge, N.J.; at Princeton Day School; and at the Sidwell Friends School in Washington, D.C.

In 1979 the cable industry was just starting. My former husband, Robert Johnson, and I got the idea of starting a cable network targeted to African-Americans. We founded Black Entertainment Television while I was still teaching. We based our business plan on a proposal for a television program for seniors that had been rejected. We modified the proposal and in 1980 obtained funding from John Malone of Tele-Communications Inc.

We took out a loan to rent office space and started with two hours of programming a week. I knew how to get teenagers talking and developed a program called Teen Summit. We eventually sold BET to Viacom.

I couldn't stay in teaching because the salary was so low, so I started a business teaching music in my Washington home. I also formed an orchestra called Young Strings in Action.

I've been president of the Washington Mystics of the W.N.B.A. for three years. It's part of my partnership in Lincoln Holdings L.L.C., which also owns the Washington Capitals of the N.H.L. and the Washington Wizards of the N.B.A. I'm one of the few women, if not the only one, who has ownership in three professional teams.

Recently I wanted to tape a public service announcement about powerful women for the CARE organization, which fights global poverty among women. I serve as a CARE global ambassador. I asked the Mystics team members to talk about themselves. It was a revealing exercise. I think they've been focused on basketball their entire lives. As they talked about what defines them and what they want to do with their life, some of them got emotional. I made them think. Some of them still come to me and say they're trying to figure out the answers.

I am also C.E.O. of Salamander Hospitality, which includes hotels and resorts. The hospitality business fits well with my philosophy. Every day I try to be hospitable. I want to bring people into my space and have them feel comfortable with me.

I'm also producing films. I find them appealing because they're a way to tell important and difficult stories.

I can do all that I do because I'm very organized, which goes back to my training in the arts. I'm able to keep track of things in my head. I have an exceptional staff, too. We double-check my schedule every day. I don't like to disappoint

people if I'm supposed to be somewhere.
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SUBJECT: MUSIC (90%); STRINGED INSTRUMENTS (90%); KEYBOARD INSTRUMENTS (90%); MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS (90%); CHILDREN (90%); VETERANS HEALTH CARE (89%); CABLE INDUSTRY (87%); TELEVISION PROGRAMMING (87%); TELEVISION INDUSTRY (86%); RESEARCH (78%); PHYSICIANS & SURGEONS (78%); VETERANS HOSPITALS (78%); ADOLESCENTS (76%); AFRICAN AMERICANS (74%); VETERANS (73%); WAGES & SALARIES (73%); RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT (73%); ENTERTAINMENT & ARTS (73%); CABLE TELEVISION (69%); PUBLIC SERVICE ADVERTISING (69%); ENTREPRENEURSHIP (68%); HOLDING COMPANIES (68%); SPORTS & RECREATION (60%); COMMERCIAL RENTAL PROPERTY (50%); BUSINESS PLANS (72%)
COMPANY: TELE-COMMUNICATIONS INC (64%); VIACOM INC (52%); BLACK ENTERTAINMENT TELEVISION INC (69%)
TICKER: TCOM (NASDAQ) (64%); VIA (NYSE) (52%)
INDUSTRY: NAICS515210 CABLE & OTHER SUBSCRIPTION PROGRAMMING (53%); NAICS512110 MOTION PICTURE & VIDEO PRODUCTION (53%)
PERSON: JOHN MALONE (53%)
GEOGRAPHIC: CHICAGO, IL, USA (71%) DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, USA (92%); ILLINOIS, USA (92%) UNITED STATES (95%)
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The New York Times
June 1, 2008 Sunday

Late Edition - Final

Back in Ballet, Bending All the Rules
BYLINE: By ROSLYN SULCAS
SECTION: Section AR; Column 0; Arts and Leisure Desk; DANCE; Pg. 33
LENGTH: 1535 words
AT the end of a recent 90-minute interview the choreographer Twyla Tharp had one final remark, ''I'd just like to say that this article shouldn't be about me.''

Ms. Tharp, who had been discussing her new work for American Ballet Theater, ''Rabbit and Rogue,'' was quite sincere. A good part of the interview had consisted of her deftly sidestepping a discussion of personal motivation. Instead she concentrated on more abstract issues about the ballet, which will have its premiere on Tuesday night at the Metropolitan Opera House, with a score by the film composer Danny Elfman and costumes by her longtime collaborator Norma Kamali.

But any new work by Ms. Tharp is a big deal, and to avoid talking about the choreographer herself would be to ignore the singular place she occupies in the dance world. An innovator and a headline maker who has both rolled with the critical punches and occasionally been felled by them, Ms. Tharp, at 66, is in the curious position of being consistently identified as both a modern dance revolutionary and one of ballet's few great living choreographers -- certainly its only female one.

And in a Ballet Theater season that consists of eight classical ballet standards, mostly full-length and from the 19th century (and those that aren't might as well be), her new work is being eagerly anticipated as the company's lone gesture toward ballet as an evolving, contemporary art.

That's a lot of pressure, but Ms. Tharp has plenty of experience with great expectations, stretching back to her groundbreaking crossover work, ''Deuce Coupe,'' for the Joffrey Ballet in 1973, which mixed her troupe's idiosyncratic, vernacular movement explorations with ballet and ballet dancers.

In the three decades since ''Deuce Coupe'' she has created and dissolved several incarnations of her own company, made pieces for ballet companies and ice skaters, worked in theater, film and television, written books and choreographed and directed on Broadway. Her impulses seem to be to diversify and conquer -- and often she does.

She occasionally fails too. Her recent Broadway musical, ''The Times They Are A-Changin,' '' set to the music of Bob Dylan, drew as much scalding criticism as her earlier ''Movin' Out,'' set to Billy Joel songs, drew awards and acclaim. And ''Nightspot,'' a new work for Miami City Ballet that had its premiere in April, was described by Alastair Macaulay, the chief dance critic of The New York Times, as a ''major disappointment.''

But if Ms. Tharp's works sometimes fall flat, it is because she is always willing to take risks. ''Like every child I had a fantasy about movements that were easier than earthly movements,'' she said during the interview at Ballet Theater's downtown studios two weeks ago. ''It's that adventure that prompts new attempts, sometimes known as inspiration.''

''Rabbit and Rogue,'' which was jointly commissioned with the Orange County Performing Arts Center, will be Ms. Tharp's 15th work for Ballet Theater. This is the company with which she has had her most enduring professional relationship, beginning in 1976, when she created ''Push Comes to Shove'' for Mikhail Baryshnikov. It was one of the great hits of Mr. Baryshnikov's celebrated career, and after he became the artistic director of Ballet Theater in 1980, he commissioned numerous pieces from Ms. Tharp, eventually drawing her into the company as an artistic associate, and taking on several members of her troupe.

Almost two decades after his departure from Ballet Theater in 1989, Mr. Baryshnikov's decision to bring Ms. Tharp's work and dancers into the heart of the company's repertory is still having an effect.

''It has taken a generation or two of dancers to get people who can accomplish a spectrum of techniques,'' she said. ''They come close now. That was certainly not the case when I made 'Deuce Coupe.' The ballet dancers didn't want to do what we did. And we couldn't do what they did. Today the dancers are very willing to try anything new, because they have done more of the old work. That's what I have the privilege of now when I come to work here.''

''Rabbit and Rogue'' is Ms. Tharp's second new work this year, after ''Nightspot''; a piece for Pacific Northwest Ballet, not yet named, will follow in September. This creative burst comes after seven years during which Ms. Tharp concentrated on the two Broadway musicals; she created just one other piece, ''Even the King,'' for her own dancers during that time. When asked what had prompted a return to working with ballet companies, Ms. Tharp remained elusive. ''The stars all aligned,'' she said. ''We spend periods of time away, learning lessons, and then come back.''

Much conversation with Ms. Tharp is like this: elliptical, philosophical, fascinating and frustrating. But ''Rabbit and Rogue'' does seem to be the outcome of several chance factors, chief among them Mr. Elfman's surprising desire to write a score for a ballet.

A film composer who has collaborated closely with Tim Burton and written the themes for the television shows ''The Simpsons'' and ''Desperate Housewives,'' Mr. Elfman is a man of diverse musical passions. He spent 10 years as part of the rock band ''Oingo Boingo,'' has written a symphonic work for the American Composers Orchestra and, much like Ms. Tharp, sees no need for barriers between high and popular art. When his agent suggested that he write an opera, he said no, adding, ''I'd like to write a ballet instead.''

Mr. Elfman, unassuming and soft-spoken, recounted this story before an orchestra rehearsal last month. ''All the music that had inspired me when I was young -- Stravinsky, Prokofiev -- was ballet,'' he said. ''So my agent approached A.B.T., and I went to a performance where I saw Twyla's 'In the Upper Room.' I said I'd like to work with her, and they said, 'Oh, that might be difficult.' Then, three days later, they phoned to say she wanted to meet me.''

Mr. Elfman describes himself as a musical maximalist and a dire pessimist. (''When Tim Burton first asked me to write a score for him,'' he said, ''I told him I'd ruin his film.'') So he took a dozen or so pieces of music to Ms. Tharp when they first met to discuss the ballet.

''I thought she would pick two or three, but she liked them all,'' he said. ''So then the challenge was to put them together. There is some gamelan music, a rag that revolves around electronic sounds, lots of drums, all integrated into a very dense framework. Because I was writing for Twyla I wanted to keep a sense of rhythm and propulsion and a strong melodic core. I expect to get murdered critically for all of that, but I hope that a sense of fun is there.''

From Mr. Elfman's initial musical fragments Ms. Tharp developed a basic idea of the structure. ''I knew that I was going to have an ensemble, demi-soloists and principals,'' she said. She was unwilling to say more about the ballet. ''Let people watch it first,'' she said. But it was clear from a run-through seen last month that it is part of her continuing dialogue with ballet classicism, expressed in part through the very different talents of Ethan Stiefel and Herman Cornejo, both notable interpreters of her work at Ballet Theater.

Mr. Stiefel, with whom she developed much of the material during early rehearsals in the studio in her Central Park West apartment, described his role as ''an instigator.'' ''My sense is that I'm the bigger brother,'' he said. ''I needle Herman the whole time, but underneath there is that connection.''

The title ''Rabbit and Rogue'' refers to Mr. Stiefel and Mr. Cornejo, but its origin, as described by Ms. Tharp in an e-mail message, also suggests other preoccupations.

''The title comes from 'Sam and Mary,' a solo study of rhythmic evolutions I did some while ago to Brahms songs,'' she wrote. ''As I worked I realized that there is a constant struggle going on inside us all between left and right, or Sam and Mary as I called them then. Equilibrium has never been my forte, and therefore seeking repose for this ever shifting internal mechanism of left and right has always seemed an enviable goal. I am in awe of that moment when the two sides -- left and right, Sam and Mary, fast-fleeing Rabbit and pursuing Rogue -- give up the chase and work in tandem to create the effortless suspension in space that is classical perch.''

When Ms. Tharp speaks of the classical, she doesn't necessarily mean ballet. Her loose-limbed, squiggly, spiraling movements -- rigorously constructed, intensely demanding to perform yet often casual in effect -- both use ballet technique and slip effortlessly around its forms. At its best no definitions fit -- there is simply the body, dancing.

''Before I ever made work here, I had ideas about ballet tradition,'' Ms. Tharp said. ''At the ballet classes I took when I first came to New York, I would see great dancers like Cynthia Gregory and Lupe Serrano. I would look at them and study what they could do, and what I couldn't do. And then I'd think maybe they should try what I could do.''

Ms. Tharp has been coaxing dancers to try what she can do for more than three decades. On Tuesday they will try again.

URL: http://www.nytimes.com
SUBJECT: BALLET (93%); DANCE (91%); ARTISTS & PERFORMERS (90%); INTERVIEWS (90%); MUSIC (89%); MUSICAL THEATER (78%); FILM (77%); PERFORMING ARTS CENTERS (77%); MUSIC COMPOSITION (75%); OPERA (70%); ENTREPRENEURSHIP (69%); THEATER (57%); WINTER SPORTS (70%); ICE SKATING (50%)
ORGANIZATION: AMERICAN BALLET THEATER (84%)
LOAD-DATE: June 1, 2008
LANGUAGE: ENGLISH
GRAPHIC: PHOTOS: Top, the composer Danny Elfman, the choreographer Twyla Tharp, and Kevin McKenzie, artistic director of American Ballet Theater. At left, Ethan Stiefel in Ms. Tharp's new work, ''Rabbit and Rogue.'' (PHOTOGRAPHS BY GENE SCHIAVONE)
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706 of 1231 DOCUMENTS

The New York Times
June 1, 2008 Sunday

Late Edition - Final

Venture Capital, Before High Tech
BYLINE: By STEPHEN KOTKIN
SECTION: Section BU; Column 0; Money and Business/Financial Desk; OFF THE SHELF; Pg. 6
LENGTH: 1080 words
THE United States military -- credited with spawning the Internet -- also helped in the genesis of venture capital. So reveals Spencer E. Ante in ''Creative Capital'' (Harvard Business School Press, $35), a sometimes slow but ultimately satisfying biography of Georges F. Doriot, the transplanted Frenchman who is often called the father of V.C.

Silicon Valley was decades in the future when, as Mr. Ante writes, ''Doriot learned how to become a venture capitalist'' during World War II. Mr. Ante, an editor at BusinessWeek, explores the Army-business connections, a remarkable trans-Atlantic extended family of colleagues, the rise of high technology and a love story.

Doriot was born in 1899 in Paris, the son of a schoolteacher and a Peugeot engineer who started, and lost, a car business. It was the machine age, and in 1921 the young Doriot crossed the ocean to America, intending to enroll at M.I.T. He carried a letter of introduction obtained by his father to one Abbott Lowell. But Mr. Lowell, Doriot discovered, turned out to be the president of Harvard, who talked him into matriculating at Harvard Business School.

After a brief stint on Wall Street, Doriot returned to Harvard Business School as an administrator, but was needed more on the faculty. In 1929, at the age of 30, he was promoted to full professor. During the Depression, he moonlighted as a board member or executive at some 30 companies, acquiring a wealth of connections and practical experience. The world war proved to be an even bigger break.

Doriot, a United States Army reserve officer who rose to brigadier general, was appointed an administrator-entrepreneur on the home front, responsible for equipping, clothing and feeding millions of soldiers overseas. He and his staff, including many of his students from Harvard, funded research into innovative solutions. A lightweight plastic flak jacket (the Doron) saved thousands of lives. And even some failures had their upsides. Grunts found their powdered lemonade ''useful as stove cleaner or hair rinse.''

Venture capital, of course, existed informally for centuries, even before the Spanish monarchy bankrolled Christopher Columbus's quest for India and his discovery, instead, of America. But in 1946, fresh from his wartime research-and-development exploits, Doriot was tapped by the New England establishment to head the American Research and Development Corporation, based in Boston, which systematically solicited and studied business proposals seeking funds.

Back then, American banks were conservative in their lending, and ''risk capital'' for high-failure-rate start-ups came mostly from families like the Rockefellers, who were hard to reach with a pitch. A.R.D. was a mission as much as a business, intent on widening access to finance and proving a point against those whom Doriot deemed to be mere financiers. ''I am building men and companies,'' Doriot, known as the General, would say.

He had an impatient streak. He would bar his classroom door to anyone who was late, and he kept a stopwatch on his venture-capital desk. ''Sometimes I use it,'' he said, ''to see how long it takes someone in a meeting to tell me the same thing three times.''

But his genius was to coax investors to wait through years of uncertainty as he helped to nurture companies, which one day might or might not provide a big payoff in initial public offerings. Tenacity also enabled him to found Insead, perhaps Europe's premier business school.

Although A.R.D. would never fund more than one of every 25 proposals in any given year, it would support more than 100 start-ups. Its portfolio included atom smashers, medical devices, and George H. W. Bush's first company, Zapata Off-Shore, an oil rig manufacturer. A Fiji tuna fishing venture died out. But a 1957 investment of $70,000 in the Digital Equipment Corporation, a transistor-based computer company, would ultimately yield several hundred million dollars.

Mr. Ante has worked through the archives -- including the research notes from a never-completed book on Doriot by the late Ralph Soda -- and spoke with legions of people whom Doriot influenced in his work. The plentiful testimonials illuminate A.R.D.'s winning combination of scientific ability (M.I.T.), managerial talent (Harvard Business School) and adroit impresario (Doriot). California's venture capitalists, some of them former students of Doriot, would reinvent this formula around Stanford, as outlined in Mr. Ante's worshipful chapter, called ''How the West Won.''

In 1959, the general was compelled to retire from the Army Reserve, and in 1966 from Harvard, but he hung on at A.R.D., vainly battling the Securities and Exchange Commission over restrictions on granting stock options to his employees. A.R.D. had opted to incorporate as a public company, rather than to form a private partnership, and the top ranks kept departing to run their own, competing businesses.

In 1972, the A.R.D. board, bereft of a successor C.E.O. and in a regulatory bind, let the company fall to the conglomerate Textron. The takeover, Mr. Ante writes, proved a mess. A.R.D. would finally go private, but 20 years too late, and miss the boat on the microchip and biotechnology.

The book's matter-of-fact storytelling is not always as superb as the story, but as the book advances it gathers poignancy. Doriot had won the hand of his Harvard-assigned research assistant, Edna Blanche Allen, a brainy beauty. Their 48-year marriage was childless; Harvard men were surrogate sons. Edna had a dream house built for the couple on the Massachusetts shore, then died of lymphoma; her ashes were scattered into the ocean. Doriot kept writing her love poems. Nine years later, in 1987, the pipe-smoking general succumbed to lung cancer. His ashes were cast from the same spot into the Atlantic.

DORIOT'S charismatic, French-accented lectures at Harvard over 40 years inspired multiple generations of leaders with firsthand stories and pithy sayings -- for example, ''Someone somewhere is making a product that will make your product obsolete.'' His cause, venture, became ubiquitous, even in philanthropy.

Mr. Ante concludes that the general opened the doors of finance to entrepreneurs, and that he anticipated Peter Drucker, the management guru. The American military -- whose pressing wartime needs and ample budget had led to science-based V.C. -- awarded Doriot the Distinguished Service Medal.