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When Miami Marlins President David Samson was in law school, professors knew him as the student who relied on his considerable gift of gab to make up for what he sometimes lacked in preparation.
During his short-lived, tumultuous stint as an executive with the now-defunct Montreal Expos, his brash style earned Samson a nickname: Little Napoleon.
Wherever he goes, Samson seems to leave an impression. But he’s left his most indelible stamp on Miami’s skyline.
In two weeks, the Miami Marlins will play their first regular season game in a $634 million palace that is a testament to Samson’s drive and his unapologetic business style. As the ballclub’s lead negotiator, Samson employed hardball tactics (like repeatedly threatening to move the team) to land what most agree is a favorable deal for the franchise.
“He bullied everyone,” said Joe Arriola, a strong-willed former Miami city manager (and Heat season ticket holder who once got tossed out of the arena for hurling insults at the ref). “The guy stayed focused on what he wanted, and at the end of the day he got away with what he wanted.”
But what makes for good business doesn’t always make you popular. Samson’s long list of critics are proof of that.
Even allies like developer Jeff Berkowitz, who serves alongside Samson on the board of Miami Children’s Museum, understand that Samson’s greatest strength — his unfaltering faith in his intelligence and powers of persuasion — is what often gets him in trouble.
“He’s thoughtful and innovative, caring and giving,” Berkowitz said. “And he has a trait that some of us who are involved in business share — we are somewhat less tolerant of some of the posturing that comes with any kind of group endeavor.”
As the Marlins’ top liaison to local and state leaders — and often the team’s loudest and most grating voice — that candid style can come with a public-relations cost.
The latest example: A series of impolitic remarks he made earlier this month to a group of local business leaders regarding South Florida voters, elected officials and his (admittedly empty) threats to move the team out of Miami during his decade-long struggle to secure public funding for a new baseball stadium. A video recording made public two days later proved some — but certainly not all — of Samson’s words had been twisted out of context.
Samson declined to be interviewed for this story. But many of the people who worked alongside Samson during his quick rise from venture capitalist to baseball hot-shot weren’t nearly as reticent. Combined, their accounts paint a portrait of a sharp, driven executive who has a long history of burning bridges with his blunt, take-no-prisoners style.
“David is David,” said Jack Lowell, a real-estate mogul who attended Samson’s presentation to the Beacon Council. “He’s highly energetic, highly entertaining, and somewhat acerbic. You have to take what he says not with a grain of salt, but an entire salt shaker.”
Even in his formative years, Samson — the former stepson of Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria, who has remained close to Samson even after splitting with his mother, Sivia — made a habit of doing things his way. He grew up in New York a fierce Knicks fan. While other fans might razz the point guard, Samson would heckle the general manager or owner — always from seats close to the floor.
After graduating from the University of Wisconsin, he returned to New York, attending Cardozo School of Law at Yeshiva University. In 2010, Cardozo named Samson its alumnus of the year .
“I can tell you that David did not come to class prepared all that often,” said Cardozo professor David Rudenstine, who had Samson in his Federal Courts class some two decades ago. “But David would have strong, well-informed opinions. It was always a marvel to me that he could strike me as someone who was skating on top of the material, but had very precise and perceptive opinions.”
Samson passed the tough New York Bar exam in 1994, but after failing to land his dream job — a spot at the Manhattan District Attorney’s office — he never really pursued a legal career.
Instead, he turned an idea — delivering American daily newspapers to Europe the same day they were printed — into a business. Samson founded and ran the New York-based company News Travels Fast before taking a job at the investment bank Morgan Stanley.
But that was all a prelude to his career as a Major League Baseball executive.
Loria, an art dealer, bought a stake in the Montreal Expos in 1999, and a series of power plays ultimately gave him controlling interest. One of Loria’s first moves: naming his stepson the team’s executive vice president.
At first, Loria and Samson were seen as potential saviors for a cash-strapped, moribund ballclub playing in an antiquated stadium.
Over time, however, those closest to the situation began to worry. Samson never ingratiated himself to Montreal’s unique French-Canadian fan base, and for a while, then-Expos minority owner Mark Routtenberg thought it was due to the cultural divide.
“I eventually became convinced that they never had an intention of staying in Montreal,” said Routtenberg, one of those within the organization who took to calling Samson “Little Napoleon.” “When I read that they were threatening to [move the Marlins] to Las Vegas, I was sort of smiling to myself, thinking that they were doing it again.
“We were used and manipulated and we lost the team.”
After less than three years with the team in Montreal, Loria sold the Expos to Major League Baseball and used the proceeds to buy the Marlins from John W. Henry. Three years after that, the Expos were moved to Washington, but not before Routtenberg and his fellow minority partners sued Samson, Loria and baseball’s commissioner, Bud Selig, alleging they fraudulently conspired to deprive Montreal of the team.
While Samson and his co-defendants ultimately prevailed in arbitration, their reputations in Montreal were forever tarnished.
Mitch Melnick, an afternoon drive host on Montreal’s TSN 990 — our ESPN — recalls the last time he bumped into Samson.
It was about 2:30 in the morning, and Melnick was entertaining some sports fans at Hurley’s Irish Pub in Montreal, when in walked Samson and a few of his friends. The two saw each other — and hugged.
“I headed back to the bar, it was like the sea had parted,” Melnick said. “Everyone was saying ‘How could ya?’ ” Unlike many Montrealers who to this day feel betrayed, Melnick says he understands exactly why Loria and Samson acted as they did.
For two years, Loria and Samson tried, with little success, to persuade fans of the need for a new ballpark, even though Quebec taxpayers were still paying off a huge debt on Olympic Stadium. There was little sentiment to help them, particularly when the ballclub decided to cut ties with radio and television, meaning the only way you could watch the Expos was to go to a game.
But what got lost in the mix was this salient fact, Melnick said: The Expos were not offered a penny to be on radio or TV.
“One station actually wanted the Expos to pay them,” Melnick said. “I’m in the extreme minority, I actually got along with them.”
Still, he understands how Samson can be a bit too much for many.
“He came through with the elbows flying, very aggressive,” Melnick said. “He’s not tactful at all.”
He added: “Ninety-five percent of baseball fans here would spit if you mention his name.”
But by spring of 2002, Samson was no longer in spitting distance, having joined the Florida Marlins as president. A year later, after the Marlins beat the Yankees to claim their second world championship in six years, was the high-water mark of his popularity in South Florida. But with a poor lease agreement at Sun Life Stadium, and faltering attendance, the tidal wave of local love soon turned as Marlins ownership made it known the ballclub needed a new home.
Within three years, the Marlins sold off most of the championship roster, and ownership’s new focus was firm: a new ballpark with a retractable roof, with most of the tab picked up by the public. There was no public appetite for that, so the Marlins looked to Tallahassee for help, but got none. Undeterred, they came home, and made a pitch to local officials and elected leaders. The team claimed it was losing millions, until confidential documents were made public showing the team netted $52 million in operating income in 2008 and 2009, thanks to MLB’s revenue-sharing program, which has rich teams subsidize the weaker clubs.
By 2008 Samson had convinced the majority of Miami and Miami-Dade’s elected leaders that if they didn’t vote for the ballpark, the two-time World Series champs would depart to some other city, and the public would blame the politicians.
Result: The city and county voted to help build the Marlins their new ballpark, a vote that would cost some elected officials their jobs. Among the casualties: Miami-Dade Mayor Carlos Alvarez, target of a recall drive by billionaire Norman Braman.
In the end, Marlins’ ownership would invest $120 million, leaving taxpayers to foot the remaining $514 million for the futuristic bubble that has risen in Little Havana, and its four parking garages. Despite the lopsided cost allocation, the Marlins will receive almost 100 percent of any revenue produced at the ballpark, including money paid for naming rights.
To this day, Samson doesn’t hide his disgust with Braman, the car dealer/philanthropist who fought public financing, then underwrote the cost of the campaign to oust Alvarez.
But judging Samson solely by the fights he has picked, and his prickly public demeanor, does him a disservice, those close to him say.
In addition to serving on the Miami Children’s Museum board, the married father of two has been inducted into the Make-A-Wish Foundation Hall of Fame and is active with the Marlins’ charitable foundation. A triathlete who in 2006 completed the grueling Ironman World Championships in Hawaii, Samson plans to run 50 miles from Pompano Beach to Marlins Park on April 27, to benefit 10 charities. The event has already raised more than $500,000.
But for all the good he has done, there are some who will never like him, including many of those he has worked alongside, Melnick said.
Exhibit A: At the end of each season in Montreal, the Expos would stage a ballgame for staff, the radio host said. Former pro pitcher Claude Raymond — an icon still in Montreal — would take the mound for both sides. One year, Samson came down to the field, grabbed a bat, and dug in, his tie flung over a shoulder.
“Raymond threw one right at him,” Melnick said. “He drilled the Expos’ president.”
Afterward, Melnick insists, the pitcher was “treated like a hero by most of the office staff.”
Miami Herald reporter Patricia Mazzei contributed to this report.
During his short-lived, tumultuous stint as an executive with the now-defunct Montreal Expos, his brash style earned Samson a nickname: Little Napoleon.
Wherever he goes, Samson seems to leave an impression. But he’s left his most indelible stamp on Miami’s skyline.
In two weeks, the Miami Marlins will play their first regular season game in a $634 million palace that is a testament to Samson’s drive and his unapologetic business style. As the ballclub’s lead negotiator, Samson employed hardball tactics (like repeatedly threatening to move the team) to land what most agree is a favorable deal for the franchise.
“He bullied everyone,” said Joe Arriola, a strong-willed former Miami city manager (and Heat season ticket holder who once got tossed out of the arena for hurling insults at the ref). “The guy stayed focused on what he wanted, and at the end of the day he got away with what he wanted.”
But what makes for good business doesn’t always make you popular. Samson’s long list of critics are proof of that.
Even allies like developer Jeff Berkowitz, who serves alongside Samson on the board of Miami Children’s Museum, understand that Samson’s greatest strength — his unfaltering faith in his intelligence and powers of persuasion — is what often gets him in trouble.
“He’s thoughtful and innovative, caring and giving,” Berkowitz said. “And he has a trait that some of us who are involved in business share — we are somewhat less tolerant of some of the posturing that comes with any kind of group endeavor.”
As the Marlins’ top liaison to local and state leaders — and often the team’s loudest and most grating voice — that candid style can come with a public-relations cost.
The latest example: A series of impolitic remarks he made earlier this month to a group of local business leaders regarding South Florida voters, elected officials and his (admittedly empty) threats to move the team out of Miami during his decade-long struggle to secure public funding for a new baseball stadium. A video recording made public two days later proved some — but certainly not all — of Samson’s words had been twisted out of context.
Samson declined to be interviewed for this story. But many of the people who worked alongside Samson during his quick rise from venture capitalist to baseball hot-shot weren’t nearly as reticent. Combined, their accounts paint a portrait of a sharp, driven executive who has a long history of burning bridges with his blunt, take-no-prisoners style.
“David is David,” said Jack Lowell, a real-estate mogul who attended Samson’s presentation to the Beacon Council. “He’s highly energetic, highly entertaining, and somewhat acerbic. You have to take what he says not with a grain of salt, but an entire salt shaker.”
Even in his formative years, Samson — the former stepson of Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria, who has remained close to Samson even after splitting with his mother, Sivia — made a habit of doing things his way. He grew up in New York a fierce Knicks fan. While other fans might razz the point guard, Samson would heckle the general manager or owner — always from seats close to the floor.
After graduating from the University of Wisconsin, he returned to New York, attending Cardozo School of Law at Yeshiva University. In 2010, Cardozo named Samson its alumnus of the year .
“I can tell you that David did not come to class prepared all that often,” said Cardozo professor David Rudenstine, who had Samson in his Federal Courts class some two decades ago. “But David would have strong, well-informed opinions. It was always a marvel to me that he could strike me as someone who was skating on top of the material, but had very precise and perceptive opinions.”
Samson passed the tough New York Bar exam in 1994, but after failing to land his dream job — a spot at the Manhattan District Attorney’s office — he never really pursued a legal career.
Instead, he turned an idea — delivering American daily newspapers to Europe the same day they were printed — into a business. Samson founded and ran the New York-based company News Travels Fast before taking a job at the investment bank Morgan Stanley.
But that was all a prelude to his career as a Major League Baseball executive.
Loria, an art dealer, bought a stake in the Montreal Expos in 1999, and a series of power plays ultimately gave him controlling interest. One of Loria’s first moves: naming his stepson the team’s executive vice president.
At first, Loria and Samson were seen as potential saviors for a cash-strapped, moribund ballclub playing in an antiquated stadium.
Over time, however, those closest to the situation began to worry. Samson never ingratiated himself to Montreal’s unique French-Canadian fan base, and for a while, then-Expos minority owner Mark Routtenberg thought it was due to the cultural divide.
“I eventually became convinced that they never had an intention of staying in Montreal,” said Routtenberg, one of those within the organization who took to calling Samson “Little Napoleon.” “When I read that they were threatening to [move the Marlins] to Las Vegas, I was sort of smiling to myself, thinking that they were doing it again.
“We were used and manipulated and we lost the team.”
After less than three years with the team in Montreal, Loria sold the Expos to Major League Baseball and used the proceeds to buy the Marlins from John W. Henry. Three years after that, the Expos were moved to Washington, but not before Routtenberg and his fellow minority partners sued Samson, Loria and baseball’s commissioner, Bud Selig, alleging they fraudulently conspired to deprive Montreal of the team.
While Samson and his co-defendants ultimately prevailed in arbitration, their reputations in Montreal were forever tarnished.
Mitch Melnick, an afternoon drive host on Montreal’s TSN 990 — our ESPN — recalls the last time he bumped into Samson.
It was about 2:30 in the morning, and Melnick was entertaining some sports fans at Hurley’s Irish Pub in Montreal, when in walked Samson and a few of his friends. The two saw each other — and hugged.
“I headed back to the bar, it was like the sea had parted,” Melnick said. “Everyone was saying ‘How could ya?’ ” Unlike many Montrealers who to this day feel betrayed, Melnick says he understands exactly why Loria and Samson acted as they did.
For two years, Loria and Samson tried, with little success, to persuade fans of the need for a new ballpark, even though Quebec taxpayers were still paying off a huge debt on Olympic Stadium. There was little sentiment to help them, particularly when the ballclub decided to cut ties with radio and television, meaning the only way you could watch the Expos was to go to a game.
But what got lost in the mix was this salient fact, Melnick said: The Expos were not offered a penny to be on radio or TV.
“One station actually wanted the Expos to pay them,” Melnick said. “I’m in the extreme minority, I actually got along with them.”
Still, he understands how Samson can be a bit too much for many.
“He came through with the elbows flying, very aggressive,” Melnick said. “He’s not tactful at all.”
He added: “Ninety-five percent of baseball fans here would spit if you mention his name.”
But by spring of 2002, Samson was no longer in spitting distance, having joined the Florida Marlins as president. A year later, after the Marlins beat the Yankees to claim their second world championship in six years, was the high-water mark of his popularity in South Florida. But with a poor lease agreement at Sun Life Stadium, and faltering attendance, the tidal wave of local love soon turned as Marlins ownership made it known the ballclub needed a new home.
Within three years, the Marlins sold off most of the championship roster, and ownership’s new focus was firm: a new ballpark with a retractable roof, with most of the tab picked up by the public. There was no public appetite for that, so the Marlins looked to Tallahassee for help, but got none. Undeterred, they came home, and made a pitch to local officials and elected leaders. The team claimed it was losing millions, until confidential documents were made public showing the team netted $52 million in operating income in 2008 and 2009, thanks to MLB’s revenue-sharing program, which has rich teams subsidize the weaker clubs.
By 2008 Samson had convinced the majority of Miami and Miami-Dade’s elected leaders that if they didn’t vote for the ballpark, the two-time World Series champs would depart to some other city, and the public would blame the politicians.
Result: The city and county voted to help build the Marlins their new ballpark, a vote that would cost some elected officials their jobs. Among the casualties: Miami-Dade Mayor Carlos Alvarez, target of a recall drive by billionaire Norman Braman.
In the end, Marlins’ ownership would invest $120 million, leaving taxpayers to foot the remaining $514 million for the futuristic bubble that has risen in Little Havana, and its four parking garages. Despite the lopsided cost allocation, the Marlins will receive almost 100 percent of any revenue produced at the ballpark, including money paid for naming rights.
To this day, Samson doesn’t hide his disgust with Braman, the car dealer/philanthropist who fought public financing, then underwrote the cost of the campaign to oust Alvarez.
But judging Samson solely by the fights he has picked, and his prickly public demeanor, does him a disservice, those close to him say.
In addition to serving on the Miami Children’s Museum board, the married father of two has been inducted into the Make-A-Wish Foundation Hall of Fame and is active with the Marlins’ charitable foundation. A triathlete who in 2006 completed the grueling Ironman World Championships in Hawaii, Samson plans to run 50 miles from Pompano Beach to Marlins Park on April 27, to benefit 10 charities. The event has already raised more than $500,000.
But for all the good he has done, there are some who will never like him, including many of those he has worked alongside, Melnick said.
Exhibit A: At the end of each season in Montreal, the Expos would stage a ballgame for staff, the radio host said. Former pro pitcher Claude Raymond — an icon still in Montreal — would take the mound for both sides. One year, Samson came down to the field, grabbed a bat, and dug in, his tie flung over a shoulder.
“Raymond threw one right at him,” Melnick said. “He drilled the Expos’ president.”
Afterward, Melnick insists, the pitcher was “treated like a hero by most of the office staff.”
Miami Herald reporter Patricia Mazzei contributed to this report.
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