Within 10 minutes of meeting John Henry for the first time, alarm bells started ringing. We’d exchanged pleasantries and were sitting alone in his suite at Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox baseball team he owns, on a colourless November afternoon in Boston. Settled into our plush leather chairs overlooking home plate, we were enveloped by walls displaying a gallery of rich memories: trophy celebrations for the Sox and the English Premier League football club Liverpool, also owned by Henry’s Fenway Sports Group (FSG); a joyous snap at a World Series parade with his wife Linda and Boston icon David “Big Papi” Ortiz; Henry’s two youngest children grinning along the first-base line, just yards away.
That’s when we were interrupted by a deafening crash directly above. The fire alarm began to pulse urgently, and an automated woman’s voice spoke over the intercom: “This is an emergency. Please locate the nearest exit and vacate the premises immediately.” I had come to Fenway for an off-the-record meeting with Henry, to learn about how he manages a crisis. Now I was watching him up close. “Let’s go this way,” he said, gathering his small leather backpack and leading me down the hall to a concrete stairwell. His movements, like his speech, are languid but deliberate. At 74 he has the manner of someone who’s had command of the room for many decades. Dressed in a black hooded jumper, stonewashed jeans, and scuffed rubber trainers, Henry appeared so casual it was hard to believe I was being escorted to safety by the owner of the Major League Baseball stadium we were trying to escape.
After descending several flights of stairs, we reached the street, where a stream of Fenway front-office staffers were filing out. “Which one of you guys did this?” Henry said with the hint of a grin. We learnt the ruckus had been a false alarm.