San Francisco magazine has a long profile of Frank Quattrone, who really needs no introduction at this point.
Other Valley insiders speculate that Quattrone’s hokier traits, like his penchant for bad karaoke, his trademark mustache, and the notoriously loud sweaters he wore when khakis and mock turtlenecks were de rigueur on Sand Hill Road, might have been a put-on—strategic ways to differentiate himself. “Frank Quattrone does everything for a reason,” says a former colleague. (Many people interviewed would not speak with San Francisco unless guaranteed anonymity, and through a spokesperson, Quattrone declined to talk with us.)
During the boom, it became something of a pastime for young bankers and VCs to crash Quattrone’s parties—especially those held at his Pebble Beach home. His events were always large, making it easy for any number of well-dressed professionals to blend into the crowd. And every Valley upstart knew that a chance meeting at casa de Quattrone might change his or her life for good. “I’m sure Frank knew this was going on,” recalls a former employee of his at CSFB. “The thing is, I don’t think he cared. At every event he had four or five important people who he knew he needed to spend time with, and the rest of us just didn’t matter. Frank is very, very smooth.”
You got to love that people are so convinced of his Machiavellian brilliance that even his fasion faux pas are considered evidence of genius.
The fall and rise of Frank Quattrone [San Francisco via Infectous Greed]