Hot-wired airline chief ricochets through his JetBlue landscape
By Chris Woodyard
USA Today
NEW YORK — Even as he talks about his passion, the airline he founded, David Neeleman fidgets. He fingers the airport identity pass around his neck. He plucks a model airplane off the tabletop and scans its underbelly.
Bloomberg News Service
Sometimes when you talk to him, his head seems elsewhere. "Out in space," he readily admits.
Chief executive David Neeleman has made a roaring success of his JetBlue Airways as other airlines are sloshing through red ink.
"Where do you go when you do that?" he recalls someone asking. "I had some thought in my mind," he replied nebulously.
Neeleman is CEO and the mercurial driving force behind JetBlue, the discount airline that's become one of the few shiny spots left in a tarnished industry. He attributes his scatterbrained nature to attention deficit disorder (ADD).
Neeleman, 42, was diagnosed with ADD about three years ago after reading about it. Symptoms of ADD — estimated to affect 4 to 6 percent of the population — can include forgetfulness, distractibility and restlessness.
Neeleman views his hyperactivity as an asset. He won't take medication for fear he might be robbed of the creativity and energy that are propelling JetBlue to rapid growth in a shrinking industry through a combination of cool innovations and intense customer service.
Neeleman is in an industry long known for larger-than-life characters. He's a night owl who prowls the Internet for airline developments after his family goes to bed, phoning subordinates as late as 2 a.m. before catching four or five hours of sleep.
He flies his own airline at least once a week, announcing over the intercom that he's aboard, then greeting all 162 passengers on a full flight. He uses cocktail napkins to scribble passengers' complaints or suggestions, which get attention as soon as the plane lands.
He's a father of nine who is so deeply religious that he charters planes or buys blocks of seats to fly Mormon faithful and potential converts to church conventions.
Whether it's championing a crusade within the company — his latest is the notion of separate lavatories for men and women on planes — or scouting for new routes, he bounces from issue to issue.
"It's challenging because he wants to be everywhere all the time," says Tim Clayton, a JetBlue vice president.
One thing Neeleman can focus on is JetBlue. That's one of the hallmarks of the disorder, the ability to concentrate on one central interest, he explains. For him, it's airlines.
His two-year-old airline is adding planes as fast as it can get them at a time when major airlines are slashing fleets and laying off workers. While the industry expects to lose more than $6 billion this year, JetBlue earned $27.6 million in the first half of 2002.
Entourage of watchdogs
Whether he's at the office near New York's Kennedy International Airport or home in suburban Connecticut, Neeleman uses order to manage his disorder. From his wife of 21 years to his executive staff, he surrounds himself with people who are naturally organized. He develops routines. He always lays his wallet and keys in the same place. He wears a Casio Databank watch, typing messages to remind himself of ideas or appointments.
He buys the watches four at a time, expecting them to either break or disappear. Vicki Neeleman once couldn't find her husband during a backyard barbecue. He drove away and "left the chicken to burn," she says. His excuse: "Oh, I had to go buy a watch."
David Neeleman thrives on distraction. Every few minutes, he checks the BlackBerry e-mail receiver strapped to his waist. He is messaged whenever a plane is late leaving the gate. He wanders out of company meetings whenever he gets bored, which is frequently. He loves to shop at Costco, a store swirling with activity; he brings home so many bags, they fill the kitchen floor.
From missionary to mogul
Born in Sao Paulo, Brazil, where his father was a wire-service correspondent, Neeleman learned entrepreneurship helping out at his grandparents' grocery in Salt Lake City as a boy.
He later returned to Brazil as a Mormon missionary, baptizing more than 200 converts and learning to speak Portuguese fluently.
After dropping out of college, Neeleman became interested in the air charter business. He teamed with a travel operator, June Morris, to create low-cost Hawai'i packages for Utah residents.
That led to the creation of Morris Air, a low-fare carrier bought by discounter Southwest in 1993. Neeleman netted $20 million in the deal. He went to work for Southwest but chafed under a structure he perceived as thwarting his ideas. He was fired after five months.
Restricted by an agreement not to compete in the United States for five years, Neeleman helped found Canadian discount carrier WestJet Airlines and a ticketless reservation system, Open Skies (later sold to Hewlett-Packard for $22 million).
When he could jump back into the U.S. airline business, his vision was of a better Southwest. People would buy their tickets over the Internet or from reservations agents who worked out of their homes. JetBlue would offer assigned seating. JetBlue would be the only airline to offer 24 channels of live television on seatback screens at no charge.
Neeleman has an 8 percent stake in JetBlue, worth $122.7 million. He draws a $200,000 salary, from which he's matching contributions to an employee welfare fund dollar for dollar. He drives a GMC Yukon awash in shoes, cell-phone cords, a three-quarters empty bottle of Snapple, a few company reports and Mormon literature.
The Neeleman children, ages 3 to 14, bunk two or more to a room.
And Neeleman has himself as his harshest critic. He says it's another hallmark of attention deficit disorder, a fear of constant failure even in the face of clear success. He calls it "an inability to celebrate."
