Charlie in Charge

“I called every beat reporter,” Jacobs says. “I spoke to everybody. You know what they said? ‘Great. Thanks.’ Boom—they hung up. And when they were wrong, which I tried to forewarn them about, or inaccurate—don’t print ‘wrong’—when they were inaccurate, it was the Bruins’ doing, not their own. Talk about shy—I was pretty direct with everyone in that process.”
The truth, though, is that Jacobs is shy. You hear that over and over. From past and present employees. From reporters who cover the team. From a lot of people. But like most of us, Jacobs doesn’t relish hearing uncomfortable truths. He hates it, actually. When I mention it to him, that people think he’s reticent, he balks and gives me a list of people who have worked with and for him. He asks me to call them, saying they’ll show another side.

So I do. John Wentzell, president of the Garden and Delaware North–Boston, and Sean McGrail, president of NESN, both have glowing things to say about Jacobs, that he’s a proactive and involved leader. As does Rick Abramson, who has worked for the Jacobs family in various capacities for 41 years, and who is now president of Sportservice, the sports-stadium catering business that serves as Delaware North’s cornerstone. It’s clear Abramson is a big fan of the entire Jacobs clan: He gushes about how the patriarch allows him to run a half-billion-dollar company, and about going to Australia with Charlie’s brother, Lou. “See, the family is probably very tough for the media to understand,” Abramson says. “Charlie is very shy, and most of the Jacobses are shy. It just seems that….” He pauses, searching for the right words. “People think they’re not as out there as they should be.”

During our conversation in his office, Charlie and I are chatting cordially when the topic turns from the mundane to his dad. By most accounts, Jeremy Jacobs is a tough man to work for. Earlier, when I’d asked whether his father had given him a pep talk or a pat on the back when he began working for the team, Charlie smiled and said, “You don’t know Jeremy Jacobs,” later adding, “He’s a guy who expects results, and he wants them today.” Now, though, when his father comes up, he withdraws, looking away and fidgeting in his chair. Suspecting some sort of sneak attack, his defenses go on full alert. He’s all fierce loyalty. “My father is a huge figure in my life,” he says. As he sits there in a blue button-down shirt and khakis, his clothes suddenly look too big for him. “I’m a little cautious right here. I don’t know what direction you’re going. I’m a little nervous about how you’re gonna paint him…. I don’t want you to write a story that says, ‘Here’s Charlie Jacobs and here’s Jeremy Jacobs, the villain’—as he’s been painted so many times.” As he trails off, Charlie Jacobs’s true motive with the Bruins reveals itself. His goal has less to do with making the Bruins champions—that’s Chiarelli’s task—and more to do with protecting his father.

“The family legacy is important [to the Jacobses], and Charlie is really doing everything he can in Boston,” says Abramson, the Sportservice president and family friend. “Sure, he wants to please his father. I think anyone would. His father built this business up. His father took over this business when he was 28 years old. That’s a hard act to follow. The chairman, he isn’t going to hug you. But when he lets you do things, that’s the biggest hug he could give you.”

And what better way to return that embrace, to make Dad proud, than to take the heat that might otherwise be directed at Jeremy Jacobs? What better way than to be the fall guy?

I don’t care what you write about me, but don’t misrepresent my dad.

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