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The Czech

Whether Robert Maxwell has committed suicide or been killed can never be known to the public.

It is enough to say that the scandalous publishing house so many people and financial institutions deceived that there was no paucity of suspects than the latter. Maxwell, born in Slatinske Dly to poor parents like Jan Ludvick Hoch, called his name when he migrated to Great Britain during World War II. Maxwell used the fog of the battle to benefit from a scientific magazine distribution at a cost. He soon put it into more literary acquisitions and did it with such a plum, he even got election to parliament.

But a trace of fraud started soon after that led to a high court hearing, then to possible allegations of war crimes and eventually a wonderful web of counterfeit balance sheets and fraudulent bank loan collateral that masked Maxwell’s mass placement of his own publishing house. rich suitcases. When everything was about to fall down, Maxwell allegedly had fallen over the Canary Islands. His extensive double trade earned him the post-war title of The Bouncing Czech.

However, Maxwell’s bombastic ego was authentic. He sought to be greater than life and overcome any perceived rival, such as Australian billionaire Rupert Murdoch, whose own publishing world is spreading the world. Ironically, Maxwell tried to use any opportunity to portray Murdoch as a low life and set himself as a higher mindset alternative to the conscience consumer. So, to contest the presence of Murdoch’s titillation theme, Tory-leaning tabloid, the son of Maxwell, he ran his Daily Mirror as a seemingly younger, softer, labor-oriented caregiver of similar stories.

Maxwell has always run a distant moment in the UK’s pioneering wars. He was constantly looking for a head start to tweak Murdoch’s operations and further convey the image of his higher social and ethical foundation. I can at least once testify of this obsession and his blowhard personality got him better.

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It was a summer day in the mid-80s, and the prospects that secondary smoking was a health problem in the workplace was initially accepted. It was certainly noble for Cap’n Bob – as Maxwell was hardly known – to be one of the first to try a smoke ban at the office. The Mirror’s headquarters was undoubtedly served better, but it was clear that his motives for self-promotion were rather a real concern for the welfare of his employees.

The first indication that this was the case was the fascinating way Maxwell enforced the policy arbitrarily. Specifically, he loved making a scene if it showed him in an authoritarian and positive light. So, when Cap’n Bob declared a ban, he did it for maximum effect. In this case, he decided that someone who was smoking in his building was shot on the spot.

On this day, Maxwell was a court of visitors of a worthy nature. He led them through the Mirror facilities when a man who caught a nearby photocopy machine caught his attention. The man has a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Cap’n Bob called his guests to follow him there. Puffing his chest as he approached the man puffing away, Maxwell started his diatribe within steps of his quarry and decibels with each successive step.

“Sir!” He cried, “How much do you make a month?”

The target of his wrath was carried away. It took him a moment to confirm that Maxwell spoke to him; in fact, “with him” would be more accurate.

“I asked you a question,” Maxwell pressed, making sure his guests completely understood who was in charge of the moment. “And I expect a quick answer. How much do you make a month!”

“2000 quid,” was the nerve response. “Why do you ask?”

“You smoke!” Was the roar retort. Cap’n Bob entered His bag came in preparation for the coup. He took out a parcel of bills, quickly sifted by 2000 and trapped it in the surprising man’s shirt.

“There’s a month’s pay! You are fired! Now come out! “

Maxwell flew away, his cotillion of impressive guests who pursued conscientiously. A strong boss definitely made a fixed point.

The cheated man took the money out of his pocket and shook his head in astonishment.

“I’m just called here to repair the copier,” he moved. He put the money in his pocket, hit a few ashes on the ground, went to the front door and went to his bus. Maybe he had more calls had to make that day but he probably decided to cancel them and instead go to a bar.

The incident capsized Cap’n Bob’s act in a nutshell. He was all pointed out with little attention to detail. It was a witcher that when someone carefully watched his business, he sunk.

I just did not think it would happen so literally.

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