About Greg
“Take a seat.” She trills setting the teapot down on the table. I pick a white sofa. Greg selects the one opposite and Victoria perches bird like on the arm beside him and smoothes her elegant blonde bob. “Have a slice of cheesecake,” urges Greg. “I ordered it specially from this family bakery in Massachusetts. I discovered them while I was at Harvard. They have a secret recipe. I’ve never tasted anything else quite like it.” I don’t need to be asked twice. “Tea?” asks Victoria.
This isn’t what I was expecting at all. I’m starting to feel like I’m visiting the Walton’s, not meeting one of America’s most eminent businessmen.
Born on a cotton plantation in Leake County, in 1953, Greg Goode’s Mississippi pedigree dates back to pre Civil war. During his childhood the family still owned their original antebellum mansion in Natchez, Adam’s County on the Arkansas border. It was there they would vacation every Summer: “Some of my happiest memories date back to running round those great majestic grounds.” Says Greg biting into an enormous slice of cheesecake. “I used to pretend I was Davy Crockett.”
“So, if your family were old Mississippi cotton planters, how did you get into the oil business?” I ask.
“After graduating from Harvard I went home to Leake and was going to help my Pappy on the ranch.” He smiles at his wife. “We were married, by then and I was all settled down to work, when I heard about a tiny company called Ignite, based out in Florida that was about to go under due to lack of funds. I studied business at college – I could see this was a great opportunity. So I raised the money, bought up the company and opened offices in Jackson.”
He makes it sound so easy. But he’s not the least bit arrogant. So, I resolve that I will ask him about his accent: “A lot of people comment on that. I spent a year at Trinity College Cambridge. I was on an exchange, so it was kind of like a vacation.”
“I suppose I just picked up the lingo.” He says, adopting a very sexy Hugh Grant tone.
“Greg like’s to play the English gentleman, don’t you honey?” Victoria says affectionately. “He’s got this beat up old car he drives round London when we stay there. It’s some kind of classic – but it just looks old to me.”
