Living Large, Getty Trust Style

I was only gone for a week, but so much happened in my absence that I’m still playing catch-up. Before another day passes, I’d like to say a few things about the lousy deal I’ve got here.

I didn’t realize it was a lousy deal, to be honest. I thought it was pretty darned cushy, in fact. But then I read the story on Barry Munitz, chief executive of the J. Paul Getty Trust, and realized what an underachieving sap I am.

Munitz, in case you missed the story by the ace team of Jason Felch, Robin Fields and Louise Roug, throws cash around -- all over the world -- as if he’s playing with Monopoly money.

Tuscan villas, $1,000-a-night hotel rooms, yachting on the Dalmatian coast. You throw a party, and this guy’s there, all smiles and company credit cards. When they gave Munitz the job in 1998, he apparently assumed he was supposed to actually live like a Getty.

Munitz spends so freely, he managed to draw a rebuke from a United States senator.

“I’m concerned that the Getty board has been spending more time watching old episodes of ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’ than doing its job of protecting Getty’s assets for charitable purposes,” said Sen. Charles E. Grassley (R-Iowa), who ripped Munitz’s “gold-plated” lifestyle.

The Senate is threatening to crack down on nonprofit charitable organizations that use their tax-exempt status to keep highbrows plied with caviar and champagne rather than to serve the public interest. Munitz, thanks to The Times, may become Exhibit A.

You’d think Getty board members would have had the courage to rap Munitz’s knuckles for bringing this kind of heat on the institution, but there’s scarcely been a murmur out of that courageous crew. It could be that, like me, they’re dumbstruck -- or trying to learn a thing or two from the way Munitz operates.

Like Munitz, my job requires me to see and be seen. S. Lo’s got an image to uphold, along with a circle of contacts and tipsters who need to be schmoozed and lubricated regularly. But when my Nissan Sentra lease ended recently, I missed an excellent opportunity to raise my profile.

I traded the Sentra for a Honda Accord.

What a fool.

Even as the Getty was handing pink slips to sobbing security guards in 2003 and taking other cruel whacks at the budget, Munitz pulled up to work in a gleaming, brand new $72,000 Porsche Cayenne SUV. He had told an aide he wanted the “best possible sound system” and “biggest possible sunroof,” all of it on the Getty dime.

Then, while other employees were told that no amount of prayer or groveling would win them a raise, the high-rolling Munitz lobbied for an annual bump from $1 million to $1.2 million.

You can criticize his chutzpah if you like. Me? I want him as my agent.

I’m too unassuming to tell an office clerk the fax machine hasn’t worked in six weeks, but Munitz has no problem snapping his fingers. If he wants old episodes of “Law & Order” or “The West Wing,” the office driver is on the road in a flash.

And Munitz doesn’t seem at all bashful about bringing his wife, Anne T. Munitz, along on the gravy train world tour. He refers to her, by the way, as ATM, which is entirely appropriate given the way he occasionally treats the Getty like a cash machine on her behalf. Just note this dictation from Munitz regarding Wifie-poo:

“ATM saw in Europe but can’t find her Tropicana blood orange juice, no pulp, not from concentrate. Can you look on the website and find out where we can get this on a regular basis locally?”

It’s just one crisis after another in the art world.

But what kind of bum is S. Lo if I don’t start grabbing a few perks for my wife?

(Note to my secretary: Wait a minute, I don’t have a secretary. Note to Barry’s secretary: My wife AHS saw in Hawaii but can’t find her Kona Longboard Lager, aged five weeks and moderately hopped. When you’re done pampering Barry and his wife, could you go online and find AHS a bar that serves Longboard?)

As The Times story noted, three months after renting an Italian villa, the Munitzes desperately needed some down time. So they sailed the Dalmatian coast in a 165-foot yacht chartered by Los Angeles billionaire Eli Broad.

I don’t know if the boat’s name was Usual Suspects, but the crew of aristocrats included former L.A. Mayor Richard Riordan, supermarket baron Ron Burkle and AIG SunAmerica’s Jay Wintrob, all with wives in tow. Munitz turned in a $7,000 expense report, saying the mission was to assess the security of Getty-sponsored palaces that had been restored.

This came as news to the noted art historian Riordan, who told The Times he thought he was on a pleasure cruise.

“I can’t think of any business as such,” said Riordan, although he noted that Munitz did seem to linger whenever they came upon a ruin.

Yes, but Munitz might just have been asking locals if they knew where to get blood orange juice.

Munitz hooked up with this same McHale’s Navy of art authorities in Greece and billed the Getty $8,000 to cover yachting fees paid to Broad.

OK, last I checked, Broad was worth $4 billion. He charters a yacht, invites friends aboard and charges them?

I’m telling you, there’s a reason the rich are rich. Broad and I went out for tacos one day, escorted by his limo driver, and Eli kept his hands in his pockets while I paid the tab.

No one ever called my barely floating boat a yacht, but from now on, anyone who sets foot aboard the Interlude better bring a checkbook and a fat expense account.

I’m free most weekends, Barry. Let’s sail up to Malibu and assess the security of the old Getty villa, but don’t bring Riordan. Any rube who doesn’t know business from pleasure can only get us into trouble.

Reach the columnist at [email protected] and read previous columns at www.latimes.com/lopez.