Philip Anschutz: If Labour gets hung for the Dome, he'll bring the noose

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Secretive life of the Dome's new owner

The last time Philip Anschutz spoke in public was four years ago. His $500m (£310m) plan to revive the Los Angeles Coliseum – the run-down stadium that had fallen on bad times since hosting the 1994 World Cup final – and bring an American football team in to play there, had been revealed in the local press. Anschutz, already one of the biggest property owners in Los Angeles, was at a dinner to honour a local political bigwig. He was approached by a reporter who told him that the secrecy surrounding the deal would not help either LA or the National Football League (NFL). Anschutz agreed, but said talking publicly "just isn't my style, son".

The tale says a lot about the secretive Denver billionaire who is behind the deal to take over the Millennium Dome. But it is far from the whole story. It does not explain how he and his father made a fortune drilling for oil in Colorado. Or how Anschutz moved from the oil industry into railroads, property, telecommunications and sports.

Or how close Anschutz's business empire has come to a financial precipice. Or his support for causes ranging from restricting civil rights for gays to public hangings to deter criminals.

In short, those who know Anschutz and his circle are wondering whether Lord Falconer, Tony Blair and co realise who they are getting into bed with.

The Dome deal is classic Anschutz. The billionaire's Anschutz Entertainment Group (AEG) is investing hardly anything upfront, and his downside risks are covered by his property partner Meridian Delta, a joint venture between Quintain Estates and LendLease. He aims to turn the Dome into a "world-class" sports arena coupled with visitor attractions, akin to his redevelopment of downtown LA. And he is giving little away beyond that.

The worry stalking the Greenwich peninsula site is that Anschutz might be distracted by his other business problems – mainly the $26bn of junk bond debt weighing down Qwest, the telecoms business he founded, and the recent collapse of its European sister company KPNQwest.

The Philip Anschutz story begins in 1960 when his father, Fred, phoned up his 21-year-old son and told him to take over the running of his oil-drilling business. Anschutz jnr, who had grown up in rural Kansas and studied business at the University of Kansas, was planning to go to Virginia to study law. Instead he moved to Denver and set about bringing order to what had been a rather seat-of-the-pants operation.

Philip Anschutz works 12 hours a day, six days a week building his empire. And if that isn't enough hard labour, he often wakes at 4.30am to train for running marathons, and spends his Sundays at his local Calvinist church, where he is a leader of the community. In his rare holidays, he skis competitively and climbs mountains. He met his wife, Nancy, when he was 16 and they have been married more than 35 years, raising three kids and numerous Labradors.

In the only interview Anschutz ever gave, to the Colorado Historical Society in 1974, he said he was "determined that the name Anschutz would mean something in the oil business". This happened when the company dis- covered a huge gas reserve in 1982, but soon afterwards Anschutz decided the oil business was far too unpredictable and sold out.

His second fortune came in railways, after he bought the then tiny Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad almost by accident. In 1988 he reversed this into the much larger Southern Pacific railroad, which commanded 18,000 miles of track. He built an oil pipeline next to the tracks, much to the anger of environmentalists, and followed that up by laying fibre-optic cables next to the tracks, so launching his regional phone business Qwest.

The story of Qwest is horribly familiar to anyone who has followed the telecoms boom. The group expanded rapidly in the 1990s, taking on rivals and debts at a similar rate. By March 2000 the business was valued at $97bn, making Anschutz the 16th wealthiest man in America. Now it is teetering with $26bn of debt and last week its European joint venture, KPNQwest, went bankrupt. However, Qwest's problems might be helped by selling its Yellow Pages business, QwestDex, in an auction that has attracted interest from top private equity houses including Blackstone Group, Texas Pacific and Goldman Sachs. The price tag is expected to exceed $9bn.

Tim Leiweke, the flamboyant boss of AEG, denies that the problems of Qwest will have any impact on the entertainment business or its bid for the Dome, as it is doing pretty well all on its own. The roots of AEG go back to Anschutz's scheme to develop an old railroad yard in Denver into a site containing the Mile High Stadium, the home of the Denver Broncos NFL team; Coors Field, home of the Colorado Rockies baseball side; and the Elitch Garden Amusement Park. He replicated this success in LA, turning a run-down downtown area into the Staples Centre, an entertainment and sports complex that hosts everything from Madonna and Britney Spears concerts to the LA Kings ice hockey and LA Lakers basketball teams. Along the way he bought the Lakers, plus half a dozen ice hockey franchises and five teams in the nascent US soccer league. He is currently trying to buy the San Diego Chargers NFL team, which he plans to move to LA.

In addition to God, sports and money, Anschutz's main interest is right-wing politics. He is a strong supporter of Republican former presidential candidate Bob Dole, a Kansas neighbour, and a few other interests that hardly fit with New Labour. These include spending $10,000 on the controversial Amendment 2 in Colorado, which stopped local authorities from passing laws to protect the civil rights of gays, and backing Colorado senator Wayne Allard, a staunch member of the National Rifle Association, who proposed "hangings in the street" as a criminal deterrent.

Maybe public hangings at the Dome might be one way to boost its popularity.