A Number on the Forearm
For most of his adult life, the chairman of the Trust Company of New Jersey kept his shirt cuffs buttoned over a number. It was 104732, tattooed on his left forearm in Auschwitz beside a small triangle, and when it suited him he rolled the sleeve back and let a boardroom look at it. He stood about five feet five. He had left school around the fifth grade. He arrived in the United States in 1947 with roughly two hundred dollars, a few words of English and no family to speak of, because the Nazis had murdered fifty-nine of his relatives, including both of his parents.
Within twenty years of stepping off the boat, Siggi B. Wilzig was president and chief executive of an oil and gas company listed on the New York Stock Exchange. A few years after that he was chairman of a Jersey City bank, and over the next three decades he grew it from about $181 million in assets to more than $4 billion. He did it in two industries, oil and commercial banking, that in postwar America were not known for welcoming Jewish immigrants with heavy accents and no college degree. He fought the Federal Reserve in court, lost, and kept the bank anyway. He refused to join the state bankers' association. He telephoned his own customers to tell them how to manage their accounts.
He also spent a large share of his energy on memory. He was the first Holocaust survivor to lecture the full cadet corps at West Point, a founding member of the United States Holocaust Memorial Council, and, near the end of his life, the giver of a video testimony to the USC Shoah Foundation that runs more than ten hours, the longest in its collection. Above a fireplace in his office at the bank, carved in marble, was the line he used as a personal credo: free men who forget their bitter past do not deserve a bright future.
This is the story of how a boy from a small town in West Prussia became one of the most stubborn, independent and improbable bankers in the United States.
By the Numbers
Siggi Wilzig's Two Lives
59Members of his family murdered in the Holocaust, by his own count
1 of ~1,500Only survivor among the pupils of his Jewish school
39His age when he became president and CEO of Wilshire Oil Company of Texas
$181M → $4.3BTrust Company of New Jersey's assets, from his arrival to the 2003 sale agreement
$726MAll-stock price North Fork Bancorporation agreed to pay for the bank in December 2003
10+ hoursLength of his 2002 Shoah Foundation testimony, the longest in the archive
Krojanke to Berlin
Siegbert Wilzig was born on March 11, 1926, in Krojanke, a small town in the province of West Prussia that is now Krajenka in Poland. His parents were traditional Jews, and he was the second-youngest of eight children. The region sat in the disputed borderland between Germany and Poland, and antisemitism there was neither abstract nor new. His biographer, Joshua M. Greene, recounts that when Siggi was about six, a local farmer held him headfirst over a meat grinder and threatened to turn him into minced meat. It was the kind of memory that the adult Wilzig carried without much comment, one of many.
In 1936, with hostility in the town mounting, the family moved to Berlin, where his father made a living selling textiles. The move bought time but no safety. In 1941, at fifteen, Siegbert was conscripted into forced labor at a German armaments factory, working twelve-hour shifts. His formal schooling was over. Later in life he liked to tease his children when they did their homework, muttering the German words for fulcrum and lever, which he said were among the last things he had learned in a classroom.
In 1943, when he was sixteen, the family was deported to Auschwitz. By his own account to the New York Observer in 1999, his mother was murdered on arrival, a brother was beaten to death soon afterward, and his father was killed in front of him. He remembered the date of his father's death, April 8, 1943, for the rest of his life. Of the roughly 1,500 children who had attended his Jewish school, he was, according to his family, the only one to survive the war.
The Survivor's Method
How a teenager survived nearly two years in Auschwitz is a question that has no complete answer, and Wilzig himself always credited a combination of instinct, luck and what he called the hand of the Almighty. But the testimony he left behind, and the biography built from it, describe a consistent pattern of behavior.
On arrival he lied about his age, claiming to be eighteen, because younger prisoners were routinely sent straight to the gas chambers. He told guards he was a master toolmaker, a skill he did not have. When he overheard that a work detail needed a bricklayer, he said he had years of bricklaying experience, then watched the other bricklayers and learned the trade as he went. When he was falling ill with pneumonia from outdoor labor, he heard that the prisoners' infirmary needed an assistant and claimed nursing experience in a Berlin hospital. In his Shoah Foundation testimony he joked that he knew as much about nursing as his interviewer did about belly dancing. The indoor job saved his life.
He told the Observer that he went through eighteen to twenty selections, standing naked in line while SS doctors decided who would live. He spent his last months in the camp in a laundry that washed the clothes of murdered prisoners for redistribution, and there, he said, he found laundry marks on garments belonging to relatives of his mother who had fled to Holland and been deported on one of the last transports.
They don't teach you this at Harvard: Do you sleep in wet clothes so that the warmth of the body dries them, or do you take it off and freeze to death?
— Siggi Wilzig, New York Observer, 1999
In January 1945, with the Red Army approaching, the SS drove the remaining prisoners west on foot. Wilzig survived two of these death marches. Greene's biography records one small act of improvisation that stayed with his family: when his shoelaces rotted through in the snow and mud, he used the edge of a camp spoon to strip bark from a birch sapling, softened it in his hands, braided it and tied his shoes together. Without shoes, prisoners on the march got frostbite and died. He was liberated by the United States Army at Mauthausen in Austria in early May 1945, nineteen years old and gravely ill.
The method he used to stay alive, claiming the skill first and acquiring it on the job, would reappear in a very different setting. In the camps it was a matter of life and death. In American business it became a habit of walking into rooms where he was not expected and acting as though he belonged there.
Hunting Nazis, Then Shoveling Snow
After liberation, Wilzig did not go looking for a quiet place to recover. He volunteered with the U.S. Army's Counter Intelligence Corps, helping to track down former SS men and Gestapo operatives in Austria and Bavaria. He spoke German natively and had picked up Polish and Ukrainian in the camps, and he learned English on the job. According to Greene, he was eventually given his own small investigative unit. He described it later as a way of thanking the Americans who had freed him, and the service helped him obtain a visa to the United States.
He arrived in New York in 1947, at twenty-one. He later changed his name legally to Siggi Bert Wilzig. His first American wages came from shoveling snow in the Bronx after a heavy blizzard that winter. After that came a string of jobs that he later recited with some relish: gluing and pressing bow ties in a Brooklyn sweatshop, selling loose-leaf binders and school notebooks to university bookstores, peddling neckties from the trunk of a car, and eventually managing a furniture store in Hillside, New Jersey. He told the Observer that carrying the sample cases on the road had given him arthritis in his fingers and that he had been the original Death of a Salesman.
He was good at selling. At the furniture store, he reportedly tripled the business within months. A produce vendor introduced him to the family of Naomi Sisselman, whose father was a successful New Jersey real estate owner. Her parents did not approve of the penniless survivor, and the couple eloped; they married in the mid-1950s and later held a traditional Jewish ceremony. They had three children, Ivan, Sherry and Alan, and raised them in Clifton, New Jersey, a town the family never left for the wealthier suburbs.
The Holocaust was present in that household in small, specific ways. His children remembered that the family avoided long lines at the movies because they reminded him of selection lines, that metal cups were not allowed in the house because they reminded him of camp cups, and that he always wore two pairs of socks. He worked constantly. His idea of a vacation was Kutsher's, the kosher resort hotel in the Catskills where many survivors went.
A Takeover With Borrowed Friends
What set Wilzig apart from other salesmen of modest means, as The New York Times noted in his obituary, was what he did with his savings. He did not put them in a bank. He bought stocks.
In the early 1960s he became interested in the Wilshire Oil Company of Texas, a small oil and gas producer with operations in the United States and Canada. He thought it was undervalued, and he kept buying. He told the Observer a story against himself about this period: his wife would ask why he had bought more shares, and he would claim the broker must have had an open order from him. He admitted that he was lying.
Buying on his own could never give him control. So he recruited. Through a Wall Street broker named Sol Diamond, who also held Wilshire stock and saw in Wilzig the energy to lead a takeover, and through friends and relatives, he assembled a group of about twenty investors who together bought roughly 17 percent of the company, according to American Banker. Wilshire's management did not welcome them. Wilzig said later that for five years the company refused to give him a directorship. He started a proxy fight, and the board settled by giving his group four seats.
He joined the board in 1965. Six months later, at thirty-nine, he was elected president and chief executive. Greene reports that when directors questioned whether an immigrant outsider with no oil experience should be running the company, Wilzig pulled up his sleeve, showed them his Auschwitz number and told them that the last man who had tried to intimidate him was Hitler. Under his leadership, according to American Banker, Wilshire's revenue quadrupled over the following seventeen years.
He had no geology background and no family connections in the oil patch. What he had was an ability to read financial statements, persuade other people to invest alongside him, and outwork anyone in the building. Those three skills would carry him into his second industry.
The Bank Across the River
Oil exploration is a volatile business. A dry hole can erase a year's profit, and commodity prices can swing in ways no operator controls. By the late 1960s Wilzig was looking for a steadier source of earnings and cash to offset those risks, and he found it in a sleepy commercial bank in Jersey City.
The Trust Company of New Jersey traced its roots to 1896, when General William Heppenheimer and three associates organized a safe deposit and trust company in Jersey City. By the 1960s it was a consumer and small-business lender run, in Greene's description, by a board of older men with little appetite for expansion. It was also, in Wilzig's telling, a place with an uncomfortable history. He told the Observer he had heard that when Paris fell to the Germans in 1940, two officers of the bank played Nazi songs and danced in the main branch.
Beginning in 1967, Wilzig used Wilshire's money to buy 9.9 percent of the bank's stock, and he again brought friends and family in alongside him. He became a director in 1969 and was elected chairman two years later, in 1971; he added the title of president in 1974. The reception inside the bank was hostile. Years afterward he told the Observer that half the board had called him a little Jew bastard behind his back, and that when the time came, he did not fire any of them.
I'm not a fighter. I did all my fighting in Auschwitz.
— Siggi Wilzig, New York Observer, 1999
For a few years in the early 1970s, Wilzig ran both an NYSE-listed oil producer and a commercial bank at the same time, a combination that was about to become illegal.
Suing the Federal Reserve
In 1970, Congress amended the Bank Holding Company Act, a 1956 law meant to keep banking separate from ordinary commerce. The original statute had covered only companies that controlled more than one bank. The amendments extended it to one-bank holding companies like Wilshire, and gave them ten years, until December 31, 1980, to choose: get rid of the non-banking businesses, or get rid of the bank.
Wilzig did not want to choose. According to the later court record, the Federal Reserve Board urged Wilshire repeatedly from 1977 onward to say how it would comply. On November 3, 1980, less than two months before the deadline, Wilshire told the Board it had found a third path. The Act defined a bank as an institution that both made commercial loans and accepted deposits that customers had a legal right to withdraw on demand. The Trust Company would stop taking demand deposits by reserving the right to require fourteen days' notice before a withdrawal. If depositors no longer had a legal right to their money on demand, the argument went, the Trust Company was no longer a bank, and Wilshire was no longer a bank holding company.
The Fed was not persuaded. On the last day of 1980 it publicly accused Wilshire of violating the law, noting that the company had had nearly ten years to plan. That same day, Wilshire moved its Trust Company shares into the hands of an independent trustee and severed the interlocking directorships between the two companies. On April 2, 1981, the Board ruled that the Trust Company was still a bank and ordered Wilshire to comply. The problem, it found, was that the bank had assured customers it never intended to enforce the notice requirement, so the reservation changed nothing in practice.
Wilshire appealed. In 1982 the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit upheld the Fed in Wilshire Oil Co. of Texas v. Board of Governors, agreeing that regulators could look past the form of an arrangement to its substance. The case became an early reference point in the debate over so-called nonbank banks. The fight went as far as the Supreme Court, and Wilzig lost. His family's biography describes Wilshire as the first company ever to sue the Federal Reserve.
Losing did not mean giving up the bank. Wilshire was separated from the Trust Company, with shareholders receiving 111 bank shares for every 1,000 Wilshire shares, according to the Observer. Wilzig kept control of the bank and became a paid consultant to the oil company, which his daughter Sherry would later run as president. He had spent more than a decade resisting the regulators, used every legal argument available, and when the argument failed, restructured so that he kept the asset he cared most about.
The Bank With Heart
Wilzig ran the Trust Company for more than thirty years, and he ran it the way he had sold furniture: personally, loudly and without much regard for how other people in his industry did things.
He did not like offices. For years he did not use the president's office at all, preferring, he said, to roam from desk to desk because he disliked the confinement of sitting behind one. He worked fourteen-hour days and made a point of knowing his customers. American Banker reported that he would call customers out of the blue to offer unsolicited advice about their finances, and his son Alan recalled that he rarely said goodbye at the end of a phone call because a dozen other calls were waiting. The bank marketed itself as "The Bank With Heart," and employees told stories of him sending sick staff members to his own doctors.
He was also, by the standards of his peers, an outsider by choice. For years he was the only bank chief executive in New Jersey who did not belong to the New Jersey Bankers Association. In 1994 he boasted to American Banker that in twenty-two years he had never bought another bank. The Trust Company grew almost entirely by opening branches and making loans, not by acquisition, at a time when much of the industry was consolidating through mergers.
One late expansion showed the method. In the late 1990s his son Ivan negotiated a deal to open roughly forty branches inside A&P supermarkets, putting tellers where customers already went every week. Wilzig, who was not easily impressed by his sons, told the Observer it was the most important event in the bank's history.
The Regulators Return
The independence that built the bank also nearly damaged it. In the early 1990s, the Trust Company roughly doubled its assets in five years, to $2.3 billion. Then the New Jersey real estate market turned, and the bank found itself holding a portfolio of troubled property loans.
In the autumn of 1994, the New Jersey Department of Banking and the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation placed the bank under a cease-and-desist order. According to American Banker, regulators criticized management for holding nonperforming assets too long, running the bank with insufficient capital and failing to supervise internal operations, and they demanded that it retain qualified management. The bank had earlier restated its 1993 results, turning a reported $17.1 million profit into a $3 million loss after increasing its loan-loss reserves. A local competitor told the paper that Wilzig's weakness was that he had failed to surround himself with strong executives, and that three people, Wilzig and his two sons, could not run a $2.3 billion bank.
Wilzig defended his approach. He said the problem assets were about a dozen apartment buildings and that he had held onto them deliberately, waiting for a better market rather than dumping them at a loss.
We did not want to do what the others did, sell it in bulk. We sell a few pieces at a time.
— Siggi Wilzig, American Banker, 1994
He also conceded the point on management, if grudgingly. That September he had handed the title of president to Fred Moses, a former president of United Jersey Bank, and hired a chief financial officer, Michael Marinelli. He said the bank had been looking for such people for three and a half years. He briefly considered selling the bank, telling American Banker that three competitors had expressed interest and that he just wanted time to polish the apple. Then he decided against selling, and kept running it.
Memory as Work
Alongside the bank, Wilzig built a second career as a witness. In 1975 he became the first Holocaust survivor to lecture the full corps of cadets and officers at the United States Military Academy at West Point. His son Alan, who was in the audience, recalled that he spoke for an hour and forty-five minutes and then took questions for two more hours. That same year the State of Israel awarded him the Prime Minister's Medal for his support, which included raising more than $100 million in Israel bonds over the years.
In 1980, when President Jimmy Carter appointed Elie Wiesel to lead the new United States Holocaust Memorial Council, Wiesel asked for Wilzig to serve with him. Wilzig was sworn in as a founding member, was reappointed by President Ronald Reagan, and worked on the effort that produced the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington. He spoke out often against Holocaust denial. He received honorary doctorates of law from Hofstra University, where an endowed position at the law school bears his name, and from the Benjamin N. Cardozo School of Law at Yeshiva University, where he was a founding director. In 1998 he received the Ellis Island Medal of Honor.
His philanthropy tended toward the very old and the very young, the groups the Nazis had killed first. He supported the Daughters of Miriam Home for the Aged and the Jewish Home and Rehabilitation Center, and his name is on the Wilzig Hospital at the Jersey City Medical Center, which opened in 2004. His daughter Sherry recalled that he had little patience for sitting on charity boards and preferred individual missions, calling in favors from doctors or showing up personally for an employee in crisis.
He was also funny, which surprised people who knew only the story. His children remembered him telling tall tales, pretending that a charm on his watch chain was a Phi Beta Kappa key from Oxford, or that he had been a star college athlete, before delivering the punchline that there were no football teams in Auschwitz.
The Last Account
Wilzig was diagnosed with multiple myeloma and fought it for about two years. In January 2002, his son Alan was elected president and chief executive of the Trust Company, with Siggi remaining chairman. In September 2002, already ill, he sat for the Shoah Foundation testimony that would run more than ten hours.
He died on January 7, 2003, at Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center in Manhattan, at the age of seventy-six. His funeral was held at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center in Newark. By then the Trust Company had about $4.3 billion in assets and was, by its acquirer's count, the fourth-largest bank in New Jersey, with the leading market share in Hudson County.
The bank he had refused to sell in 1994 was sold within a year of his death. On December 16, 2003, North Fork Bancorporation of Long Island agreed to buy it in an all-stock deal valued at $726 million. The merger closed on May 14, 2004, and the Trust Company's branches became North Fork branches. Two years later, Capital One agreed to buy North Fork.
In 2021, Joshua M. Greene published a full biography, Unstoppable, built largely on Wilzig's testimony and his family's recollections. It describes a man who was, at the same time, a fierce and sometimes frightening executive, a loyal and generous employer, and a survivor who never stopped reliving what he had survived. Greene quotes him as saying that only in America could someone like him have become the head of a banking and oil empire. What set him apart from most self-made financiers was that he never treated the success as a way of moving on from the past. He wanted it to serve as evidence.