CONCLUSION

In 1893, Samuel Zemurray, a teenage Russian Jewish immigrant, stumbled across a yellowish gold mine in the United States. More accurately, he stumbled across a yellowish fruit. If you want to get truly exact, he stumbled across a yellowish fruit with two dots that was “ripe.”

You probably think of “ripe” as meaning “good to eat.” You’d be correct. However, “ripe” in the 1890s also meant that it was only days from being spoiled. Bananas—not native to the United States—that arrived on the docks with two or more freckles would be thrown into the ripe pile to be destroyed.

Zemurray had an idea—if he could buy those ripe bananas on the cheap, hop on a train, and sell them quickly before they truly spoiled, he could turn a profit. He negotiated a deal, bought the would-be-trash pile of bananas, then hopped on a train. He sent a wire ahead to all the grocers in the various towns up the train line to meet him at the train stations, and he’d sell them his soon-to-be-spoiled but still excellent-tasting bananas straight from the boxcar.

His plan worked, and he turned a profit. So naturally he did it again. Then again—buying ripes and turning them into treasures. What began as one train car of nearly spoiled bananas started an empire. Soon he’d spread across the country, and out of it, into the continent where the bananas actually grew, South America.

By 1910, he was pushing further into Honduras. There, to keep profits high and taxes low, he’d need certain concessions from the local government. He’d risen from the status of immigrant to businessman. By 1910, Zemurray’s reputation had already earned him the nickname “Sam the Banana Man.”

A man of few words and decisive action, he generally got his way. But Honduras wasn’t playing ball. So Sam the Banana Man did the most brash, bold thing you could do:

He decided to overthrow the government.

In 1911, he bootstrapped a rebellion from the streets of New Orleans, scrounging up mercenary fighters and meeting with a former ousted president of Honduras, Manuel Bonilla. Then he loaded up a warship he bought from the US Navy, and he headed south to overthrow the government that wouldn’t appease him.

One day, he was an immigrant selling bananas out of boxcars. A few decades later, he was putting rifles on his boat bound for another continent, financing a coup d’état in a foreign nation.

Zemurray, just as he always did, got his way. He overthrew the government.

Later he toyed with the Guatemalan government until its leader was also overthrown.

Oh, and he was fundamental to the creation of the state of Israel too. When the Jews were fighting the Arabs in the 1940s after World War II, most Western countries, such as the United States and Great Britain, had a don’t-get-involved policy, and shipping guns to support either side was illegal. But Zemurray had an armada of ships (indeed his ships were seized by the US government during World War II to help with the war effort) and plenty of money, and, of course, he was Jewish. He sent guns and money to the Jewish fighters in the Middle East. Then, when the United Nations voted against approving the newly created State of Israel, Zemurray got on the phone with his South American contacts, who were the swing votes in the United Nations. After a few phone calls—and potentially some money sliding hands—there was a revote. A few key players in South America had miraculously changed their votes, and the country of Israel was born.

Zemurray was a world disruptor. The very makeup of political boundaries today might not be the same if it weren’t for him.

When Zemurray bought that first bunch of ripe bananas in 1893, he purchased them from the very company he’d need to fight later, United Fruit.¹

United Fruit and Zemurray went head-to-head for decades, fighting wars in the political arena, and very nearly fighting their own wars with their own guns on banana lands in South America. But by 1929, it was clear that both could not fight the external forces while also fighting other banana kingdoms. So in 1929, United Fruit and Zemurray joined forces. He sold his company, and United Fruit gave him stock. He gave up his land rights, and United Fruit made him its de facto chief executive officer.

Consider the unlikely turn of events: One day, a young teenager was buying a company’s trash to scrounge a few pennies. Three decades later, he was president of that very company, the largest fruit company in America.

If you’ve ever had a banana in the Western hemisphere, likely you’ve tasted Sam the Banana Man’s legacy. United Fruit underwent complex bankruptcies and mergers in the latter half of the 1900s, until it became a brand you know of with the trademark blue and yellow logo: The brand today is called Chiquita.

Zemurray was certainly a controversial figure. He certainly wasn’t Mother Teresa, and his dealings in South America were, in the best light, capitalistic to the extreme. But here’s what I love about Sam the Banana Man: The man who virtually single-handedly overthrew the Honduran government didn’t use new technology, he didn’t revolutionize weaponry, and he didn’t define an era with his aircraft. He disrupted governments, effectively, with a soft yellow fruit.

He saw a problem, innovated, and then innovated again. He kept following this path of disruption, a path that made its way into the pages of history, through the countries of Latin America, and into our grocery stores. He wasn’t a chemist, and he didn’t have the engineering mind of an Elon Musk. He simply had an idea, and he went for it. He sold some bananas, then sold some more. He just didn’t see impossibility the way others did. They’d say it was impossible, and he’d shrug as if he didn’t quite understand the meaning of that word. And maybe he didn’t; after all, he was an immigrant.

The point is, Zemurray, like all Bold Ones, saw what no one else saw, and to him, it wasn’t impossible. It was just the next step on his path.

You can’t underestimate the power of your own innovative ideas. You don’t have to leave your country, your industry, or even your company. Kutaragi stayed with Sony. Simmons still writes. Ching Shih was (almost) always a pirate. Meeker still releases the “Internet Trends” report. Hatshepsut was always Egyptian. You don’t even need to be in technology. Cardi B is a rapper. Hasan is a storyteller.

You can innovate at your desk today. The next time you feel that itch, that burning deep down to speak up in the meeting, to send the email and ask the question, “But why do we do it this way?” just ask. Speak up. Be curious. Wonder. Ask why, and keep asking.

The moment you see your ripe banana opportunity, take it. You never know where it will lead.