content: Truly the greatest generation By 1973, after three years of tutelage, Kravis was ready to call the shots on his first deal. Like Stern Metals and other Kohlberg targets, Boren Clay Products, a small North Carolina brick maker, was owned by a strong-willed, elderly founder looking to cash out before his death. Orten Boren, then in his early seventies, didn’t have much use for Yankees or, for that matter, Jews.  “Boy,” Boren said at one of his first meetings with Kravis. “What faith are you?”  Kravis clinched. “Well, I’m Jewish.”  “I thought so.” A pause. “You Jewish boys are pretty smart, aren’t you?”  Kravis gritted his teeth. If anti-Semitism was the price of success, it was the price he would pay. Over the course of a six-month courtship, Kravis would pay plenty more. At one point, Boren showed Kravis through one of the company’s brick factories.  “Henry, see those kilns?” Boren asked, pointing to the giant containers where bricks were baked. “Those are just like the ovens the Germans used.” He repeated the remark for emphasis.  Kravis forced a smile.  “Boy,” Boren urged, “come on over here, a little closer, and see ’em.”  “Oh, no,” Kravis replied. “I can see them fine from here.”