Life lessons: From one Gates to another

UNION, Wash. -- Everywhere he goes, Bill Gates is escorted by a mythic résumé. Mercenary software genius. Self-made billionaire. Passionate philanthropist.

Everywhere, that is, but here — a tree-studded haven along the Hood Canal near Seattle that has welcomed him and his clan for a half-century.

"Where's Trey?" asks Bill Gates Sr., 83, using his son's family nickname. Informed that a planned interview is still an hour away, the 6-foot-6 patriarch makes a call by cellphone.

Minutes later, the other Bill Gates, 53, one of the world's wealthiest people and the guiding force behind Microsoft, dutifully strolls into the wine room at the Alderbrook Resort, not far from the family's private compound. Father and son do not hug. They don't have to.

"The Bill Gates of the boardroom and the Bill Gates of this family are two different people," says investor and close friend Warren Buffett. "Bill becomes Senior's son in his presence. There's an affection, respect and admiration that goes both ways and is very deep."

Adds PBS interviewer Charlie Rose, who knows both men: "Who (the younger) Bill is today links to a philosophy that comes directly from family."

In a rare father-son interview with USA TODAY, both Bills take a break from the family's last-gasp-of-summer bonding over golf and pickleball to discuss everything from raising children to eradicating diseases.

During the talk, the two treat each other with deference. But there's a sense that, at least this morning, there's only one Bill Gates in the room. It's the father — the quietly imposing lawyer who recently received the American Bar Association Medal for service to jurisprudence. Far from retired, Senior in 1999 launched and is now co-chairman of his son's $30.2 billion Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation. It focuses on global health, notably HIV/AIDS and malaria prevention, and education.

The son's admiration is palpable in a foreword to Senior's recent book, Showing Up for Life: Thoughts on the Gifts of a Lifetime. His father should tell people that he is "the real Bill Gates," the son wrote. "Tell them you're all the things the other strives to be."

Although not a fan of interviews, the younger Gates in this setting appears relaxed — jacketless, smiling and even laughing, a sharp contrast to the uncompromising businessman whose baronial success is the result of what some critics say is a domineering hold on the software industry.

The phenomenon known as Bill Gates has roots in childhood summers on this lazy canal, where eight or nine families would take over a rustic stretch of shoreline and play games, host parties and, in a twist, sometimes swap children at dinner. They dubbed the place Camp Cheerio.

"The kids (including daughters Kristy, 55, and Libby, 45) got serious exposure to how other families did things and formed judgments — good, bad or indifferent," Senior says.