Early Birds: At 540 Park, power breakfasters always get the worm.

If breakfast is the most important meal of the day, the power breakfast could prove the most important meal of your career...particularly at 540 Park at the Loews Regency Hotel, the legendary Midtown eatery that gave birth to Manhattan’s morning-meeting tradition.

Bob Tisch, the late co-CEO of the Loews Corporation, first coined the term during New York’s 1975 fiscal crisis, when he invited politicians and labor chiefs to his hotel’s dining room to hash out recovery strategies over omelets and coffee. These days, breakfast at the Regency is less about labor strikes and political turmoil than about closing a big deal before even setting foot in the office.

That’s why, on any given morning, you might bump into Wall Street elder statesmen Felix Rohatyn (a regular since the ’70s), Sandy Weill and Michel David-Weill. Ex-Citigroup CEO Chuck Prince, former NYSE director Ken Langone and ex-Nasdaq head Frank Zarb might be warming up with hot oatmeal and fresh berries (the $29 price tag is no object).

“I’ve noticed that the crowd is getting younger recently,” says restaurant manager Rae Bianco, who has catered to the power-breakfast scene for the last 10 years.

A look around the wood-paneled, oversize-mirrored space does yield its fair share of fresh faces, who frequently cross the room to greet the more-established players jockeying (politely, Bianco insists) for the coveted window tables facing 61st Street. That’s where you might find Lehman Brothers CEO Dick Fuld, Goldman Sachs vice chairman Bob Hormatz or wealth-­management guru Alexandra Lebenthal exchanging views on the market, elbow-to-elbow with corporate chieftains such as Barry Gosin of Newmark Knight Frank and CBS’s Les Moonves.

And while it’s chic for television personalities Larry King and Donny Deutsch to tuck into their egg-white frittatas after 9, or for Al Sharpton and Hillary Clinton to order sweet granola and low-fat yogurt around 8, the dealmakers and CEOs pack the tables at 7 a.m. sharp.

“Every day, there’s a new dynamic,” Bianco says. “Of course, there are familiar faces, but the mix is always different. It’s like musical chairs — these guys just keep changing dancing partners.”

Seeing Eye to Eye: Morgan Stanley’s Peter Crnkovich takes up his firm’s charitable legacy.

In 1997, Morgan Stanley’s Peter Crnkovich was faced with a question many parents dread: “Dad, can I have a puppy?” Little did he know the answer to his then-11-year-old daughter’s prayers would lead him to a longstanding role on the board of The Seeing Eye, a Morristown, New Jersey–based nonprofit that trains canine companions for the blind.

Attempting to placate his daughter, the chairman of Morgan Stanley’s health-care investment-banking unit sought out the charity, which employs an extensive network of mid-Atlantic volunteers to raise would-be guide dogs through puppyhood (about 16 months) until they’re ready for rigorous training. When he agreed to foster Fenton, an eight-week-old golden retriever, Crnkovich, a 52-year-old father of three, intended it to be his kids’ trial run at having a pet. “My wife and I also thought it would be a great way to teach our kids about responsibility and give them a lesson in sacrifice for the greater good,” he says.

While Fenton — who proved too easily distracted to make an ideal guide — has lived with them ever since, the experience left an indelible mark on the senior members of the Crnkovich clan. Now, 10 years later, Crnkovich serves as the chairman of finance and investment of TSE’s board of trustees, part of a longstanding Morgan Stanley tradition: The firm has had a presence on the organization’s board since founding partner Perry Hall joined it in 1935.

Crnkovich takes his role on TSE’s endowment committee seriously. “I know I’ve got to keep moving forward on that as a source of operating revenues,” he says. In its nearly 80-year history, The Seeing Eye has trained and paired more than 14,000 dogs, primarily German shepherds, labradors and golden retrievers.

While a dog’s training typically costs close to $50,000, the person to whom the pooch is assigned has to pay only $150. (Those in the military pay just $1.) These discounts are especially impressive for an organization that takes in very little in government grants. TSE’s $23 million annual budget comes almost entirely from private donations and the successful management of its sizable endowment.

Nonetheless, Crnkovich has learned that the bottom line isn’t always the best measure of success when it comes to his work with TSE. “When you see what a guide dog can mean to changing the life of an individual,” he says, “it’s just incredible.”

Smart Cookie: A decade ago, Credit Suisse underwrote one of the more unlikely IPOs of the 1990s.

When Keebler Foods — the cookie-and-cracker company personified by pint-sized creatures who live in a hollow tree — went public in January 1998, it wasn’t elfin magic that whetted the market’s appetite. The $321 million initial offering had all the right ingredients: one venerable brand name, two food-industry veterans and a sweet turnaround story.

No one would have predicted Keebler’s success two years earlier when the Elmhurst, Illinois–based company, a subsidiary of the U.K.’s United Biscuits, ended 1995 with a reported $138 million in losses. But Invus Group, the New York–based investment arm of Artal Luxembourg, smelled the possibility of something better baking. With industry veterans Sam Reed and David Vermylen leading the charge, Invus partnered with Georgia-based baking concern Flowers Industries in a $487 million leveraged buyout of the struggling business in January 1996.

Once Keebler was in private hands, Reed and Vermelyn began an overhaul, replacing senior management, acquiring Sunshine Biscuits and, in a stroke of marketing genius, reintroducing Ernie Keebler as the brand’s chief “spokes-elf.” The revamp helped solidify Keebler’s status as the U.S.’s second-largest cookie maker and lay the groundwork for a strong public debut. In January 1998, despite a skittish IPO climate, investors gobbled up Keebler stock in a strong sign of confidence in management. The company sold just over 13 million shares at $24 each.

As part of the IPO, Flowers boosted its stake to 55 percent. Flowers retained its majority ownership in Keebler until 2001, when it decided it couldn’t stand the heat and got out of the kitchen, selling off its entire interest in the cookie maker to Kellogg.

Food Fight
Morgan Stanley had financed Invus and Flowers on the Keebler LBO. It was thus quite a coup when Credit Suisse beat out Morgan Stanley as the lead bookrunner on the $321 million IPO, thanks to its track record of solid execution and understanding of the Keebler brand. Credit Suisse took the lead spot again on the company’s secondary offering in January 1999.

Cookie Monster
Flowers’s decision to retain a majority interest in Keebler was viewed by investors as a good omen. The deal was upsized from its planned 11.6 million– share sale to 13 million shares. The stock priced at $24 a share — the top end of the range — and traded up 12 percent to $26.81 on its first day.

Elfin Magic
In March 2001, Ernie Keebler joined Snap, Crackle and Pop in Kellogg’s stable of beloved cartoon food icons when Kellogg purchased the cookie-and-cracker brand from Flowers Industries for $4.5 billion. The Battle Creek, Michigan, cereal manufacturer paid $42 a share for Keebler shares, a 75 percent premium over the IPO price.

Bringing Home the Bacon: Michael Gordon helps Share Our Strength fight childhood hunger at home.

For Merrill Lynch media/telecom banker Michael Gordon, working with Share Our Strength, a respected charity that tackles world hunger, came almost as naturally as cooking up a deal. As with most of his business transactions, Gordon’s involvement with Share Our Strength stemmed from relationships: A client, veteran entertainment executive Neil Braun (NBC, Viacom, Starz Media), recognized both his pragmatic skill set and interest in the issue and recruited Gordon to join him on the charity’s board two years ago.

Gordon was drawn to its business-minded approach to fundraising. Since 1984, it has raised more than $200 million without taking a dime from the federal government or foundations. “It doesn’t follow a cookie-cutter approach to nonprofit,” Gordon explains. “It raises money and invests in programs like a for-profit enterprise.”

Share Our Strength certainly hosts its share of more traditional fundraising events and dinners, though they’re catered by the likes of Jean-Georges Vongerichten. But it also focuses on sponsorships, licensing opportunities and private donations, which it funnels to small, deserving local hunger-relief efforts. It has also been successful at forging strategic partnerships and joint ventures with for-profit companies, including American Express, Tyson Foods and, most recently, the Food Network.

This all sounded familiar to Gordon, who had been helping telecom clients strike similar strategic partnerships, such as Verizon’s recent European venture with Vodafone. But what truly resonated was Share Our Strength’s focus on helping feed the U.S.’s 12 million hungry children. “It’s hard not to connect with this on a visceral level,” says Gordon, who has three kids of his own.

Old New York: In the wine cellar at 21, the history is as full-bodied as the burgundy

Though never technically a private establishment, New York’s 21 Club, which opened on New Year’s Eve 1930, has the rarefied feeling of an exclusive institution — a sense perhaps best exemplified by its “secret” wine cellar.

Accessed through a massive 5,000-pound door in the prep kitchen — which can be unlocked only by inserting an 18-inch meat skewer into a clandestine crack in the cement wall — the wine cellar was built as a Prohibition-era speakeasy. With booze now running as freely as tap water, the 22-seat room has itself become the attraction, especially among celebratory dealmakers looking for a special venue; management says it hosts nearly 200 closing dinners a year.

A few wines from the original Prohibition stash remain (including a supply of 1929 Maury Les Vignerons de Maury and 1921 Château D’Yquem), or regulars can warehouse their own to mingle with leftovers from Ivan Boesky, Aristotle Onassis and Richard Nixon. Still, dinners in the wine cellar are as much about the classic American cuisine as the vintage bottles. Witness the following menu from a December 2006 feast held to celebrate a hedge fund’s acquisition of a fast-food restaurant group. Coincidentally, the table was set for 21.

(1) Steak Tartare (with Clos Ste. Hune, Trimbach 1997)
Although he famously advised that “lunch is for wimps,” Gordon Gekko could not resist lauding 21’s signature steak in Wall Street — and neither should you. Prepared tableside by a tuxedoed captain, this appetizer-size portion is made to each guest’s specifications. But Riesling with raw red meat? Only if it’s Trimbach’s Clos Ste. Hune, one of the finest whites in the world.

(2) Crispy Panko-Crusted Shrimp Salad
Served immediately following the steak tartare, chef John Greeley’s lightly fried tempura-style shrimp atop a bed of endive and green apples is a welcome newcomer to this traditional lineup.

(3) Wild-Mushroom Risotto (with Chevalier-Montrachet, Domaine Leflaive, 1996)
“We consider our menu comfort food of the highest order,” says 21 general manager Bryan McGuire. This extra-creamy risotto loaded with handpicked truffles — a wintertime favorite — is no exception, especially when it’s paired with the first of two exceptional burgundies to grace the table.

(4) Venison Chop and Loin (with ÈchÉzeaux Domaine de la RomÉe Conti, 1996)
“For some of these guys, looking at our wine list is like being a kid in a candy store. During one dinner, the wine bill was more than $16,000,” McGuire recalls. He couldn’t say whether this $600-per-bottle burgundy was among the wallet-busting selections, but it does make a perfect complement to a hearty main course served with whipped potatoes and buttery Brussels sprouts.

(5) Warm Chocolate Soufflé (with ChÂteau d’Yquem, 1986)
There are certainly trendier desserts to be had. Yet when this classic pastry, already rich and delicious, is accompanied by the most sought-after of all Sauternes, there’s no need to gild the lily. Leave that excess to the collection of 32 jockey statues on the balcony outside.

Angel Investors: Boston’s LBO kingpins team up against cystic fibrosis

Days after Joseph O’Donnell Jr. was delivered at Massachusetts’s Melrose-Wakefield Hospital on May 1, 1974, his parents learned that their son had been born with cystic fibrosis, a disabling hereditary disease of the lungs. Every breath he took for the rest of his short life would be a triumph. That’s when Joey’s dad, the senior Joseph O’Donnell — a graduate of Harvard Business School and the founder of a local food-and-beverage company — got involved with the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, attempting to learn as much as he could about the disease in the hopes of saving his first child’s life. The panacea never came.

“When my son closed his eyes in my arms for the last time, I was sure I would never think about cystic fibrosis again,” says O’Donnell, his voice jagged with emotion. But shortly after 12-year old Joey’s death in 1986, fate changed his course. A group of five close friends that included venture capitalist–turned–film executive Paul Del Rossi, stockbroker John Spooner and sportswriter Will McDonough each gave $10,000 to create the Joey Fund. This act of generosity was all the motivation O’Donnell needed to continue his search for a cure.

Now CEO of Boston Culinary Group, a sprawling movie-theater and arena-concessions company, O’Donnell has spent the last two decades parlaying that initial $50,000 seed capital into more than $30 million, the vast majority dedicated to research. He has continued to tap New England’s sizable but close-knit financial community; major contributors today include private-equity kingpins — and O’Donnell’s Harvard Business School mates — Anthony DiNovi, of T.H. Lee; Robert Niehaus, of Greenhill Capital Partners; and presidential hopeful/Bain Capital cofounder Mitt Romney.

One of the charity’s most successful annual events is the Battle of the Private Equity Kingpins, a bowling tournament in Boston at which teams from 16 firms throughout the Northeast compete for a trophy and bragging rights. “They practically kill each other for it,” O’Donnell jokes. “But we raise a couple hundred thousand bucks.”

Three years after Joey died, doctors created the first test to screen for CF — an advancement that came about, at least in part, thanks to the Joey Fund. “My wife, Katherine, and I would never have had our two daughters if they hadn’t discovered the gene,” O’Donnell says.

Read Capital: Don Valentine talks about his favorite start-up

Don Valentine is the founding partner of venture-capital powerhouse Sequoia Capital, the original source of seed capital for Apple, Cisco, Google and YouTube. One of the ventures he is proudest of, though, isn’t an iPod maker, a networking conglomerate or a trailblazing dot-com. It’s Room to Read, a non-profit organization that partners with local communities to build schools and libraries all across the developing world.

Valentine’s introduction to Room to Read — whose founder, John Wood, forged a successful career at Microsoft, the archenemy of Sequoia offshoot Apple — came in an fitting way. Valentine’s daughter, Hilary, got to know Wood in 2002 while trekking with the organization in Nepal, where she was struck by the need for its services.

Valentine, 74, contributed in the best way he knew how: “I provided Room to Read with its first smart money thinking,” he says. “It’s exactly what we do with our companies at Sequoia.” His “venture charity” work has included bankrolling a local-language publishing project, which not only churns out books for Room to Read students but helps it generate income and builds up the economic base of its support communities.

In a more traditional vein, he has also built a school in Nepal and underwritten more than 100 girls’ scholarships. “It sounds like a lot, but it doesn’t take a lot of money in those parts of the world,” he says. He has also helped finance computer labs in schools throughout rural parts of Nepal, Cambodia, India and Vietnam.

And what kind of computers has he provided? PCs with Microsoft Windows, naturally. After all, in his day job, Don Valentine might be a a big Steve Jobs fan. But in his other life, his boss used to work for Bill Gates.

Middle Man: Robert Niehaus helps kids on the cusp

AS CHAIRMAN OF the $1.3 billion Manhattan private-equity group Greenhill Capital Partners, Robert Niehaus has made a specialty out of betting on meat-and-potatoes mid-market firms. So it should come as no surprise that Niehaus, 51, has cultivated a two-decade relationship with Student Sponsor Partners. Founded by Dillon Read (now UBS) investment banker Peter Flanigan, SSP isn’t a particularly glamorous charity. Most of the kids it works with are C students who don’t qualify for magnet or specialty high schools. The colleges they attend (90 percent go on to get undergraduate degrees) tend to be good rather than great.

But, according to Niehaus — who now serves as SSP chairman — that is exactly the point. “There are plenty of programs for the doctors and lawyers of tomorrow. Our goal is an educated middle class.”

Niehaus sponsored his first student in 1987 after his old Princeton roommate, Flanigan’s godson, told him about the program over brunch. Still a merchant banker at Morgan Stanley, Niehaus got intensely involved in the boy’s life, not only paying his tuition (every SSP mentor signs on to foot a private or parochial school bill for four years), but at one point intervening with his principal over a discipline problem. That kid is now an unemployed former security guard. But others he’s been involved with include a John Deere regional management trainee, a Credit Suisse junior staffer and one who’s messing with the blueprint and heading to medical school.

Include the students of junior associates, colleagues, and golfing buddies Niehaus has gotten involved and the success stories are enough to fill a small, middle-class town. “It’s like anything in life — there are successes and failures,” he says. “The key is not to dwell on the failures.”