The mission was so secretive even the NCR sales force in Manhattan believed that Watson had simply defected from the Rochester office to set up his own shop. He reported directly to Patterson and his staff. It took years, but the enemy—second-hand dealers—was ruthlessly conquered.47
The victim list was long. Fred Brainin’s second-hand business was on 14th Street in Manhattan—Watson bought him out with a proviso that Brainin would stay out of cash registers. Silas Lacey of Philadelphia merged into Watson’s new front. The East Coast was easy. So Watson moved on to a real challenge: Chicago.48
One of the biggest Chicago dealers was Amos Thomas, located on Ran-dolph Street in the Loop, just a few steps from the Elevated. Watson’s fake company moved in across the street. Thomas remembered, “Watson… tried to get me to put a price on my business. He wanted to control the second-hand business. I told him I would not sell.” But Watson and his cohorts, which now included his old supervisor John Range, would come by three or four times each day to press the man.49
Still, Thomas would not sell. So Watson opened a second competing store near Thomas. NCR had secretly acquired control of American Cash Register Company, the successor to Hallwood. Watson’s second front, called American Second Hand Cash Register Company, only squeezed Thomas further. Weakened, Thomas finally offered a buy-out price of $20,000. But that was just too high for Watson.50
By now, it was clear to Thomas that Watson was fronting for Patterson’s NCR. The Cash didn’t care if Thomas knew or not. To prove it, they invited Thomas to NCR headquarters in Dayton, Ohio, where he was first treated to a splendid dinner and then “handled” by a Patterson executive. Unless Thomas sold out for a “reasonable price,” Thomas was told, NCR would rent yet another store near his and continue to undersell until his trade was entirely wrecked. Buckling under, Thomas at last agreed to sell for $15,875 plus $500 in cash. A battered and broken Thomas pleaded with Watson, as the new owner of his company, to be kind to a long-time devoted employee. Amos Thomas had been conquered.51
Patterson’s school for scoundrels was unparalleled in American business history. A Watson aide once testified that Patterson would scream for merciless destruction of all competitors. “Kill them!… crush them,” Patterson would yell at sales conferences. The vanquished included Cuckoo, Globe, Hallwood, Metropolitan, Simplex, Toledo, Union, and scores of other struggling cash register companies.52
NCR salesmen wore dark suits, the corporation innovated a One Hundred Point Club for agents who met their quota, and The Cash stressed “clean living” as a virtue for commercial success. One day during a pep rally to the troops, Watson scrawled the word THINK on a piece of paper. Patterson saw the note and ordered THINK signs distributed throughout the company. Watson embraced many of Patterson’s regimenting techniques as indispensable doctrine for good sales. What he learned at NCR would stay with him forever.53
NCR’s war tactics were limitless. Bribes, knock-off machines at preda-tory prices, threats of litigation, and even smashed store windows were alleged. The federal government finally stepped in. On February 22, 1912, Patterson, Watson, and several dozen other Cash executives were indicted for criminal conspiracy to restrain trade and construct a monopoly. Prosecutors called the conduct the most uncivilized business behavior ever seen and likened Watson and company to “Mexican bandits.”54
A year later, in 1913, all defendants were found guilty by an Ohio jury. Damning evidence, supplied by Watson colleagues and even Watson’s own signed letters of instructions, were irrefutable. Most of the men, including Watson, received a one-year jail sentence. Many of the convicted wept and asked for leniency. But not Watson. He declared that he was proud of what he had accomplished.55
Then came the floods. The late winter and early spring in Dayton, Ohio, had been brutal. Excessive rainfall swamped the city. The Mad and Miami rivers began overflowing. In late March 1913, a tornado tore through the area, turning Dayton into a disaster scene, with much of the area under water. Some 90,000 people suddenly became homeless. Communications were cut. But Watson and others at NCR controlled one of the few telegraph lines still on high ground.56
The Cash pounced. NCR organized an immense emergency relief effort. The company’s assembly line was retrofitted to produce a flotilla of rudimen-tary rowboats—one every seven minutes. Bottled water and paper cups were distributed to flood victims along with hay cots for sleeping. NCR facilities were converted into an infirmary. Five babies were born there in one day. From New York, Watson organized a relief train of medical supplies, food, and more water. Where roadbed and rail switches were washed away, Watson ordered them instantly repaired. When NCR relief trains encountered irreparable tracks, just a few miles from Dayton, Watson recruited men to carry supplies in on their backs until the goods reached Dayton—all to cheering crowds.57
Patterson, Watson, and the other NCR men became national heroes overnight. A press room was established on NCR premises. Petitions were sent to President Woodrow Wilson asking for a pardon. Considering public sentiment, prosecutors offered consent decrees in lieu of jail time. Most of the defendants eagerly signed. Watson, however, refused, maintaining he saw nothing wrong in his conduct. Eventually, Watson’s attorneys successfully overturned the conviction on a technicality. The government declined to re-prosecute.58
But then the unpredictable and maniacal Patterson rewarded Watson’s years as a loyal sales warrior by suddenly subjecting him to public humiliation in front of a company assembly. Just as Watson was speaking to a festive gathering of Cash executives, Patterson histrionically interrupted him to praise another salesman. Everyone recognized the signs. Shortly thereafter, Watson was summarily fired.59
For seventeen years, NCR had been Watson’s life—the fast cars and even faster commissions, the command and control of industrial subterfuge, the sense of belonging. It was now over. Shocked, Watson simply turned his back on his exciting lifestyle at The Cash. “Nearly everything I know about building a business comes from Mr. Patterson,” Watson would admit. Now he added this vow: “I am going out to build a business bigger than John Patterson has.”60
What was bigger than National Cash Register, one of America’s largest corporations? Why stop at the American shoreline? Watson contacted the one man who could take him global, Charles Flint of CTR.
WHEN THOMAS WATSON walked into Charles Flint’s Fifth Avenue suite, their respective reputations surrounded them like force fields. Watson’s was national. Flint’s was international. Watson had manipulated mere men. Flint had catered to the destiny of nations. Yet, the two did not instantly bond.
Flint was shorter and much older than Watson, although filled with just as much energy. After all, Flint had soared amongst the clouds in a Wright Brothers plane and driven automobiles, sailed the fastest boat on many a river or lake, and seen the world—all while Watson was still traversing back roads on horseback. Yet, during their first meeting, Watson was almost disappointed in the legendary financier’s presence. But it was Flint’s ideas that spoke louder than his physical stature.61