As a nineteenth-century international economic adventurer, Flint believed that the accretion of money was its own nurturing reward, and that the business world functioned much as the animal kingdom: survival of the fittest. Watson found nothing unacceptable in Flint’s philosophy. Heading up CTR could be the chance Watson knew he deserved to be his own boss and make all the decisions. CTR’s diverse line was better than cash registers because the dominant product was Hollerith’s tabulator and card sorter. The two men could work together to make CTR great—that is, if Watson’s management deal was structured right.62
But from Flint’s point of view, he was hardly ready to stroll across the street to CTR’s headquarters and install Watson. The supersalesman before him still walked under the shadow of a criminal conviction, which at that point had not yet been overturned. Although under appeal, it could cast the company in a bad light. During one of several board meetings to consider hiring Watson, at least one CTR director bellowed at Flint, “What are you trying to do? Ruin this business? Who is going to run this business while he serves his term in jail?”63
It was a process, one that Watson was determined to win, and so he spoke frankly to the reluctant directors. First, he sold himself—like any adroit salesman—and then worked around their collective worries about his conspiracy conviction. Visions of products and profits proliferating worldwide, million-dollar growth projections, ever-increasing dividends—these were the rewards the directors embraced as most important. CTR bought in. Watson was offered “a gentleman’s salary” of $25,000 per year, plus more than 1,200 shares of the firm. But Watson wanted better. He wanted a slice of the profits. His commissionable days at NCR had whetted his craving for more of the same. Much more.64
“In other words,” said Flint, “you want part of the ice you cut.” Indeed. Watson negotiated a commission of 5 percent of all CTR after-tax, after-dividend profits. However, in light of Watson’s conviction, he would not join the firm as president, but rather as general manager. It didn’t matter. Watson would call the shots. May 1, 1914, was his first day at CTR. Hollerith’s company, now Flint’s company, would never be the same. It would soon become Watson’s company.65
Copying many of NCR’s sales development and promotion techniques, Watson built an organization that even Patterson would have marveled at. Just as Patterson had organized the One Hundred Point Club for salesmen hitting their quota, Watson began a festive Hundred Percent Club. Patterson had demanded starched white shirts and dark suits at NCR. Watson insisted CTR employees dress in an identical uniform. And Watson borrowed his own NCR innovation, the term THINK, which at CTR was impressed onto as many surfaces as could be found, from the wall above Watson’s desk to the bottom of company stationery. These Patterson cum Watson touches were easy to implement since several key Watson aides were old cronies from the NCR scandal days.66
But Watson understood much more about human motivation than Patterson had ever allowed to creep into NCR. Watson wanted to inspire men to greater results, not brutalize them toward mere quotas. His way would imbue a sense of belonging, not a climate of fear. As a general understood his troops, Watson well understood the value of the workingmen below to the executive men above. Moreover, any limitation in his general manager title was soon overcome. In 1915, his conviction was overturned and within forty-eight hours the board approved his ascent to the presidency of CTR.67
For the first years, Watson worked quietly out of his sparse office at CTR, cementing the firm’s financial, labor, and technical position. He did his best to outmaneuver and neutralize the competitor tabulating machines. Patent wars were fought, engineering campaigns commenced, research undertaken, and major clients either conquered or re-conquered. When needed, Watson arranged bank loans to see the company through lean times and help it grow.68
Hollerith, although no longer in control, remained as an active consultant with the company, but found Watson’s style completely alien. Years before, while still at NCR, Watson had ordered a Hollerith machine, but Hollerith declined to send one, fearing Watson would copy it for Patterson. Now that they were in the same firm, the two frequently butted heads on a range of issues, from commercialization to technical research. Unlike Hollerith, who was willing to do battle with customers over some barely discernible personal principle, Watson wanted to win customers over for the money. Money was his principle. Flint’s chairman, George Fairchild, was also a towering force at CTR to be reckoned with. Watson navigated around both Hollerith and Fairchild. Without Flint’s continuous backing, Watson could not have managed. Nonetheless, without his unique winning style, Watson could not have persevered.69
Watson became more than a good manager, more than just an impressive executive, more than merely a concerned employer, he became central to the company itself. His ubiquitous lectures and pep talks were delivered with such uplifting passion, they soon transcended to liturgical inspiration. Watson embodied more than the boss. He was the Leader. He even had a song.
Clad in their uniforms of dark blue suits and glistening white shirts, the inspirited sales warriors of CTR would sing:
Watson was elevating to a higher plane. Newspaper articles began to focus on him personally as much as the company. His pervasive presence and dazzling capitalistic imperatives became a virtual religion to CTR employees. Paternalistic and authoritarian, Watson demanded absolute loyalty and ceaseless devotion from everyone. In exchange, he allowed CTR to become an extended family to all who obeyed.71
In 1922, Patterson died. Many have said his death was an emotional turning point for Watson, who felt his every move was no longer being compared to the cruel and ruthless cash register magnate. Some two years later, CTR Chairman Fairchild also died. By this time, Hollerith had resigned in ennui from the CTR board of directors and completely faded away in poor health. Watson became the company’s chief executive and uncontested reigning authority.72
Now CTR would be completely transformed in Watson’s image. A new name was needed. In Watson’s mind, “CTR” said nothing about the company. The minor products, such as cheese slicers and key-activated time clocks, had long been abandoned or marginalized. The company was producing vital business machines for a world market. Someone had suggested a name for a new company newsletter: International Business Machines.73
International Business Machines—Watson realized that the name described more than a newsletter. It was the personification of what Watson and his enterprise were all about. He renamed the company. His intensely determined credo was best verbalized by his promise to alclass="underline" “IBM is more than a business—it is a great worldwide institution that is going on forever.”74