The Rule About Why
In 1994, speaking to students at the University of Southern California's business school,
Charlie Munger paused a talk about worldly wisdom to tell a story about an engineer most of his audience had never heard of. Carl Braun, Munger said, had built a company that designed and built oil refineries, which is very hard to do, and had made them come in on time, run efficiently and not blow up. Braun, he went on, had a rule for every communication inside his company. Anyone issuing an instruction had to state who was to do what, where, when and why. Leave out the why once, and you could be fired. Leave it out twice, and you would be.
Munger told the story again the next year, in his celebrated Harvard talk on the psychology of human misjudgment, and it has been retold many times since. It is usually offered as an illustration of a psychological principle: people understand an instruction better, consider it more important and comply with it more readily when they are given a reason. But the rule was only one visible piece of a much larger system. Braun spent four and a half decades building one of the most respected process-engineering firms in the world, and he spent a remarkable share of that time writing, printing and distributing books to his own employees about how to think, write, lead and treat one another.
The details of his personal life are sparsely recorded. What survives in abundance is the institution he built and the words he wrote for it. Taken together, they portray an engineer who believed that the hardest technical problems in his industry were, at bottom, problems of communication and character, and who organized an entire company around that belief.
By the Numbers
C F Braun & Co.
$500Capital with which Braun and a few associates started the company in 1909
36 acresSize of the brick headquarters campus the company built in Alhambra, California
6,000+Employees during the 1950s
$100M+Annual revenues during the 1950s
250+Chemical and industrial plants the firm had built by the 1950s
5Ws required in every Braun directive: who, what, where, when and why
An Engineer from Oakland
Carl Franklin Braun was born in Oakland, California, in 1884, the son of California pioneers of Swedish and Danish descent. He studied mechanical engineering at Stanford University and graduated in 1907.
The California he entered was being transformed by oil. Discoveries in the Los Angeles basin and the San Joaquin Valley in the 1890s and early 1900s had made California one of the leading oil-producing states in the country, and refineries were multiplying to turn crude into kerosene, fuel oil and, increasingly, gasoline. The equipment that made those refineries work, the pumps, valves, heat exchangers and condensers, was a specialized and growing market.
Braun did not begin as a manufacturer. After Stanford, he spent about two years working as a manufacturer's agent, selling other companies' equipment. It was a practical education in what customers actually bought and why, and it gave him a salesman's instinct that the local historians who later wrote about him considered one of his defining traits, alongside engineering, book collecting, teaching and writing.
Five Hundred Dollars in San Francisco
In 1909, with a few associates and $500 in capital, Braun started his own engineering and manufacturing company in San Francisco. According to a history of the company prepared for the city of Alhambra, the early firm specialized in hydraulic valves, water pumps, water-treatment filters and condensers. These were unglamorous products, but they sat at the heart of industrial processes: moving fluids, cleaning them and exchanging heat.
The company grew through the 1910s. By the end of that decade Braun had concluded that the future lay less in selling individual components than in engineering the process plants that used them, particularly for the petroleum industry. Refineries were becoming larger and more complicated, and the companies building them needed firms that could design and supply entire systems. Rather than retrench when his original component business came under pressure, the Alhambra history records, Braun pushed toward petroleum processing.
That strategic turn created a practical problem. A company that designed and fabricated large process equipment needed space, and San Francisco's real estate was already expensive. Braun looked south, to a region with abundant oil production, nearby seaports, rail connections and what was plainly becoming a major city. He chose Alhambra, a small city east of downtown Los Angeles in the San Gabriel Valley, where land was still moderately priced.
A Campus in Alhambra
The company bought land at the corner of Fremont Avenue and Mission Road and moved its headquarters from San Francisco in the early 1920s; the local histories place the move in 1921 and the formal opening in late 1922. What Braun built there was unusual for an industrial company. The campus eventually covered about 36 acres, with 22 buildings arranged around a landscaped plaza behind high brick walls. All the brick came from a single San Francisco manufacturer, which gave the complex a coherent look even as it was expanded and modified over the following decades.
Inside, the offices were wood-paneled and, in the words of a company brochure quoted by the Alhambra Preservation Group, pleasingly appointed and well lighted. There was an engineering library, a women's lounge, a men's locker room, a medical office staffed by a physician, and a restaurant. Braun's stated goal, in the same brochure, was to provide comfortable and pleasant surroundings for workers of every class, so that they might have pleasure in their work and pride in their plant and product.
Braun was also, by the preservationists' account, an engineer's engineer about his buildings. He did not hesitate to move, modify or add structures when the work changed. The campus was a working tool, and it was maintained as one. The complex that survives today, renamed The Alhambra, still reflects that combination of practicality and care.
The move put Braun at the center of Southern California's oil boom of the 1920s, when strikes at Huntington Beach, Signal Hill and Santa Fe Springs made the Los Angeles basin one of the most productive oil regions on earth. Through the decade, according to the Alhambra history, the company developed new techniques in cast-iron fabrication and electric welding, and by the end of the decade it had expanded to Texas and New York. Patents assigned to C F Braun & Co in the 1930s covered heat-exchanger construction, one of the specialties that would define the firm.
Refineries That Did Not Blow Up
Munger's shorthand for what Braun's company did well, bringing refineries in on time, running efficiently and not blowing up, is a fair summary of how difficult the work was. A refinery or chemical plant is a dense web of vessels, heat exchangers, pumps, pipes and controls operating at high temperatures and pressures with flammable materials. Every piece must be designed for the conditions of every other piece. A mistake in one calculation, or a misunderstanding between two engineering groups, can cause delays costing millions or accidents costing lives.
That is why Braun's obsession with communication was not a management fad. In a process plant, the interfaces between departments are where things go wrong. The piping designer needs to know what the vessel designer changed. The purchasing group needs to know that a new tool has lifted a design limit. The construction crew needs to know that a schedule has moved. Braun's writings return again and again to this point: information has to flow in every direction, quickly and without distortion, or the project fails.
He also treated the customer as part of the system. In his 1948 book Management and Leadership, Braun wrote that on large projects the customer was a working partner with tasks of his own, and that the company should regard the customer as one of its own departments for purposes of communication. By policy, he explained, Braun & Co gave its customers practically everything it wrote to itself about aims, policies, principles and procedures, including his own letters to the organization. The logic was that the customer would ultimately hold Braun responsible for the result, whatever the cause of any delay, so Braun had better make sure the customer understood what it needed to do.
Throwing Out the Accountants
The second Braun story that Munger liked to tell concerned accounting. Braun, Munger said, looked at standard accounting as it was applied to building oil refineries and pronounced it asinine. He removed his accountants from the task, set his engineers to devise a system suited to the process, and in due course, Munger claimed, the accounting profession adopted a number of Braun's ideas.
Munger offered the story to make a point about the limits of accounting: that its conventions are approximations devised for general purposes, and that they can mislead badly when applied to an activity they were not designed to measure. A multi-year engineering and construction project, with costs incurred long before revenue is earned and with risk concentrated in design decisions, fits poorly into accounting categories built for manufacturing or trade. Braun's response was to insist that measurement fit the work rather than the other way round.
His rule for all the Braun Company's communications was called the five W's—you had to tell who was going to do what, where, when and why.
— Charlie Munger, A Lesson on Elementary, Worldly Wisdom, USC Business School, 1994
Munger's regard for Braun was considerable; in the same talk he called him a very great businessman and a formidably willful and talented man. He also described him, with some affection, as the thorough Teutonic type, a man with many quirks. The two stories together, the five Ws and the accounting system, suggest the same temperament: a refusal to accept a convention merely because it was customary, and an insistence on reasons.
Letters to an Organization
The most distinctive thing about Braun as a chief executive was that he wrote books for his own employees, and had them printed in-house. Between the mid-1940s and the late 1950s the company published under his name a series of short volumes: Fair Thought and Speech, subtitled as a group of letters to an industrial organization; Team Spirit; Letter Writing in Action; Management and Leadership; Corporate Correspondence; and Presentation for Engineers and Industrialists, along with a general index to his companion books. Several went through multiple editions. The company's lithograph shop also printed other works; one surviving example is a 1951 reprint of a Lafcadio Hearn novel, a small sign of the bookish streak his contemporaries noted.
In Management and Leadership, Braun explained why the president of a large company should spend his time this way. Top management, he wrote, must lead in communicating, and must communicate to all employees, not a select few. In a company the size of his, that meant the top management had to write. He said the president accepted this responsibility and spent a reasonable portion of his time on what he called Letters to an Organization, which set out the company's principles, aims, thinking and methods, and explained and justified them where practicable. Management that works in a corner, he wrote, is bad management.
He extended the obligation to every department head. Each was expected to write about his department's procedures and working rules, especially those that affected other departments, in plain English rather than departmental jargon, and to send those writings to the departments whose work they touched. Borrowing a term from the semanticist Irving Lee, Braun called this time-binding: the human capacity to gather past experience, record it and transmit it so that others can begin where their predecessors left off. He told his leaders plainly that their capacity for time-binding through writing would be one of the chief measures by which the company judged them.
The books are not dry. They are full of homely analogies, biblical references, quotations from John Ruskin and Matthew Arnold, and blunt judgments. They read like the work of a man who had thought long about how organizations fail and wanted his people to avoid the same failures.
The Making of Men
Management and Leadership opens not with technique but with purpose. Braun argued that an industrial company has two legitimate purposes. The first is to serve society by making goods, which modern industry had done so well that it had raised living standards beyond anything imaginable a century earlier. The second, which he believed was not recognized to a thousandth part of its importance, is to provide a good way of life for the people who work in it. Every corporate enterprise, he wrote, is itself a social unit.
Industrial leaders then, must keep ever before them, these two duties. The making of goods. And the making of men.
— Carl F. Braun, Management and Leadership, 1948
Profit, in Braun's account, was necessary but secondary. A company had to earn ample money for tools and development, because a company starved of tools could serve no one and was the worst possible place to work. Stockholders would not risk their savings without returns that matched the risk. But profit had to come as a byproduct of human service, and the first humans to be served were the company's own people. A company, he wrote, cannot rise above its people.
He attacked what he called the myth of economic man, the idea that people work mainly for money. Men think a good deal about money because they need it, he conceded, but money is a means, not the mainspring. People work as they feel like working, and they feel like working when they are interested. Leadership that gave people good wages and nothing else, he concluded, was bad leadership. He insisted too that leadership was not only the president's job. The foreman or group leader with five people under him was the leader of a basic social unit, and no plan of leadership could succeed unless those frontline leaders were part of it.
These ideas were not unique to Braun. He cited the Harvard industrial researchers Elton Mayo and Fritz Roethlisberger, whose studies had shown how much workers' attitudes and social relationships affected output, and he urged his leaders to read them. What was distinctive was the degree to which he turned the ideas into company policy and wrote them down in a form every employee could read.
Writing Instead of Meeting
Braun's views on meetings sound strikingly modern. In Management and Leadership he argued that formal meetings are an extraordinarily wasteful way to spread information. They require everyone to stop work at a time convenient for the boss, force people to sit through material they already know, miss whoever is sick or traveling, and usually leave no organized record. Frequent large meetings, he wrote, were a sure sign of poor written communication and of leaders who lacked the self-discipline to write.
The next time any of us start to call a forty-manhour meeting, let's be sure that the job won't be done better if we'll shut our door and get out a four-manhour writing.
— Carl F. Braun, Management and Leadership, 1948
He distinguished these from meetings for genuine discussion, which he accepted as necessary, but even those, he warned, could waste a great deal of money if the chairman did not plan them and insist that participants arrive prepared. Decades later,
Jeff Bezos would make a similar argument for replacing slide presentations with written
narratives at Amazon.
Braun was equally insistent that written rules were not communication. Tomes of unexplained rules, he wrote, become idols of paper and instruments of what he called management by repression, because no one can discuss a rule intelligently if its reasons have been forgotten. It was the duty of leaders not only to proclaim but to prove. This is the root of the five Ws. The why was not a courtesy; it was what made a directive discussable, improvable and, as Munger noted, far more likely to be followed.
He applied the same logic to change. When a procedure, schedule, term or accounting method changed, everyone affected had to be told at once, or someone would keep going in the old direction and foul things up, like a football player who missed a changed signal. People who put new methods into effect without seeking wide advice, he wrote, were among the most dangerous people in a corporate group. And when an error occurred, it should be examined, its cause identified and the lesson circulated, so that the company would not pay for the same mistake twice.
In Fair Thought and Speech, he turned to the manner of communication. Its advice, much of it collected by the writer Shane Parrish, is practical and humane: question another man's information, reasoning and conclusions, but never his motives; offer advice as a reminder of something he had meant to do; give others credit for ideas; never try to prove anyone wholly wrong. Braun understood that clear logic is useless if it provokes resentment.
The Restaurant
One of Braun's more surprising convictions concerned lunch. The Alhambra campus included a company restaurant, and in Management and Leadership he described it as perhaps the best investment the company had ever made, purely as a channel of communication.
He was scornful of the typical industrial cafeteria, which he summed up in the phrase in-plant feeding: built cheaply, crowded, noisy, rushed, farmed out to caterers, treating employees like livestock to be fed. Braun's restaurant was designed as a club for employees. The food and surroundings were good, no one was rushed, and the company absorbed roughly a third of the cost, which he estimated at about thirty cents a day per person. Guests, including customers, suppliers and educators, averaged about twenty a day and mixed with many employees rather than a few executives.
The payoff, he argued, was that people from different departments met every day in changing groups, kept each other informed, helped each other and came to understand one another without the disruption of formal meetings. He urged employees not to lunch always with the same colleagues, and not to sort themselves by imagined social rank, because the value lay in the mixing. The restaurant, in other words, was infrastructure for the informal flow of information that no written system could fully capture.
War and the Postwar Peak
During the Second World War, C F Braun & Co worked around the clock on plants producing aviation-grade fuel and synthetic rubber, two of the most critical materials of the Allied war effort. The Alhambra history credits the company with developing new techniques for refining aviation fuel during the war. High-octane aviation gasoline and synthetic rubber both depended on complex catalytic and chemical processes, precisely the kind of work in which Braun's emphasis on precise design and coordination paid off.
After the war the company turned increasingly to petrochemical plants, which were being built across the United States and around the world. By the 1950s, according to the Alhambra history, it employed more than six thousand people, had annual revenues exceeding $100 million, and had built more than 250 chemical and industrial complexes worldwide. It had become one of the most formidable petrochemical engineering firms in the world.
The culture Braun had built was intense. A later employee, quoted in the Alhambra history, recalled that the Braun culture was intimidating when he first arrived and that he was petrified on his first day, before discovering that the people were very nice and that there was a mystique to working there. The books, the five Ws and the expectation of written clarity made the company distinctive long after the founder was gone.
Braun died of a heart attack in 1954, at sixty-nine, and several of his books appeared in later editions after his death. His son John Gilbert Braun, who had joined the company in 1934, became its president.
After Braun
The company remained in family hands until 1980, when it was sold to Santa Fe International, a company that was itself acquired by the Kuwait Petroleum Corporation soon afterward. Halliburton was its final owner, and in 1997 it closed the Alhambra offices and sold the campus to the Ratkovich Company, which restored the brick buildings and renamed the complex The Alhambra. Local historians who wrote about the company concluded that successive owners had slowly dismantled what Braun built, while acknowledging that the culture had continued to operate effectively well into the 1980s.
The family's philanthropy outlasted the firm. The LA Times reported that the Braun family's relationship with Caltech dated to 1926 and the founding of the Caltech Associates support group, and the Carl F. Braun Trust, managed by John Braun, later funded buildings at Caltech and the Braun Music Center at Stanford, Carl Braun's alma mater.
Braun's intellectual legacy traveled by a stranger route. His books were printed privately and never widely distributed, and they went out of print. It was largely through Munger's talks, collected in
Poor Charlie's Almanack, that his name reached a new audience of investors and managers. Munger used Braun to illustrate what he called
reason-respecting tendency, the human inclination to comply more readily when given a reason. The five Ws have since become a familiar
framework in their own right.
What makes Braun worth studying today is less any single rule than the coherence of the whole. He believed that a complex engineering enterprise lives or dies by the quality of information flowing through it, and he acted on that belief in every part of the company: in the wording of directives, in the ratio of writing to meetings, in the design of the lunchroom, in the accounting system and in the treatment of customers. Few founders have written so explicitly, for their own employees, about how they wanted the company to think.