The Rig Outside the Saloon
Somewhere in western New York in the mid-1890s, a young sewing-machine salesman closed a sale, stepped into a roadside saloon to celebrate, and drank more than he meant to. When the bar shut and he walked back outside, his horse, his buggy, and his sample machines were gone. His employer, Wheeler and Wilson, fired him and billed him for the lost property. Word travelled, and by his son's account it took him more than a year to find steady work again.
The salesman was Thomas John Watson, and the story comes from his eldest son's memoir, not from IBM's official histories. That omission is telling. The man who would later ban alcohol from IBM functions, insist on dark suits and white shirts, and hang the single word THINK on the wall of nearly every company office had learned about self-discipline in the most expensive way available to a young man with no money. Thomas Watson Jr. thought the episode explained his father better than any corporate biography.
This anecdote never made it into IBM lore, which is too bad, because it would have helped explain Father to the tens of thousands of people who had to follow his rules.
— Thomas J. Watson Jr., Father, Son & Co., 1990
Watson would go on to take a struggling holding company with about 1,300 employees and turn it into
International Business Machines, the dominant data-processing company in the world. He would be convicted of a federal crime and see the verdict thrown out. He would become Franklin Roosevelt's most prominent supporter in American business, president of the International Chamber of Commerce, and one of the best-paid executives in the United States. He would also accept a decoration from Adolf Hitler's government, return it three years later, and leave behind a record of IBM's German business that historians still argue over. His story is one of the founding documents of the modern corporation, and it contains both the model and the warning.
By the Numbers
Watson's IBM, 1914–1956
42Years Watson led CTR and IBM, from 1914 to 1956
~1,300Employees across CTR's companies when Watson arrived in 1914
$4.2M → $897MAnnual revenue in 1914 versus 1956, the year he died
26 millionWorkers whose Social Security records IBM machines were set up to keep after 1935
79Countries with IBM operations by the late 1930s
90%+Share of U.S. tabulating machines IBM owned and leased when the government sued in 1952
1%Profit ceiling Watson set on IBM's wartime ordnance sales
A Farm Boy Who Would Not Stay Put
Watson was born on February 17, 1874, in Campbell, in the Southern Tier of New York, the fifth child and only son of Thomas Watson and Jane Fulton White Watson. His father farmed and ran a modest lumber business near Painted Post, a few miles west of Corning. The boy worked on the family farm, attended a district school, and later went to Addison Academy in the nearby town of Addison.
The first career he tried lasted a single day. He had trained to teach, stood in front of a classroom, and decided it was not for him. He spent a year studying accounting and business at the Miller School of Commerce in Elmira, and in 1891 took a job as a bookkeeper at a market in Painted Post for six dollars a week. A year later he joined a travelling salesman named George Cornwell, peddling pianos and organs to farm families for a local hardware store. When Cornwell left, Watson carried on alone at ten dollars a week.
Two years into that life he discovered that if he had been paid on commission, rather than salary, he would have been earning something like seventy dollars a week. He was furious enough to quit and move to Buffalo, which to a Steuben County farm boy was a metropolis. What followed was a run of failures that a later generation of IBM salesmen, drilled in their founder's rules, would never hear about. There was the sewing-machine job that ended with the stolen rig. There was a stint selling shares in a building-and-loan company for a promoter named C. B. Barron, who disappeared with the money. There was a butcher shop in Buffalo that Watson opened and quickly lost. By his early twenties he had no money, no business, and no job.
The butcher shop left him with one asset: an installment contract on a National Cash Register machine, which he had to transfer to the shop's new owner. The errand took him to NCR's Buffalo branch, where he met the branch manager, John J. Range, and asked for a job. Range said no. Watson kept coming back. In November 1896, after repeated visits, Range hired him as a sales apprentice.
Patterson's School
National Cash Register, headquartered in Dayton, Ohio, was then among the most aggressive selling organizations in the country. Its founder, John Henry Patterson, had turned salesmanship into something close to a system: scripted pitches, sales territories, quotas, conventions, and training schools. So many future executives passed through NCR, and were fired by Patterson, that business historians later described a stint there as the rough equivalent of an MBA.
Watson's immediate teacher, though, was Range, who became something close to a father figure. Watson said in a 1952 interview that he learned more from Range than from anyone else. Under Range he became the most successful NCR salesman in the East, earning about $100 a week. NCR then gave him the struggling Rochester agency, where he worked on a 35 percent commission and reported to Hugh Chalmers, the company's second-in-command.
In Rochester, Watson learned the other half of the Patterson method. Over roughly four years he made the city an effective NCR monopoly by driving the main competitor, Hallwood, out of the market, at times by sabotaging competitors' machines. The reward was a summons to headquarters in Dayton and a larger, darker assignment.
Beginning around 1903, Patterson had Watson run a used-cash-register business in New York that presented itself as independent but was financed by NCR. Its purpose was to undercut and absorb the dealers in second-hand registers whose cheap machines competed with NCR's new ones. Watson threw himself into it, opening outlets and pricing competitors out of business. He climbed to general sales manager of NCR, the company's number-two executive in practice. In the same years, at a flat sales meeting, he wrote the word THINK on an easel. Patterson liked it enough to have signs made.
The Verdict in Cincinnati
In 1912, federal prosecutors charged Patterson, Watson, and some thirty other NCR executives with criminal conspiracy under the Sherman Antitrust Act. The trial was a national story. In February 1913 the jury convicted them, and Watson was sentenced to a year in jail. Watson's own letters describing the campaign against second-hand dealers were among the evidence used against him, and the lesson stuck: for the rest of his career he kept remarkably little in writing.
What happened next saved him from prison and ended his NCR career at once. In late March 1913, weeks after the verdict, the Great Dayton Flood swamped the city. Patterson turned the NCR factory into a relief operation, with Watson's help, and public opinion swung sharply toward the convicted men. Petitions for pardons poured in to President Woodrow Wilson. Patterson refused to ask for one. On April 17, 1913, Watson married Jeanette Kittredge, the daughter of a prominent Dayton railroad family.
The relationship with Patterson did not last much longer. Patterson was notorious for turning on his lieutenants, and after the trial and a public falling-out he forced Watson out of the company. Watson left NCR at about forty with a criminal conviction under appeal, a new wife, and a reputation in the business-machines trade that cut both ways. He also left with a clear idea of what he wanted next: not a salaried post but a share of the profits and real control of a business.
Three Businesses and a Salesman
The offer came from Charles Ranlett Flint, a financier known as the "Father of Trusts." In 1911 Flint had combined four companies into a holding company called the Computing-Tabulating-Recording Company, or CTR. It made time clocks, commercial scales, meat and cheese slicers, and the punched-card tabulating machines that Herman Hollerith had first developed for the 1890 United States census. The combined companies had about 1,300 employees, a heavy load of debt, and little in common beyond their owner.
Flint hired Watson as general manager on May 1, 1914. The rest of the CTR board was less comfortable with the idea, and some directors wanted to know who would run the company while its new manager was in jail. They withheld the title of president. In March 1915 an appeals court set aside the NCR convictions and ordered a new trial. Watson refused to sign a consent decree that would have closed the matter, betting that the government would not bother to retry the case. The bet paid off. The government dropped it, and on March 15, 1915, CTR's board made him president.
Watson inherited a demoralized sales force of roughly 400 men and set out to rebuild it on the NCR model, minus the parts that had sent him to court. In his early meetings with salesmen he stressed integrity and warned against anything that could be called unfair competition. Within a year he told staff that the company's first priority would be the respect and development of its employees. He had THINK placards put up at headquarters and then across the plants and offices. IBM's own history records him explaining the idea this way:
Thought has been the father of every advance since time began. 'I didn't think' has cost the world millions of dollars.
— Thomas J. Watson Sr., as quoted in IBM's corporate history
Of CTR's three lines, the scales business interested him least, and its largest unit, Dayton Scale, was eventually sold to Hobart Manufacturing in 1933. Time clocks were the early revenue earner. The tabulating business was closest to his NCR experience, and that is where he put his attention. By the early 1930s it had become the largest part of the company.
Renting the Future
Watson's first decade at CTR included a near-disaster. Revenue grew from about $4.2 million in 1914 to $16 million in 1920, but the growth consumed cash. In 1921, when the postwar economy slumped, sales fell to $10.6 million and CTR ran short of money. Its lender, the Guaranty Trust Company, had to rescue it again. Watson cut costs, including research spending and staff. He never let the cash position fall that low again, and for the rest of his career he ran the company with low dividends, conservative accounting, and tight cost controls.
The business model that carried IBM through the next half century was one Watson inherited and then sharpened. Hollerith had rented his machines to the Census Bureau rather than selling them, partly so his company could keep them maintained. Watson saw further advantages. Rental income kept arriving when new orders dried up. And because a customer could send a machine back, salesmen had to keep visiting, keep solving problems, and keep the account happy. The customer relationship became part of the product.
Alongside the rented machines came the cards. Every tabulating job consumed punched cards, and CTR printed them. In 1928 IBM introduced its 80-column card, which roughly doubled the information a card could hold and became the industry standard for decades. The machines were leased; the cards were sold, in enormous volumes, to the same customers. By 1937 IBM's presses in Endicott, New York, were turning out five to ten million cards a day. The arrangement worked like a
razor-and-blade model, and it was lucrative enough that the government eventually challenged it. In 1936 the Supreme Court upheld a ruling that IBM could not require customers to buy their cards from IBM alone. The decision made little practical difference; IBM remained the only serious supplier.
Watson had disliked the clumsy hyphenated name CTR from the start. He used "International Business Machines" first for a Canadian subsidiary in 1917 and then in advertising. On February 14, 1924, the parent company formally took the name. For a firm whose best-known products were still time clocks, and whose operations outside North America were modest, it was a statement of intent. When the chairman, George Fairchild, died at the end of that year, Watson had the company to himself.
The Culture Machine
What Watson built at IBM over the next two decades was a corporate culture so distinctive that it became a byword. Salesmen wore dark suits, white shirts, and ties. Alcohol was forbidden at company events and discouraged off the job. Meetings featured songs from an official IBM songbook, some of them in praise of Watson himself. The employee newspaper, Business Machines, knitted the scattered divisions together. The Quarter Century Club honored long service, and a Suggestion Plan, launched in 1928, paid cash for ideas that improved products or procedures.
The centerpiece was the Hundred Percent Club, which Watson created in 1925 for salesmen who met their annual quotas. Its members were feted at a convention, first in Atlantic City and then for years at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York. By 1940 the club had outgrown the hotel, and Watson moved it to the hills above the Endicott plants, where the company raised a tent city with hundreds of two-man tents fitted with telephones and electricity. Making the club was a public mark of status inside IBM.
Education was the other pillar. Soon after arriving in 1914, Watson had staff open a business library. In 1918, seventy managers enrolled in the first executive training program. In the 1920s every new sales recruit went through an intensive training course before seeing a customer. In the early 1930s IBM opened a schoolhouse in Endicott devoted to employee education. Watson told employees that salesmanship was probably the most important factor in the life of a nation, a business, and an individual, and he treated it as a profession that could be taught.
The paternalism was real, and so was the control. Critics then and later found the singing and the slogans cultish. Employees also got things most American workers did not. In 1934 IBM moved its factory workers from piecework to salaried pay, which steadied their incomes. Group life insurance arrived the same year, survivor benefits in 1935, and paid vacations and holidays by 1937. IBM also began hiring and training disabled workers in the 1940s and named its first female vice president in 1943. The deal Watson offered was loyalty and conformity in exchange for security, and a great many people took it.
Building Inventory Into the Depression
The Great Depression was the first real test of Watson's model, and his response looked reckless at the time. Instead of shutting factories and laying off staff, IBM kept its plants producing new machines, hired more salesmen and engineers, and invested in a modern research laboratory at Endicott. Inventory piled up in warehouses. For several years the factories were running with no market large enough to absorb what they made.
At the onset of the Depression, Watson put the case for continued research spending to his managers as a question he answered himself. IBM's corporate history preserves it:
We are going to do research work, but are we just going to search for something? No, we are going to find something.
— Thomas J. Watson Sr., to IBM managers, early 1930s
The gamble paid off in 1935, when Congress passed the Social Security Act. The new program required the federal government to set up and maintain employment records for some 26 million workers, a task contemporaries called the biggest accounting operation of all time. IBM had machines ready to ship, and it won the work. Government orders followed from other New Deal agencies. By the end of the 1930s IBM had come through the Depression larger and more dominant than it went in, and by 1938 it had operations in 79 countries.
The Depression also shaped Watson's politics. He had become a Democrat after his indictment by the Taft administration's Justice Department, and he emerged as Franklin Roosevelt's strongest supporter in the business community, an unofficial ambassador who entertained visiting statesmen in New York. In 1941 his compensation of $517,221 was the third-highest in the country.
World Peace Through World Trade
Watson's belief in international business went beyond sales targets. He had watched the First World War wreck economies, and he came to argue that commerce between nations was a deterrent to war. In 1937 he was elected president of the International Chamber of Commerce, and at its congress in Berlin that summer he declared the theme "World Peace Through World Trade." The phrase became the slogan of both the ICC and IBM. When the company dedicated its new world headquarters at 590 Madison Avenue in New York in 1938, the words went onto the building.
In 1939, speaking about IBM's reach, Watson said that the company had organizations in 79 countries and that if peace and cooperation could be maintained among its people, the same could be accomplished among nations. It was a sincere view and a convenient one, and it framed how he handled the most consequential foreign relationship IBM had.
The German Subsidiary
In 1910 Hollerith had licensed his patents in Germany to a businessman named Willy Heidinger, who founded Deutsche Hollerith-Maschinen Gesellschaft, known as Dehomag. After the First World War, with Dehomag in financial trouble, Watson's company bought control, leaving Heidinger with about 10 percent. Like its American parent, Dehomag leased its machines and customized them for each job, so its staff knew what the equipment was used for. During the 1930s it was IBM's most profitable foreign operation.
After Hitler took power in January 1933, Dehomag supplied the technology for that year's national census, which recorded religion, as German censuses long had. Relations between Heidinger and New York were stormy throughout the decade. As the Nazi regime tightened control of foreign-owned businesses, Heidinger insisted that Dehomag was a purely German company, and by 1936 it was wholly German-owned on paper. IBM kept its stake through royalty and loan arrangements and a financial channel through its office in Geneva, and it did nothing to limit how Dehomag's machines were used. Watson held on for years to the view that a prosperous Germany would not go to war. In 1937 he said that once trade could flow properly across borders, there would be no need for soldiers to cross them.
At the ICC congress in Berlin that summer, Watson met Hitler and accepted the Merit Cross of the Order of the German Eagle with Star, a decoration the regime gave to prominent foreigners. Critics later read the medal as a reward for the services Dehomag's machines provided the Reich. Other historians have argued that Watson believed, perhaps naively, that it recognized his work on behalf of international commerce.
Henry Ford accepted a higher grade of the same order the following year.
After the Kristallnacht pogrom in November 1938, Watson wrote to Hitler warning of lost goodwill in the United States and appealing to him to apply the Golden Rule to minorities. According to documents later published by the journalist Edwin Black, the letter was misaddressed and came back unopened. Watson had wanted to return the medal earlier, but Secretary of State Cordell Hull advised against it. In June 1940, after Germany invaded the Netherlands and France, he sent it back.
The present policies of your government are contrary to the causes for which I have been working and for which I received the decoration.
— Thomas J. Watson Sr., letter returning his German decoration, June 1940
Dehomag's management reacted with fury, and Heidinger and Nazi officials moved to strip away what remained of IBM's influence. Watson refused to sell or give up the stake, and IBM staff kept reviewing Dehomag's financial reports as they passed through Geneva. When Germany declared war on the United States in December 1941, Dehomag was placed under a German enemy-property custodian, as American-owned businesses in Germany were. Before and during the war, punch-card machines were used across the German administration, in the 1939 census that identified Jews by ancestry, in military logistics and railway traffic, and in many concentration camps. After the war IBM recovered the company and in 1949 renamed it IBM Deutschland.
How much IBM's leadership in New York knew and controlled after 1939 is the contested part of the story. In 2001 Black published IBM and the Holocaust, arguing that IBM was knowingly complicit and that its New York headquarters oversaw the European business throughout the war. A 2002 edition added evidence about a Polish subsidiary, Watson Business Machines, which Black said managed railway punch-card work in occupied Poland and reported through Geneva to New York. Some reviewers found the case overwhelming. The historian Saul Friedländer wrote that Black showed Watson to be impervious to the moral dimension of his dealings with Germany. Others, including Richard Bernstein in The New York Times and Frederick Allen in American Heritage, concluded that Black documented IBM's amorality but had not shown that the company bore unique responsibility, or that anyone in New York knowingly took part in Nazi crimes.
IBM responded that it had long been known that the Nazis used Hollerith equipment, that Dehomag had come under Nazi control like hundreds of other foreign-owned firms, and that it was not withholding records. A lawsuit filed on behalf of Holocaust survivors in 2001 was dropped that April, after lawyers worried it would slow payments from a German fund for victims of Nazi persecution, to which IBM's German unit had contributed $3 million without admitting liability.
Arsenal and Laboratory
At home, IBM turned its factories to the American war effort. It manufactured more than three dozen major ordnance items, among them Browning Automatic Rifles, M1 carbines, and bombsights. Watson capped profits on this work at a nominal 1 percent and used the proceeds to set up a fund for the widows and orphans of IBM employees killed in the war. IBM punched-card machines ran military payrolls and logistics, supported Army and Navy codebreaking, and helped with calculations at Los Alamos for the Manhattan Project. The War Relocation Authority also subcontracted to IBM the punched-card record system for Japanese Americans held in internment camps. Watson's eldest son flew in the Army Air Forces, and his younger son, Arthur, also served.
The war also drew IBM toward computing. In 1937 a Harvard physicist named Howard Aiken proposed an automatic calculating machine, and in February 1939 Watson personally approved the project and its funding. IBM engineers built the Automatic Sequence Controlled Calculator at Endicott. It was 51 feet long, used some 765,000 electromechanical parts, and was shipped to Harvard in early 1944, where one of its first jobs was an implosion calculation for John von Neumann. When Harvard dedicated it on August 7, 1944, Aiken's press release named himself as the inventor and barely mentioned IBM. Watson was enraged and attended the ceremony reluctantly. The machine became known as the Harvard Mark I, and IBM decided to build its own.
In 1945 Watson funded the Watson Scientific Computing Laboratory at Columbia University, where he was a powerful trustee. Its director, Wallace Eckert, and his staff went on to build the Selective Sequence Electronic Calculator, which IBM dedicated at its Madison Avenue headquarters in 1948 and which combined electronic computation with a stored program. The laboratory at Columbia grew into IBM Research.
Father and Son
The last decade of Watson's life was dominated by two questions: whether IBM would commit to electronic computers, and whether his son would be allowed to run it. The two were bound up with each other. Thomas Watson Jr. had come back from the war convinced that electronics would replace IBM's electromechanical machines. His father, who had built the company on punched cards, was slower to agree, and the arguments between them were loud and frequent.
In 1949 Watson created the IBM World Trade Corporation to run the company's foreign business, and his younger son, Arthur, eventually led it. In 1952 he made Tom Jr. president. The same year IBM shipped its first large-scale electronic computer, the 701, which it had developed as the "Defense Calculator" to support the Korean War effort. Also in 1952, the Justice Department filed a civil antitrust suit against IBM, which then owned and leased more than 90 percent of the tabulating machines in the United States. The case ended in a consent decree in January 1956 that required IBM to sell as well as lease its machines and to open up parts of its business to competitors.
In May 1956 Watson handed the chief executive's job to his eldest son. He died of a heart attack in Manhattan on June 19, 1956, at 82, and was buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. That year IBM's revenue was about $897 million, more than two hundred times what CTR had taken in when he arrived, and the company employed tens of thousands of people. His son spent the following years turning Watson's unwritten rules into formal policies, restructuring the company, and betting it on electronic computing, but he kept the culture, the respect for salesmanship, and the conviction that people were the business.
Watson's legacy is not a comfortable one to summarize. He built one of the most admired employers in America and one of its most effective monopolies. He paid his workers well and expected their obedience. He preached world peace through trade and kept trading with a regime that was preparing for war, and he renounced its honor only when events made the relationship impossible to defend. The IBM he left behind carried both inheritances into the computer age.