PART VII
“Washington, D.C. is sixty square miles surrounded by reality.”
—As quoted in Rumsfeld’s Rules
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
NOVEMBER 18, 1983
Saudi Arabia’s King Fahd was one of the forty-five sons of Ibn Saud, modern Saudi Arabia’s founder. Fahd had ascended to the throne only a year earlier. One of the wealthiest men in the world, he received me amid plush furnishings, floors of marble, and walls etched in gold.
I had been the CEO of G. D. Searle & Co., a pharmaceutical company, for nearly five years when I took a leave of absence to serve as President Reagan’s Middle East envoy. In that capacity I went on a mission to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where I sought the ruling family’s assistance on the crisis in Lebanon.
As we began our official talks, the Saudi king’s servants brought tea out to us in the ornate formal throne room. I had quickly learned on my trips to the region that it was wise to ration my tea intake during these long meetings, and after a sip, I held my small cup aside.
After a few moments I looked up to find King Fahd staring at me with a puzzled look. He had noticed I wasn’t drinking my tea, and like a good Middle Eastern host wanted to make sure it was to my liking. He thought I might want a sweetener.
“Canderel!” he called out, his arms thrust upward, accentuating his exuberance. My worlds collided.
Canderel was the European brand name for Equal, the tabletop sweetener produced by Searle that seemed like it had consumed much of the last five years of my life. Searle had waited for close to a decade for approval from the U.S. Food and Drug Administration to be able to market it. Now I was being offered it in a royal palace many thousands of miles from Searle headquarters in Skokie, Illinois.
Prince Saud, the young, Princeton-educated member of the royal family who was the new foreign minister, rose from his chair and walked over with a small dispenser of our company’s new product.
I suspect King Fahd had no idea of my connection to the sweetener. But with a smile on his face, he said that his wife had him use it in his tea. The king, a large, joyful man, proclaimed proudly that he had slimmed down by several kilos as a result. His still sizable presence shook as he said it.
I don’t recall what I said in response, but I certainly remember what I thought. I would have given anything for a video of the scene to use as a commercial. It would have been an award winner.
G.D. Searle was again becoming a healthy presence in the industry, thanks in part to the no-calorie sweetener in Equal and Canderel that over time became broadly known as NutraSweet. But it had only happened after a long period of legal uncertainty, as well as a revised business strategy. We restructured the company to position Searle back on an upward path. When I arrived there in the spring of 1977, the company’s future was anything but bright.
CHAPTER 18
G. D. Searle & Co. began in 1888, when a Civil War veteran and pharmacist, Gideon Daniel Searle, started a small company with a chemist in Chicago. Nine decades later, the business had become a global conglomerate. It had developed an impressive number of products: Dramamine, Metamucil, and Aldactone, as well as Enovid, the first mass-market oral contraceptive that would become known simply as the Pill. The company’s rise into a major conglomerate had proved challenging. By 1977 the company had experienced weak earnings for eight straight quarters. Its stock price had fallen sharply, hitting a low of $10.75 per share, about half of its price a year earlier. Analysts wondered if its future was a long, downward slide. That concern had a way of getting shareholders’ attention.1
So too did the choice of a new chief executive officer that year. Of all the people that the Searle board of directors could have selected to come in as the first non-family CEO, they chose a relatively young former public official with no background in the corporate world, let alone pharmaceuticals.
At the company’s annual meeting where I was introduced to the shareholders as the future CEO, a middle-aged woman stood up.
“My name is Ethel Shapiro; I am a shareholder,” she said. She noted that commentators were observing that little in my past experience made me a likely savior for the struggling pharmaceutical company.
“Mr. Rumsfeld,” she asked bluntly, “why are you worth the $250,000 annual salary you will be receiving as CEO?” The amount was significant, to be sure. It was, in fact, four times what I had made as secretary of defense.
It was a fair question, and I suspected other shareholders might have been wondering the same thing.
“That sounds a lot like my mother,” I replied, and many in the room laughed. As it happened, my mother was surprised by my decision to accept the Searle position. She believed I had established myself in government and wondered why I would want to get involved in an industry I knew little about and that had such obvious risks. She knew drug companies were often involved in complex and costly lawsuits. Searle, in fact, was at that moment undergoing a federal investigation into the accuracy of its research. Legal charges against the company had been filed and others were pending.
In answer to Mrs. Shapiro, I observed that I had not set my salary; the Searle board of directors had. I added that I was confident the board would have many opportunities to review my performance over time to determine whether I deserved that level of compensation. And I told her I would do my best to earn it.
It had not escaped my attention, or the Searle family’s for that matter, that I had no relevant business or pharmaceutical industry experience. But I had been involved in managing large, complicated, international enterprises. Perhaps the deciding factor for the Searle family was my disinclination to shy away from making the tough choices that would be needed to get the enterprise on an upward path. The family knew me. Back in early 1962, not many people thought a twenty-nine-year-old with no experience in elective office could win a seat in Congress against a large field of more seasoned opponents. But Dan Searle did.
I, in turn, believed in Searle. Taking the reins of the pharmaceutical company was an opportunity to help develop products of value to people. My father, in particular, would have considered it honest and worthwhile work. There was some press speculation that I might be considering a run for the U.S. Senate from Illinois in 1980. To signal the seriousness of my commitment to the company, and to refute the speculation, I signed a five-year contract with Searle, even though the board of directors had not asked me to do so.
My time at Searle was a formative experience for me, unlike any challenge I’d ever faced before. It is in essence the story of a former government official unfamiliar with the daily workings of the business world finding his way. With the help of a superb team, I took the reins of a troubled company with great potential and developed a strategy to turn it around. We moved quickly to tighten budgets by reducing staff. We sold off entities not related to what we decided were our core businesses. We decentralized decision making and rigorously measured our progress against our goals.
Setting goals was the most important task we faced, because it forced us to decide what our priorities were. We also needed broad agreement on the priorities among the directors and senior managers so that everyone was pulling in the same direction. It was critically important to ensure that those goals and priorities were known throughout the organization.
When I arrived at Searle, one of the first things we did was to put together several task forces with a mix of employees, board members, and thoughtful people from outside the company to examine what I had decided were the key problem areas of the company’s operations. They then offered specific recommendations. I knew Searle needed changes, but I didn’t want change for change’s sake. I needed to make sure the changes we were considering were the right ones. And I needed to make sure we could achieve broad support in the company to move forward with the changes.
After the review was complete, Searle’s senior management and I agreed on our top priorities: focusing the company on its core businesses and laying the foundation for future growth. To achieve our goals, we decided we would trim excess layers of management and sell off subsidiaries that either were peripheral to Searle’s mission or were unlikely to produce significant results. We resolved to work with the federal government to try to determine the fate of one especially promising product, aspartame. And we would invest significantly in research and development to ensure there would be more products in the pipeline in the years ahead.
Over my eight years at Searle, I became a believer in the rule that “What you measure improves.” A corollary rule in the military is that “You get what you inspect, not what you expect.” We needed to select the key metrics for each of the company’s divisions that would be indicative of the company’s long-term performance. While our goals included improving our earnings per share, leading to a higher stock price, the priorities we selected and measured had to be ones that would move us in the right direction. We decided to hold our own feet to the fire by publishing these metrics in our annual report so our shareholders could see our goals and how well we were doing in meeting them. Either our indicators were getting better or they weren’t, and if they were, it would eventually be reflected in our company’s overall value.
One of the single most important tasks of a senior executive is to recruit and rely on the right people. A rule I had observed was that “A’s hire A’s; B’s hire C’s.” I’ve seen terrible organization charts that worked because of the people involved and impressive organization charts where the enterprise struggled because of the people involved. At Searle, I was looking for people who brought knowledge and expertise different from mine. I favored candidates with high energy and a sense of humor because I knew we’d be working long hours in a tough environment.
The senior management also needed to work well as a team. We could have the brightest, most capable people in the world, but if there was no commitment to the company’s broader mission, their talents would not be enough. I learned that lesson as a midshipman on the USS Wisconsin, when the battleship ended up stuck on the New Jersey shore. A dozen tugboats tried to push the Wisconsin free. One tug would hit the ship, then another. It wasn’t until all of the tugboats were organized in a coordinated effort that they put their bows against the hull of the battleship and pushed it free.*
At Searle, two people stand out as leaders of our team effort.† I invited John Robson to serve as Searle’s chief operating officer. Robson had played a critical role in my congressional campaigns, was an accomplished lawyer, and also had public service experience as chairman of the Civil Aeronautics Board, among other appointments. He took the lead in legal and regulatory affairs and I trusted his judgment implicitly.
I also turned to Jim Denny, a man I’d known in college who was serving as the treasurer of Firestone Tire & Rubber Company. Denny’s name appeared on a list of three candidates for the important position of Searle’s chief financial officer from an executive search firm I had engaged. To my surprise—since I wasn’t eager to hire an acquaintance—he turned out to be the unanimous choice for the job. Given my modest business background, I made sure Denny’s office was close by. Not a day went by that I didn’t step over to ask his advice on business questions. Robson, Denny, and I were so engaged in what we were doing that we tended to overlook the traditional niceties of an executive suite. We were perhaps too informal for some directors who, as Denny later put it, “expected more than ham and Swiss on rye with cole slaw for their board meeting lunch.”2
The board of directors, too, saw changes. A few of its members had joined when the company was still a family-oriented enterprise, rather than a global conglomerate. I worked to ease some members off the board, particularly those who were also in Searle’s management, in favor of experienced outsiders who could bring the company a fresh and broader perspective.*
There is a danger that CEOs and senior executives can get too engaged in details, which can prevent them from having the necessary distance to see trends and the broader picture. When I was a flight instructor in the Navy I noticed novice pilots often took control of an airplane by grabbing hold of the stick too tightly and overcontrolling. As a result, the motion of the plane became jerky. It can be similar in any organization, whether in business or government. An executive who holds on to everything too tightly can lose sight of the larger issues. “Find ways to decentralize” is a guideline I included in Rumsfeld’s Rules. “Move decision-making authority down and out. Encourage a more entrepreneurial approach.” No one person can make all the necessary decisions in a large and complex enterprise. The best organizations have multiple leadership centers that are working in tandem toward the same goals.
Robson, Denny, and I encouraged the heads of Searle subsidiaries to tell us their priorities to increase their profits for the longer term. For example, we saw potential in one of Searle’s units, then much less known than it is today.
Pearle Vision was first formed in 1961, when an optometrist named Stanley Pearle opened a store in Georgia that not only offered eye examinations but also could produce prescription lenses on-site and sold a wide selection of frames. The division’s president, Don Phillips, embarked on a well-conceived plan that used the profits of existing Pearle Vision centers to build new centers and exponentially expand the franchise. The approach allowed us to increase the number of Pearle Vision centers from 240 in 1976 to more than 860 by 1981. We then franchised some of the centers to increase the incentives for store managers. Still later, we took a portion of Pearle Vision public while retaining a majority interest and management control. Our shareholders profited at each stage of the process.
To get clarity and insight into how things were really functioning at Searle I dug down into one division at a time. I had a habit of asking employees from senior managers to lab technicians direct questions, some of which may have seemed intrusive, but it was the best way I knew to gather the information I needed. On occasion, my approach made people uncomfortable, particularly if they didn’t have ready answers. But more likely than not, they would have the answers the next time.
Like many companies in the mid-1970s, Searle had acquired numerous subsidiaries. Before I decided what to do with them I resolved to visit most of them personally. A number of the units were related only marginally to Searle’s core businesses. One subsidiary’s business was to produce and sell sperm from livestock. Its main source of revenue came from an aging bull named Astronaut. As fine a bull as he was, it was clear that this revenue stream was finite. Another was a centrifuge factory in France plagued by labor union activism. I had some inkling that the situation there was difficult when I was advised I should show up for my visit late at night, not during working hours. A visit by top management was not likely to be well received by the workers, I was told. Hostile labor conditions and weak earnings made the decision to divest an easy one.*
I decided to divest Searle of a number of its subsidiaries, even though I knew it would have the effect of temporarily reducing our revenues and earnings, since a number of these companies were profitable. Within a year I had directed the sale of twenty companies. One Rumsfeld Rule I developed is “Prune. Prune businesses, products, activities and people. Do it annually.” Perhaps paradoxically, my intent was not to make Searle smaller through these divestments—I wanted to reinvigorate the company and invest in our core businesses to achieve growth.
To reduce costs and improve performance, we initiated a sizable reduction of Searle’s corporate headquarters staff, which had the added benefit of decreasing the distance between the top of the organization and our customers. In good times, the company was able to afford a growing corporate payroll, but times had changed. We needed to let some people go and move others from corporate headquarters to the divisions. Keeping in mind the memory of the way Bob Haldeman had summarily requested blanket resignations from Nixon’s cabinet and subcabinet the day after his 1972 reelection, I wanted to treat our employees as fairly as possible.
It helped that the cost-cutting measures extended to all corners of the company, even to the executive offices. It was not a pleasant task for a new CEO to have to tell longtime members of the board of directors that it was necessary for them to leave the board, but the reality was that we needed new talent at the top if we were to succeed.
As the one making these decisions, I felt a responsibility to meet with as many of the people being let go as I could. I had already been out of a job several times in my life when I left the Navy and after several political campaigns, so I knew what it was like, particularly with a family to support. My words to them were what I felt would be helpful to me if I were in their shoes. I knew they would have to go home and explain their situations to their spouses, children, friends, and neighbors. I told them the truth—that the decision did not reflect on them. The reality was that the pharmaceutical industry and the company were both changing; U.S. companies, including Searle, needed to adjust to globalization. We were eventually able to provide many leaving Searle with outplacement assistance services to ease their transitions.
The rapid changes we were making at Searle caused heartburn for some, especially among our traditional investor base. I decided to freeze the company’s stock dividend. This was not a uniformly well-received decision, particularly by shareholders who were accustomed to receiving dividend checks that increased over the years. The idea was to gradually move our shareholder base away from investors focused on dividends to investors more interested in the company’s long-term growth.
I also decided to increase our investment in Searle’s pharmaceutical research and development with the money we received from selling off some of our subsidiaries. One of my concerns was that the research and development division had too few promising new products in the pipeline. A number of the patents on existing products were expiring and would begin to face competition from generic drugs. I knew we needed to invest more if we were to be a successful research and development–based pharmaceutical company.
One of the more underappreciated aspects of the pharmaceutical industry is the time and investment put into research and development. Time and again the pharmaceutical industry has been singled out as a villain in corporate America and as the main culprit in escalating health-care costs. In fact, pharmaceutical and drug costs are less than 12 percent of the total of health-care costs.3 I never cease to be amazed at people, particularly lifelong politicians of both political parties, most of whom have never created anything of value, savaging those who do. Successful pharmaceutical companies have to invest; that is to say they have to put at risk hundreds of millions of their investors’ dollars in an effort to discover new therapies to save lives, extend lives, and improve the quality of lives, and, yes, also to try to make a fair return for their investors while doing so. More often than not, many years of trial and error result in dead ends. But with expensive facilities and talented researchers, breakthrough discoveries do occur. And even when efforts are unsuccessful, they learn what need not be tried again. Because of companies like Merck, Pfizer, Searle, Gilead Sciences, and others, millions of people in our country and across the globe are living longer, healthier lives.
During my third year at Searle, no doubt because of the cost-cutting measures I was implementing, I found myself included in a Fortune magazine cover story as one of the supposedly ten toughest CEOs in the country.4 In some quarters it probably helps to be considered a tough boss. But I was uncomfortable with it.
I never thought that being tough was an appropriate or successful leadership approach, nor was it the way I managed. While I wanted everyone to feel the sense of urgency I felt, I found we achieved better performance when we treated everyone fairly and respectfully. Rather than being tough, my goal was to be effective, to achieve results, and to be willing to make difficult decisions even when there weren’t obvious, attractive options. Searle was becoming a leaner and more focused operation, and we were increasingly able to leverage its strengths. If the message was coming across that the new CEO meant business, I had no problem with that. We had to drive forward and make the now slimmed-down company more profitable. There was one product in the pipeline that we knew could help significantly. The only impediment was the federal government, which was not a minor one.
One of the more unexpected things I discovered as CEO of a pharmaceutical company was that I had to think as much or more about the federal government than I did about our competition. I had known on an intellectual level that government was involved in the private sector in a great many ways, but it was only when I was actually in business that I felt the full impact. The government was a participant in practically everything we did—from the IRS to the Food and Drug Administration to the Department of Justice’s antitrust division to the Federal Trade Commission to the Securities and Exchange Commission. We needed government clearance for almost all of our products. We also needed government approvals in each of dozens of other countries where Searle did business.
This was the case with the artificial sweetener Searle had discovered and had been developing for more than a decade. Aspartame was an example of the occasionally serendipitous results from research and development programs. In 1965, a Searle scientist was working on a treatment for ulcers involving amino acids. He happened to have some residual powder from two amino acids on his finger and accidentally discovered the sweet taste of the compound when he licked his finger to pick up a piece of paper.5
We knew that the products from aspartame could help the company, especially since there were questions being raised about the safety of the existing artificial sweeteners, notably saccharine. Searle had put aspartame through an extensive testing process, and the FDA had approved the product for commercial dry tabletop use in 1974. But a year and a half later, eighteen months before I joined Searle, the FDA took an almost unprecedented step when they issued a stay of their earlier approval of aspartame. The FDA had raised questions about Searle’s overall research and development activities, which had complicated the situation considerably. There was press speculation that the Department of Justice might indict Searle over allegations that some of the company’s research documentation might not have been in order.6 Given the cloud cast over Searle, aspartame began to look much less promising than had been hoped.
I was learning a critical difference between the federal government and the private sector. People in the public sector tend to be praised and rewarded for their efforts or intentions, rather than judged by the results of their actions. What government does is assumed to be respectable and in the interests of the public. The FDA, for example, is criticized only if it errs and approves a drug that turns out not to be safe or effective—as it should be. But there is no criticism of the FDA if it delays the approval of drugs that are safe and could save or extend lives.
Unlike in government, good intentions are not what are rewarded in the business world—results are. What matters is outputs, not inputs—that is to say, in business millions of dollars in investment mean nothing unless there is a fair return. In government, progress is often judged by how much money is thrown at a problem. Federal education programs, for example, are more often measured by the size of the education budget, not by the results they are producing, such as the graduation rate. And regardless of its mistakes, the federal government does not go out of business. If businesses make mistakes, they suffer, lose money, managers are replaced, or the companies go into bankruptcy. So while the FDA could wait as long as it wished in delaying aspartame, Searle paid the price.
The FDA stay of approval gave competitors more time to research alternative products to aspartame. It allowed critics of the sweetener to engage in a public relations campaign, raising concerns in the minds of potential customers, investors, and employees. And, importantly, Searle’s patent on aspartame continued to run, thereby shortening the number of years the shareholders would have the financial benefits of patent protection if and when the stay of approval was eventually lifted.
My view was that if Searle had been at fault over any of the research documentation issues that the government had raised, then we needed to figure out promptly what the problem was, fix it, and move on. The most harmful thing would be the continuing stalemate that was so costly to the company. Since there was a real possibility that the stay of approval on aspartame might never be lifted, we had to wean ourselves from the mindset that aspartame might be an answer to Searle’s difficulties and focus on other solutions. The day-to-day management of the legal and regulatory issues surrounding aspartame was handled by John Robson.
After years of testing, the FDA’s stay of approval for the dry use of aspartame was finally lifted on July 15, 1981. This was six years after the FDA stay of approval had been issued, which meant that Searle’s investors had lost that many years of patent protection on what would become a major product.*
With FDA clearance, we moved ahead and invested in the necessary manufacturing facilities and plans to market aspartame under the trade name Equal. Equal became a national success in short order and then an international success under the trade name of Canderel. Millions of those lightblue packets found their way to supermarkets, homes, and restaurants. That was only the start. There were even bigger things in store for aspartame and Searle, thanks to a company called PepsiCo.
In 1983, the FDA gave approval for wet use of aspartame, which meant it could now be used in liquids in addition to the dry use as a tabletop sweetener. As with equal, Searle’s creative marketing team decided to establish a brand name for its use in beverages. We called it NutraSweet and gave it a distinctive red-and-white swirl logo. It was one of the early examples of branding an ingredient, rather than a product, which thereby boosted the value of both.
The Coca-Cola Company had been among the first to use aspartame in its diet soda Tab. But the company did not use 100 percent aspartame, choosing instead to combine it with saccharin, which was less expensive and more readily available. As a result, we did not allow Coke to use our NutraSweet logo. But if Coke or Pepsi made the decision to go 100 percent NutraSweet in their diet colas, it could change the beverage industry—not to mention help Searle greatly.
As we negotiated with representatives of the soft-drink companies, CBS launched a new attack on aspartame. On the evening news, CBS anchor Dan Rather highlighted some discredited allegations for three nights running in January 1984. Searle had provided CBS and his producers with data and information about the safety of NutraSweet that they did not use. In a letter, Searle’s general counsel blasted Rather for “patently absurd” reporting and “manipulative editing.”7 It may have been the first time Rather was caught up in such poorly researched journalism, but it would not be his last. Fortunately, the facts were on Searle’s side. Aspartame had gone through one of the most extensive food additives tests in history to earn FDA approval.
Despite the CBS TV attacks, later in 1984 I was contacted by Don Kendall, the CEO of PepsiCo. Kendall confided that a small group at PepsiCo was involved in confidential discussions to abandon saccharin altogether and go with 100 percent aspartame in one of their diet drinks, enabling it to adopt the NutraSweet logo. This was a gamble for the company, since aspartame would increase Pepsi’s costs and news reports like CBS’s were not helpful in developing public confidence.
Nonetheless, Kendall was inclined to put 100 percent NutraSweet in every can and bottle of their biggest selling low-calorie drink, Diet Pepsi. He thought it would reinvigorate their brand and distinguish them from their competitors. He asked that Searle help share the cost and risks, agree to a reasonable price for aspartame, and provide a sufficient supply to Pepsi. Knowing how important it was for one of the major cola companies to adopt the product, I agreed.8
Kendall was pleased. “Rumsfeld, you are a genius,” he said, adding, “or at least I am going to make you look like one.”9
With Kendall’s decision on Diet Pepsi—and a substantial advertising campaign about the benefits of NutraSweet—aspartame became one of the most successful new products introduced in the United States during that period, with sales in excess of $700 million by 1985.
NutraSweet was sought out by people interested in managing their weight and maintaining healthier lifestyles. It is now in use in some five thousand products, reaching hundreds of millions of people in more than one hundred countries worldwide. I never forgot the many years and millions of dollars lost while waiting to get that stay of approval lifted by the government.
Over my first six years at Searle, the company’s earnings per share, as well as its share price, had increased threefold. The overall picture had improved noticeably, but the core pharmaceutical business remained challenging. It did look like we would have some new products by the mid-1980s as a result of our increased investments in the late 1970s, but Searle was competing against larger companies worldwide that were able to outinvest us in research and development.10 To better ensure a stream of new drugs in the decades ahead, the Searle family and the board of directors began to discuss the notion of a merger with another firm.
In the fall of 1985, we began talks with Monsanto, a company that had experience in research and development and was interested in moving into the pharmaceutical sector.11 Though a merger seemed within reach, negotiations got bogged down in the hands of lawyers and investment bankers. I was concerned that over time the merger talks would get into the press. I decided to inform Monsanto that we would agree to the sale of Searle common stock, but only if Monsanto’s investment bankers and lawyers could get an acceptable agreement signed and announced before the New York Stock Exchange opened the following morning. If not, the deal would be off. Sure enough, the deal was announced the next morning, shortly before the stock exchange opened.
I couldn’t help but reflect on those early days at the company, by then more than eight years earlier, when many people—including my own mother—wondered if I had made the right decision to join it. But from the first day on the job I liked the idea of taking on a new challenge in an important industry. Thanks to our restructuring plan and Searle’s talented employees, we had achieved a solid comeback.
The stock price had increased from $12.50 when I took over to $65 per share, a compound annual return, excluding dividends, of 20 percent.* Searle’s profits grew from $35 million in 1977 to $162 million in 1984.12 I was pleased with the results and greatly valued my time with the company. But I was never completely out of politics and government. They had a way of drawing me back in, usually when I least expected it.