From July 12 through September 15, IBM is showing off the body of a young Italian woman cooked in volcanic tempura batter. Along with the stiff, IBM is touting the marvellous way its computers have helped archeologists gain new insight into a bad day 1,911 years ago. It was August 24, 79, when Mount Vesuvius blew its top, taking out the villages of Pompeii and nearby Herculaneum. The bulimic hill turned a couple thousand unlucky Italians into big chunks of the stuff you use to remove calluses. The raree, officially entitled Rediscovering Pompeii, is ensconced in one of the company’s tax-deductible gifts to civilization, the IBM Gallery of Science and Art.
Buggy whip
The gallery sits beneath the intimidating IBM building at Madison Avenue and 57th Street in Manhattan. This is one posh neighbourhood, although lately one of IBM’s neighbours, the Plaza Hotel, has had to cope with a small image change – it was once associated with one Eloise growing up, but is now tied to one Donald Trump going down. A block south of the Pompeii circumstances lies the AT&T building, a dubious construction of reconstructed architect Philip Johnson. A couple of years ago, AT&T understandably tried to abandon the stone pile. But New York City threatened to retaliate by cancelling some of AT&T’s tax breaks, and this kept the phone folks at bay until real estate prices crashed. Now AT&T is locked to whatever preposterous book value it placed on Johnson’s Blemish. The confused, shifting images that surround IBM’s display of the lava lasagna have not been brought into focus by simultaneous developments in Lexington, Kentucky. Thereabouts, the typewriter works that was once touted by IBM’s flacks as America’s automated answer to the Asian cheap labour menace is apparently on the block. According to reports in the Wall Street Journal, Big Bluegrass has changed its tune, and is working on a deal with Clayton & Dubilier, a buy-outfit with a reputation for taking over the buggy whip operations of companies like Harris and Unisys. The deal, which is expected to include the sweatshops that push up daisywheel printers and pound out keyboards, could bring IBM’s shareholders $2,500m in cash. IBM’s other reward will be the relief of knowing somebody else will have the grim task of sacking the operation’s estimated 4,000 employees at the drop of a derby if business goes awry.
That unfortunate lady that perished in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in AD79 has done more travelling in the twentieth century than in all the aeons between: a few years ago she took up residence at the Royal Academy here in London, now she is to be found in the heart of Manhattan, courtesy of IBM. Never one to pass up the opportunity to inspect a disaster, however long ago it happened – he was also to be found observing Tracy Ullmann in Joseph Papp’s mercifully free cowboy production of Taming of the Shrew in Central Park the other day – Hesh Wiener went along to read the ruins of Pompeii, and came away to deliver himself of his impressions for the benefit of his adoring public.
– The initial press reports suggesting the Lexington deal was in the offing brought about a curious response from IBM. The company didn’t deny the main points of the newspaper story, but adamantly insisted that the consequences would not be a bloodbath. Any action taken by IBM would ensure that our employees are treated fairly, said the statement, which the company courageously attributed to nobody in particular. The intended effect of the carefully worded press release was to prevent panic from spreading throughout the IBM empire. But the implications of IBM’s pussy footing are clear… and ominous. It’s not so nice if IBM dumps the once-ubiquitous typewriter because it can’t make satisfactory profit… and others step in and succeed in the very same plant. Such an eventuality would say more about IBM than about typewriters or the clever capitalists at Whoozis & What’s-his-name. It’s possible that IBM just can’t get the good people in Lexington to work hard enough, while others can. On the other hand, IB
M may be smarter than it looks. The typewriter, even if it’s as old as Pompeii, symbolises classic IBM to millions, among them the company’s most senior employees and scores of benighted shareholders. Maybe the sacrifice in Kentucky’s hunt and peck country is the first indication in a long time that Armonk means business. In other words, the selectricution of what is these days a relatively small citizen in a huge industrial empire will put on notice another division that is clearly causing IBM more trouble than Lexington ever could – the mainframe group.
Abject fear
If the mainframers don’t get the message, IBM could fire a second warning shot by turning the lights off at old Endicott, which is where computers like the 9370 are slapped together.But there is always the possibility that chairman John Akers’ attempt to look tough will completely backfire. Really strong managers don’t actually have to do anything to motivate their minions. The mere possibility of their displeasure creates an adequate amount of abject fear. This, coupled with the assumption on the part of employees that their talents will be discovered, exploited and rewarded by higher-ups, makes industrial empires grow. Sadly, IBM doesn’t look like the kind of empire that is going to need a lot of new generals this season.We certainly hope that there’s a Plan B ready to go if Armonk’s Type A behaviour turns out to be just some kind of corporate tantrum.
Copyright (C) 1990 Technology News of America Co Inc. All rights reserved.
