- Current Issue
SIGN IN to access Harper’s Magazine
1. Sign in to Customer Care using your account number or postal address.
2. Select Email/Password Information.
3. Enter your new information and click on Save My Changes.
Subscribers can find additional help here. Not a subscriber? Subscribe today!
The dust-up that former General Electric CEO Jack Welch caused last week caught me by surprise. “Unbelievable jobs numbers..these Chicago guys will do anything..can’t debate so change numbers,” he tweeted. As America now knows, the unemployment rate fell last week to 7.8 percent, the first time it has dropped below 8 percent during Obama’s term as president. (Nice news to offset the drubbing Obama took in the debate.)
Who would bother to take seriously Welch’s accusation that Obama’s team was manipulating the jobs data? Only those who don’t know much about him, I’d have thought. What surprised me is that that seemed to be just about everybody. Even Paul Krugman used his column to defend the estimable Bureau of Labor Statistics; pieces otherwise critical of Welch nevertheless referred to him as a great executive.
But the accusations fit Welch’s profile. He thinks as he does because he himself was often cited as one of the leading book-cookers of his era. Why would he think anyone would approach numbers any differently?
As one of his executives told me while I was researching my book Age of Greed, “Jack always advised me to keep a nickel in your pocket.” In case your earnings per share fall a bit short, in other words, always have something hidden somewhere to boost them. For years, Wall Street bought his charade of increasing profits every calendar quarter to show what a strong and predicable company GE now was, and how it continued to grow under any and all conditions.
GE was a strong profit-generator—but not that strong. Yet Welch’s legend grew, and GE’s stock price soared.
Welch was considered the best corporate executive of his time. He was talented and charismatic. He was also ruthless, and proud of it. He was the man who insisted that every department cut the bottom 10 percent of its staff every year. In the two years after he became CEO in 1980, he gutted or sold businesses that employed 70,000 workers, 20 percent of GE’s workforce. Five years later, some 130,000 of GE’s 400,000 workers were gone. They started to call him Neutron Jack, after the bomb that killed people but didn’t destroy buildings.
Welch was selling stale manufacturing businesses, in his mind, like the venerable appliances division, which made toasters and irons. In their stead he bought RCA, owner of NBC, and eventually Kidder Peabody, a soon-to-be-troubled investment bank. He handled neither investment well.
He was managing in the new fashion, like a takeover artist or leveraged-buyout partner, buying companies that could turn handsome profits with fewer workers and selling older ones rather than trying to remake them. He had not always been like this. When he started out, he was an engineer with a Ph.D., bent on innovation. He oversaw the development of new plastic products early in his career, and made a big successful bet on CT scanners, overseeing major innovations in the technology.
But then innovation was pushed aside at America’s manufacturing giants in favor of buy-and-sell. No one saw it that way for quite a while. Welch preached new managerial methods. He encouraged people to talk back. But a strategic shift was taking place in corporate America, often in emulation of him. As the media, Wall Street analysts, and not a few mainstream economists were lauding the new lean-and-mean corporate America, the nation’s manufacturers were mostly taking the easy way out—stripping down companies, foregoing real innovation, and riding the financialization wave, exploiting securities bubbles along the way.
Nobody did that better than Welch. He turned the greatest manufacturing company in the world into a bank, essentially, his GE Capital Division providing half or more of the company’s profits at a time when banks were printing money—that is, until 2008. Welch retired in 2001. GE’s profits rose ten times, to $13 billion, over his tenure. In 1980, GE was the ninth most-profitable company in America. During the 1990s it was always first, second, or third. At $500 billion, its shareholder value was greater than that of any other company in the nation.
Before Welch got the CEO job in 1980, he’d had to write a long essay to GE’s then chairman, Reginald Jones, about how he would run the company. Under Jones, the company’s goals had been long-term, but Welch argued that times had changed. Stock prices had been down across the board for a decade and had made all kinds of companies vulnerable to takeover. Welch had his eye on the market. “What we have to sell as an enterprise to the equity investor is consistent, above-average earnings growth throughout the economic cycle,” he wrote. “The discipline to balance both short and long term is the absolute of such a strategy.”
One way—perhaps the key way—Welch pushed up earnings “consistently” as CEO was to make last-minute financial trades in GE Capital just before the close of the calendar quarter. As CNN Money pointed out, (euphemistically calling Welch’s actions “earnings management”), “Though earnings management is a no-no among good governance types, the company never denied doing it, and GE Capital is the perfect mechanism.” Welch never made the kinds of aggressive manipulations that brought down Enron or Worldcom, but he was part of an era in which honest accountants were laughed out of town.
After Welch left GE, by the way, the company went downhill. Its banking business was clobbered in the financial crisis—it was heavily invested in subprime mortgages—and Welch’s successor, Jeffrey Immelt, is still struggling to reshape the company, partly by returning to manufacturing. Among his most conspicuous sales was NBC. GE’s stock price is still not nearly as high as it once was. Its stock-market value isn’t even close to today’s leader, Apple, which makes real products.
Welch’s legacy will no doubt continue to fade. He has no moral right to make accusations against one of the U.S. government’s most forthright agencies. He sees in the government what he himself was.
More from Jeff Madrick:
Fleming awoke in the dark and his room felt loose, sloshing so badly he gripped the bed. From his window there was nothing but a hallway, and if he craned his neck, a blown lightbulb swung into view. The room pitched up and down and for a moment he thought he might be sick. The word “hallway” must have a nautical name. Why didn’t they supply a glossary for this cruise? Probably they had, in the welcome packet he’d failed to read. A glossary. A history of the boat, which would be referred to as a ship. Sunny biographies of the captain and crew, who had always dreamed of this life. Lobotomized histories of the islands they’d visit. Who else had sailed this way. Famous suckwads from the past, slicing through this very water on wooden longships.
A welcome packet, the literary genre most likely to succeed in the new millennium. Why not read about a community you don’t belong to, that doesn’t actually exist, a captain and crew who are, in reality, if that isn’t too much of a downer on your vacation, as indifferent to one another as any set of co-employees at an office or bank? Read doctored personal statements from underpaid crew members — because ocean life pays better than money! — who hate their lives but have been forced to buy into the mythology of working on a boat, separated now from loved ones and friends, growing lonelier by the second, even while they wait on you and follow your every order.
Number of people stopped and frisked by the NYPD in 2011 for “furtive movements”:
The faces of Lego people were growing angrier.
Four people were arrested for using a remote-controlled hexacopter to fly two pounds of tobacco to prisoners inside the yard at Calhoun State Prison in Georgia.
Subscribe to the Weekly Review newsletter. Don’t worry, we won’t sell your email address!
Our congratulations to Alice Munro, winner of the 2013 Nobel Prize for Literature