Book Reviews

Go To Hopkins & Company Homepage

Go to Executive Times Archives

 

Go to 2004 Book Shelf

 

The Dumbest Moments in Business History: Useless Products, Ruinous Deals, Clueless Bosses, and Other Signs of Unintelligent Life in the Workplace by Adam Horowitz

 

Rating: (Read Only If Your Interest Is Strong)

 

Click on title or picture to buy from amazon.com

 

 

Dim

I laughed a lot when I read the list of the 101 Dumbest Moments in Business that appeared in Business 2.0. Based on the success of that listing, the editors decided to proceed with a book titled, The Dumbest Moments in Business. Unfortunately, the book isn’t nearly as entertaining as the list. Turning some pages was downright dreary, so unless you really want someone’s perspective on dumb moments in business, I recommend you take a pass on this book.

Here’s an excerpt from the end of Chapter 4, “Senior Management,” pp. 60-65:

 

Why Mass Transit Has Such a Hard Time Succeeding in This Country

 

“[W]hat you are doing, as managers, with this company makes me SICK. . . . I know the parking lot is not a great mea­surement for ‘effort.’ I know that ‘results’ is what counts, not ‘effort.’ But I am through with the debate. . . . Folks, this is a management problem, not an EMPLOYEE problem. Congratulations, you are management. You have the responsibility for our EMPLOYEES. I will hold you accountable. You have al­lowed this to get to this state. You have two weeks. Tick, tock.”

 

—Neal Patterson, CEO of software company Cerner, in a March 2001 e-mail to management staff. Patterson was concerned with the empti­ness of the company parking lot, while investors, after the e-mail was leaked, became concerned about the stability of Cerner and Patterson himself. The company’s stock sank 22 percent in the three days after the e-mail leaked.

 

In a Time of Great Struggle. . . in a World That Wouldn’t Listen . . . One Man . . . Will Stand Alone: Boss Kevin Costner in Three (Mis)Steps.

 

1.        Having already scored big by turning Boomer boyhood fan­tasies into multimillion-dollar projects (Get to be a baseball player in Bull Durham! Dress up like a Native American in Dances With Wolves! Play Robin Hood in . . . you get the idea), Costner in 1994 produces and stars in another classic of young-male wish fulfillment, Wyatt Earp, a three-hours-plus dissection of the Clanton-Earp contretemps at the OK Corral in 1881. Budgeted at $63 million, Earp earns a less-than-OK $25 million in its summer release, prompting Variety to dub the Western one of the worst film flops ever.

 

2.        Costner realizes the problem with Earp: though he pro­duced and starred, he didn’t direct. The trouble is, he doesn’t come to the realization until his movie the following year, an aquatic epic about the search for dry land on an Earth flooded by melting ice caps, is nearly finished. When Waterworld di­rector Kevin Reynolds quits (can’t imagine why), his star takes the helm. The final budget of $175 million, a Hollywood record at the time, suggests that Costner attempted to melt the North Pole itself. Despite featuring at least one landmark moment in film history—the only time a former depictor of Eliot Ness has ever been seen quaffing his own urine on-screen—Waterworld makes only $88 million in U.S. box offices. Thanks to video sales and foreign distribution, the movie eventually turns a wee profit, but Costner is pegged by critics and filmgoers as insufferably, ponderously self-absorbed even by Hollywood Standards.

 

3.        Costner realizes the problem with Waterworld: too much wa­ter. His next epic (after a break to play some golf in Tin Cup) is set in an arid, postapocalyptic wasteland where the mov­ie’s producer-director-star, playing an ersatz mailman, leads a band of rebels offering a special delivery. . . of justice. Audi­ences in 1997 guffaw at the trailer, which showcases Costner heroically astride his trusty steed and wearing a U.S. Postal Ser­vice uniform—so much for the action figure licensing bonanza— leading Warner Bros. to remove most of the mail-carrying imagery on posters and trailers for a movie called The Postman. Budgeted at $80 million and featuring inspiring dialogue such as “It takes one postman to make someone else a postman,” the movie posted less than $20 million in U.S. box offices.

 

There’s a Reason Why Waterworld Was Called “Heaven’s Lake.”

 

United Artists thought it was signing up a prestige picture when the studio greenlighted a historical heartland epic in 1978. Michael Cimino, fresh off Best Director and Best Picture Academy Awards for The Deer Hunter, was contracted to make a $7.5 million movie that would take a little more than two months to shoot and run at about two and a half hours. In­stead, the Heaven’s Gate production costs more than quadru­pled to $36 million—unthinkably lavish in those days—as the filming dragged on through retake after retake for four months, and Cimino just couldn’t bring himself to brutalize his creation by cutting the movie to less than five and a half hours. Nervous UA envoys who ventured to the set in Montana to find out what the heck was going on were greeted by auteur hau­teur; the studio didn’t clamp down until the blown budget threatened to sink United Artists itself.

 

Critics able to peer through on-screen dust storms de­tected a terrible movie, and audiences in 1980 simply stayed away from what the New York Times termed “an unqualified disaster.” Heaven’s’ box-office gate was hellish—the first week­end pulled in just $1.3 million. A year later, United Artists’ owner, Transamerica, sold off the damaged studio. Cimino be­came the poster boy for the dangers of indulging visionary di­rectors, which is why today all creative decision making in Hollywood is entrusted to CPAs. But Cimino wasn’t drummed entirely out of the business. His 1996 film, The Sunchaser, star­ring Woody Harrelson, wrapped filming three days ahead of schedule and under budget. The movie opened in only about two dozen theaters, taking in what Variety described as a “gloomy” $609 per screen its opening weekend.

 

Even Better: The Fetus Is in an Airtight Compartment, so There’s No Danger of Secondhand Smoke. Fire ‘Em Up, Ladies!

 

“Some women would prefer having smaller babies.”

 

—Joseph Cullman, then chairman of cigarette manufacturer Philip Mor­ris, after being presented in 1971 with studies showing the correlation between pregnant smokers and low-birth-weight babies

 

Oh, C’mon, That Joe Cuilman Quote Was from Three Decades Ago. Cigarette Makers Have Become Much More Socially Responsible Since Then.

 

“At some point they will learn to crawl, and then walk.”

 

—RJR Nabisco chairman Charles Harper at a shareholders meeting in April 1996, explaining that infants who have a problem with secondhand smoke can just move to another room

 

And They Say It’s Impossible to Foul Yourself.

 

The American Basketball Association of the 1970s seems like a long-lost era of professional basketball utterly unconnected to today’s National Basketball Association. Gone are the red-white-and-blue basketballs, hot-pants uniforms, Afros the size of beanbag chairs and entire rosters of players who’d never been handcuffed and shoved into the backseat of a patrol car. But vestiges of the ABA do survive, in the form of four teams that joined the NBA—and the spectacularly terrible deal their owners struck with the ABA’s St. Louis Spirits in order to free themselves up to make the switch. When the ABA folded in 1976, the NBA absorbed the Indiana Pacers, the Denver Nug­gets, the New York (now New Jersey) Nets and the San Anto­nio Spurs. Under the rules of the merger those teams were supposed to arrange compensation for the remaining teams, including the Spirits. Most took what was on offer (the Colonels owner got $3 million) and scuttled away, but Spirits owners Donald Schupnak and brothers Dan and Ozzie Silna held out for a better deal. In the end, the four NBA teams agreed to give the three men $2.2 million plus one-seventh of their annual television income.

 

In perpetuity. Forever.

It was the smartest deal in sports history, which means somebody at the other end deserves the title for dumbest. In the pre—Michael Jordan era, “TV income” didn’t instantly trans­late as megamillions. For the entire 1980s, in fact, the deal paid the Silnas and Schupnak a relatively modest $8 million. But then 10-figure TV dough started rolling into the league, and every year a good chunk of it—about $13 million at last count—goes straight to the former owners of a team that never dribbled a ball in the NBA. Pacers president Donnie Walsh desperately tried for five years in the 1990s to buy out the deal when it became apparent what sort of bonanza the ex-ABA teams would be shelling out, but finally gave up in 1999. Over the past quarter century, the Silnas and Schupnak have been compensated for their nonexistent troubles an esti­mated $100 million through the end of the 2001—02 TV con­tract. Despite his first-class compartment on a long-rolling gravy train, Ozzie Silna does keep busy. Sticking a needle in his reluctant benefactors, Ozzie runs an embroidery company that sells caps emblazoned with the old Spirits logo and the words “In Spirit—In Perpetuity.”

If you’re a fan of outtakes, those video bloopers shows, The Dumbest Moments in Business should amuse you. For me, the fact that the authors overlooked the entire S&L debacle made the effort more shallow than I expected. Had the rest of the book been really funny, I would still recommend it. Unfortunately, the laughs just aren’t worth it for most readers.

Steve Hopkins, April 23, 2004

 

ã 2004 Hopkins and Company, LLC

 

The recommendation rating for this book appeared in the May 2004 issue of Executive Times

URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The Dumbest Moments in Business History.htm

 

For Reprint Permission, Contact:

Hopkins & Company, LLC • 723 North Kenilworth AvenueOak Park, IL 60302
Phone: 708-466-4650 • Fax: 708-386-8687

E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com

www.hopkinsandcompany.com