Passing out markers, professor Martin Marshall asks them to write down what business they're in. Quickly, many do. Others, like Johnson, are not so quick. Johnson recognizes that the day's case study, on The Saturday Evening Post, involves a publishing company that acquired forests and pulp mills and along the way forgot what its business was -- namely, publishing. He frets that Marshall is popping a trick question. And so on one side of the carboard he writes his primary products -- DOORS AND WINDOWS. On the other side he puts his market -- SERVICE HOME BUILDERS. From that day forth, he turns this side in Marshall's class, the other side to the fore in all his other classes.
Bill Speakman, a CEO from Wilmington, Del., takes a different tack. He writes nothing. His 118-year-old company makes brass plumbing fittings. It also distributes plumbing, heating, and air-conditioning supplies. He's buying more offshore and assembling the product in the States. He's not exactly sure what he should write. The white space below his name does not go unnoticed by Marshall, in this first class, and class after class thereafter. "Speakman, when are you going to figure out what business you're in?" Marshall barks every couple of days, in what becomes a running joke.
Often during their Harvard stay, OPMers hear the term "ratlike cunning." That's what most of them bring to the program, how most of them have managed their businesses. Their instincts or sheer determination and long hours have served them well.
Most find themselves at some sort of turning point in their businesses. Some, like Johnson, are a little breathless; they want help in mustering their second wind. They want to know which skills need strengthening, and if their compass is pointing the right way. They all sense that ratlike cunning may have gotten them this far, but it won't take them to that next big step.
For Johnson's mill-working company, future growth means becoming the industry leader in service -- on-time delivery. "By the time a builder gets to the mill work, he's right at the end of the job," Johnson explains. "If he's like most, he's behind schedule. He couldn't dig the foundation on time because it was too cold. Then it rained and the hole filled up. Everything's behind. He can't afford this mill-work guy to screw up. So it's risky for us because we're foremost in mind, and we tend to get blamed if a house is late, but it's also an opportunity.'
Johnson had to do something about back orders -- often just a single item on a 50-line order, perhaps a stairway banister or things as small as doorstops that weren't ready and had to be sent later on another truck. Back orders cost plenty in reduced efficiency and strained relations with customers. Johnson's solution: he impulsively bet employees $10 they couldn't go a single day without a back order. Within the first week, he gladly handed out a stack of $10 bills. Then upped the ante: $50 to every employee in the company (15 at the time) for a week without back orders. Then $200 for a month. Finally, Johnson made it a year: 12 months without a back order and he'd give everyone a trip to Hawaii. That's when he lost them.
Thanks to the bonus program, Johnson had improved performance fourfold. But he'd erred in setting his next goal. A year was simply too long. The feeling in the shop: "We'd have an easier time winning the lottery.'
* * *
By the time the first OPM week (including Saturday classes) has run into the second, fewer and fewer overnight packages arrive from "the office." There are fewer calls back. The first practical joke has been sprung -- a note on university stationery telling a study group leader he's been invited to sip sherry with the dean. Somebody's equated OPM with a fishing trip and is letting unshaven whiskers march on toward a beard. The routine has been established. Breakfast at 7:00, study groups from 7:45 to 8:55. Class from 9:00 to 10:15; coffee break; class from 10:45 to noon. After lunch, a third class from 1:15 to 2:30. The curriculum covers five disciplines: marketing, finance, management control, business strategy, and the human aspects of management.
Before dinner, some OPMers work out in the gym or play squash, go shopping in Harvard Square, grab a nap, or try to get a start on the three case studies for the next day's classes. After dinner, there are several more hours of reading, maybe a beer in the common living room, then bed. Nick Babson, chairman and president of a company that manufactures dairy farm equipment, somebody used to keeping farmer's hours himself -- up at 5:30 a.m., bed by 10:00 p.m. -- often finds himself reading well past midnight.
"It's so much better to be dealing with live problems rather than reading some textbook," he says. "And you also have the interaction with your peers, guys who are struggling with some of the same problems. Most of us function as CEO, COO, and public-relations guy, and we're so busy trying to go as fast as we can that it's hard to look objectively at how all the parts are working together.'
There are no quizzes, no tests, no papers to write. No grades. Nothing of the sort is necessary. OPMers arrive on campus highly motivated. For all they know, today's discussion on acquisitions could save them a multimillion-dollar mistake; tomorrow's class on marketing might trigger a crucial shift in emphasis.
One of the most popular professors is Marshall, the marketing professor. Marshall, who often as not dresses in a comfortable old sweater and who makes frequent and effective use of his astringent sense of humor, is a master of the peculiarly appropriate observation.
