He is, after all, prone to excess. Want to know how Levine has spent his newfound wealth? He bought a tank. A real one, with a howitzer on top and turrets that spin around. Last summer, for kicks, he chased a pizza-delivery boy, and the following day while "four-wheeling in the woods," he ran smack into a tree. He emerged with one less tooth and a concussion. The buddy with him got 17 stitches. Levine also owns 15 guns, which he has, on occasion, used to shoot up his own sprinkler system. His 67-foot Hatteras is named Soldier of Fortune. Some people swear they've seen the magazine of the same name lying on his desk. "I'm not a mercenary or anything," he says with a smile. "But if business ever goes bad. . . . "
Of course, neither Cabletron's sales, nor profits, nor quality show any signs of eroding. But there are signs that Levine and Benson's sometimes harsh style of management and Cabletron's self-image as a bit of a ruffian may not serve the company well as it struggles to stay ahead of the pack. "To counteract any problems associated with growth," suggests Casson, "Bob and Craig will simply shout louder."
But battering the company into submission won't work. Cabletron's turnover is already worrisome. Last year the company fired more than 10% of its white-collar employees. Thirty percent of outside salespeople don't make it through the first 90 days; another 40% are gone within six months. Last summer Benson joined 40 employees for a Sunday boat trip. Afterward he ordered two of them fired immediately. One had not even started yet. "I hated him," says Benson, who was eventually persuaded to give the new hire a chance. At sales meetings, reports Kenneth Levine, it's standard to conduct private polls on who will go next.
Such trigger-happy behavior takes a toll on morale. When Michael Welts, marketing manager, was hired, in November 1989, he was thrilled but a little scared. "I had heard about the people who had preceded me," he says. The longest any of them had lasted was six weeks. "Back then I'd sit in my cubicle and I'd fear the sound of those boots coming down the hall, moving fast, getting louder and louder," says Welts, 29. "I knew he was heading for me, so I'd stand up. He'd say, 'Welts, we have to talk.' " Welts doesn't worry as much anymore. But, he notes, "I know what will happen if I relax at all. I'll hear those heels." Is this management by fear? "If they're afraid of being fired," charges Bob Monaco, "they probably deserve to be fired."
As generous as they are about firing, Levine and Benson are stingy about adding people -- "I don't even ask anymore," says Casson. One way Cabletron keeps the staff small is by giving employees enormous autonomy; for example, salespeople have lots of latitude on pricing. Levine and Benson also pay well. When the company went public, they gave away $2.3 million worth of shares to employees. And 250,000 shares were sold to the employees at $4 a share even though the offering price was $15.50.
But the thin ranks mean that some employees get pushed to their limits -- or beyond. Dave Ayers, a regional sales manager in New York City, got so shaky and irrational at one point last year that Levine and Benson thought he had developed a drug problem. Confronted, Ayers confessed he was just worn out. "We needed more people," says Ayers, 36, "and we weren't getting them." He got to spend a week on Levine's boat, resting. Jack Branowski, who is a director of sales, has 17 people reporting to him. "It keeps me moving," he says. "You can always do a little more. I can always stay a few minutes later."
But at some point, he will reach his limit. Before then, Levine and Benson, who have so far tried hard to avoid any structure that feels big, will need to figure out how best to preserve the company's cherished speed. Cabletron's success, thus far, has been built on knowing what it isn't; now it must define what it is. "There is going to be another structure, and Bob and Craig know that," says Jim Sims, who also serves as a director of sales. "They see it coming."
Perhaps so. Recently, Levine and Benson hired a couple of high-powered executives: one to serve as chief financial officer, the other as director of manufacturing. Levine has also been expanding what he refers to as a management SWAT team. It consists, he says, "of a couple of people with no real responsibility for anything. They sniff things out." Could it be the beginning of a bureaucracy? "At some point, we'll need more layers," says Benson. "But we have to preserve the spirit."
Just now that spirit, who has been seated, glances at his watch and flies to his feet. He nearly hits his head on the picture hanging above him -- a sentimental shot of him and Benson outside a competitor's headquarters. "I've got to get going," he says, checking to see if the weather will accommodate his flight plans. Levine travels at least 30% of the time; Benson stays mostly at headquarters. It used to be that Levine could make the rounds of all the salespeople in a month. Now he's lucky to visit them all in a year.
He runs into his office and, sidestepping some dumbbells, grabs a shirt that is hanging from the ceiling. "There's a feel to this place," he says, furiously buttoning it. "It feels like it did just a couple of years ago. It doesn't feel like there are 1,300 people here. We don't want it to, and it won't."
