But producing at such low cost requires a higher-volume approach--which, in turn, means running through the machine a continuous ribbon of molten glass, from which solar panels would be cut one after the other. Nolan--and many of the key employees--advocated a more conservative method that involved processing one panel at a time.
Though Jim Nolan emphasizes that his differences with McMaster were strategic, not personal, he says he could never influence the chairman's mind. "Harold's thinking dominates that company, and Harold is not inclined to change his mind. I'd be surprised if he ever decided to go after the small markets before we hit the home run." Still, as an officer and an investor, Nolan felt he had an obligation to make his opinion known. He says he tried "20 different ways" to tell McMaster he was making a strategic error, finally going so far as to put his thoughts in a letter to McMaster.
Steve Kaake, the electrical engineer who worked under Nolan, recalls once trying to divine with Nolan, over a round of beers after work, what drove McMaster. "We couldn't figure it out," recalls Kaake, who labels McMaster's technological approach "10,000 times harder" than Nolan's.
Bob Nicholson, the mechanical engineer in Nolan's group, suggests a simpler explanation for McMaster's doggedness. "Time was running out on Harold," says Nicholson. You go down in history if you're the guy who made solar energy affordable, he says, " not if you're the inventor of the curved windshield."
Control
McMaster says that by staying the R&D course and holding out for the big markets, SCI is making the very progress that it needs to allow the company to get a continuous line up and running by the year 2000. "The breakthroughs we've had the last two years have put us so far ahead," he says. "Without them we didn't have anything to offer."
By the end of 1995, with five of the original seven key hires gone, SCI, like Glasstech Solar before it, was running out of cash. In January 1996, McMaster issued more stock, which he then bought himself; that boosted his stake in SCI from 22% to 67%. He specifically stipulated that the money be used to develop the high-speed-deposition process. He also brought in his faithful lieutenant from the Glasstech days, Mike Cicak, 62, to be SCI's new president.
With a background in the auto and glass industries, Cicak is from the bare-knuckles school of business. He recalls with some pride that, as an executive at American Motors, he helped set up a sting that caught workers pilfering parts from a warehouse near Boston.
"This is the next Intel," Cicak frequently announces to all within earshot. He then goes on to explain that a share of stock in SCI valued at $10,000 today will be worth $100,000 in three years--and $1 million in 10 years. That assertion, offered one day at a conference-room lunch, drew slightly embarrassed looks from SCI's scientists and engineers.
It is Cicak who gives ample voice to McMaster's vision. "I want to build a 100-megawatt line. We think the whole world will come to us because of our ease of manufacturing and low cost." But building a 100-megawatt line would cost $100 million. Where would SCI get that kind of money? Cicak says that first he would get customers to sign long-term contracts, obligating them to purchase a certain amount of production off the line; then he would borrow money. (At press time, Cicak claimed, there were three companies in as many countries negotiating to buy panels from SCI, including competitor BP Solar.)
Cicak's presence accentuates the philosophical fissure that runs down the middle of the company. Jim Nolan and some of his crew have moved on, but they have been replaced by a new generation of scientists and engineers quietly fretting about the prospect of opportunity sacrificed on the altar of the Big Vision.
Steven Johnson, who is trying to build infrastructure and a culture at SCI, worries that it will be difficult to attract semiconductor-technology talent to Toledo, which he describes as "a classic midwestern manufacturing town."
Gary Dorer, vice-president of technologies, acknowledges: "We're struggling in switching over to being a manufacturer. The researcher is never happy with the product; it's hard for us to stop pushing buttons." He says that endlessly pursuing research with the idea of finally producing the perfect product is "like Intel waiting until it gets the Pentium 10 developed before it releases a chip."
A White Knight?
By early 1998 the tentativeness inside the company must have seemed palpable to would-be customers and partners. SCI's technology seemed the talk of the industry, but no one was stepping up. In fact, ardent courtship followed by disappointment seemed the norm. According to Cicak, two years earlier AFG, a major manufacturer of architectural glass, was set to enter into a joint venture with SCI. But its Japanese parent, Asahi Glass Co., worried about the environmental impact of cadmium telluride and nixed the deal at the 11th hour; Shell's interest seems to have waned. Cicak says he wined and dined the president of Enron's solar division at the Toledo Club, but then Enron chose a competing technology.
But then, just as suddenly, Cicak says, a white knight appeared in the form of a major local utility, Detroit Edison, that looked like it meant business. Detroit told Steve Johnson that if it didn't start a joint venture with SCI, it would invest in another solar company. In mid-February, just four months after that first meeting, Detroit began showing serious interest. It wanted 60% of any joint venture and it wanted to control the technology. Cicak says, "They are talking to us about building an assembly line of 20 to 30 megawatts. But we want to build a 100-megawatt line. That's the key--we want to control our destiny."
