If anything, O'Neill attacked his job at
Alcoa (and "attack" is a quintessential O'Neill word) with
a streak of initiative that is highly uncharacteristic of
old-line manufacturing industries like metal casting. He
reorganized the company, getting rid of layers of management
and practically emptying out the headquarters building in
Pittsburgh. He set up 20 decentralized operating units,
each focussed on its own markets. He reined over a Total
Quality initiative. He went head-to-head with detractors
in the environmental community.
Change Agent
-- In fact, more than anything else, O'Neill demonstrated
himself to be a professional "change agent." Not "change
for change's sake," but change that comes from necessity.
O'Neill has said that he views the world as a place that
requires rapid, repeated change of people, at least if they
are to have any hope of continuing to lead, or, for that
matter, to survive.
Here's how O'Neill has explained the need
to make changes: "It is my conviction that change should
occur when things are going well, not when the pressure
of failure forces action. Waiting until outside events force
change is at best reactive administration and at worst management
cowardice." And, if that's not reason enough, he has added
a second: "My unwillingness to wait. My own observations
and instincts tell me [when] we should be doing something
different."
It is perhaps not surprising, then, that
O'Neill quickly found himself on the front lines of Alcoa's
marketing effort. His attitude? If we want to sell more
aluminum, and do so at higher prices, we're going to have
to get people to use it in more stuff. And if we want to
get people to use it in more stuff, we're going to
have to show them -- show them the aluminum, show
them the stuff, show them the stuff with the aluminum
in it, show them how much better it works -- the
whole nine yards!
Get out there and
sell! -- In his work at Alcoa,
O'Neill seemed to take a page from the book of sophisticated
marketers like DuPont -- people who say, "We can cook up
something to solve just about any problem; the trick is
to convince people the problem needs to be solved." Teflon
is slippery, but nobody cares unless DuPont can corral the
cookware makers into spending time and money stressing the
benefits of slippery pots and pans to housewives who are
tired of scrubbing dishes. Similarly, everyone knows that
aluminum is light and strong; O'Neill recognized that it
was his responsibility to demonstrate what those
benefits look like in a specific part like an auto frame.
Ironically, when O'Neill came on board at
Alcoa, he found a company whose strategy was to give up
on aluminum and become another polymers company, just like
DuPont. O'Neill had a different approach: Let's stick with
aluminum and become a marketing company like DuPont!
Getting Into Shapes
-- One consequence of O'Neill's marketing approach is that
Alcoa started to do something a little crazy: they started
to buy and build casting operations. And not just the kind
of continuous casting operations that create semi-fabricated
aluminum. They bought or built wheel casting plants and
investment casting plants and fastener plants and auto space
frame diecasting plants.
Didn't that create channel conflict? Shouldn't
Alcoa be leaving casting to the casting specialists? The
thing is, Alcoa tried that, offering a $1 billion bounty
to any one of the Big Three automakers that would devote
itself to an aluminum-intensive car. That grand gesture
received little appreciation in Detroit. Calling the offer
"chump change," Ward's Auto World observed that "a
billion dollars is enough to design and build a vehicle,
but the high cost of aluminum and the fabrication problems
associated with it have kept U.S. automakers from taking
the deal. Those U.S. automakers all have research programs
working on aluminum car bodies."
Conclusion: If you want something done,
do it yourself.
Hi-Tech Aluminum Castings--
Alcoa spent $170 million in Europe
helping Audi AG develop its A8 sedan, mainly through a greenfield
investment in a diecasting operation to make aluminum space
frames in Soest, Germany. This gave O'Neill the opportunity
to step up to the plate and enjoy making a product out of
the raw material he sold. "It's relatively easy to make
an aluminum die casting," he said. "The die castings we
have had to learn how to make are different in order to
capture the absolute crashworthiness of those components.
The typical die casting of today is going to have an elongation
of four percent; the die castings we're going to
be supplying to Audi for this automobile will have an elongation
ranging anywhere from 16 to 20 percent." O'Neill continued:
"The reason we've had to learn how to do that is to supply
to [the automakers] a component that is extraordinarily
tough and able to handle and manage these crash-energy loads
without shattering and coming apart. They've got to hang
together, fold like an accordion and perform their function."
Perhaps Alcoa's marketing-driven attraction
to casting and fabrication was compounded by the limitation
the company faces in the technology for producing aluminum
itself. There has been virtually no change in the process
Alcoa created a hundred years ago for manufacturing aluminum
-- the Hall-Heroult electrolytic process -- and none is
on the horizon, either. That puts a very hard constraint
on Alcoa's ability to deliver on what it recognizes is a
real need: lower (and more stable) costs that will allow
aluminum to more easily compete with other materials, like
steel . . .
No Corporate
Welfare. . . which leads naturally
to the problem Alcoa faced with tight margins on semi-fabricated
aluminum, and how Paul O'Neill dealt with it. No discussion
of Paul O'Neill would be complete without mentioning the
"Great Can Sheet Price Hike." In 1994, O'Neill explained
to major users like Coca-Cola and Pepsi that prices for
can stock were unreasonably low and that he was raising
prices immediately -- by 50 - 100%! Needless to say, those
customers were extremely unhappy. And since aluminum sheet
for beverage cans represented 29% of Alcoa's business, it
took guts for Paul O'Neill to take that step. But his outlook
was simple: "The can sheet business was a disaster," he
said. "It wasn't a business, it was a charity. We were getting
a metal price that was half of the replacement cost." Other
aluminum suppliers, likewise suffering from losses on can
sheet, quickly followed Alcoa's lead and raised prices.
What does all
of this lead us to expect now that Paul O'Neill is working
in Washington? O'Neill won't necessarily fulfill his duties
at Treasury by being a great marketer, or a clever technologist,
or a tough negotiator, but he can be expected to
zero in on the key need -- whatever it is -- and attack
it, probably in an unusually direct way. Moreover, we can
make a few specific predictions:
- No free lunches for American industry.
O'Neill has said, "The companies that will survive and
prosper in the future are those that can respond most
effectively to international competition."
- No free lunches for anybody else.
Of the Clinton administration bailout of Russia, he said,
"Currency stabilization for whose benefit? I really don’t
understand why someone would take billions of dollars
and give it to people who willfully created their own
economic mess."
- No job-saving deals. "[Today]
is different from earlier times when improvement and ability
to compete led to more jobs. It's leading to fewer jobs."
- No fast-and-loose markets. O'Neill
is a devotee of stable prices and stable markets, with
a minimum of peaks and valleys, in order to give producers
the confidence they need to carry out operations.
- Production discipline. In 1993,
O'Neill responded to the prospect of Russian aluminum
dumping by orchestrating production cuts in other producing
countries, rather than seeking protection under anti-dumping
laws.
All in all, it is likely we can expect individual
responsibility . . . productivity as top priority . . .
a willingness -- no, a desire -- to compete . . .
common sense . . . .
Gee -- come to think of it, maybe Paul O'Neill
is "one of our own!"