Too Big to Fail [77]
Thain, Paulson’s former number two at Goldman Sachs, had been brought in to run Merrill just seven months earlier to help restore some semblance of order after the firm reported its biggest loss in history and ousted its chief executive, Stan O’Neal. At the time, Larry Fink actually thought he was the top candidate for the job, only to find out by reading the New York Post’s Web site that he had lost out to Thain. His own job interview was supposed to have been later that week, which might explain some of his frustration with Thain.
An ultra-straitlaced executive who was sometimes referred to as “I-Robot,” Thain had appealed to Merrill’s board because of his newly minted reputation as a turnaround artist. After rising rapidly through the ranks at Goldman, he left to overhaul the New York Stock Exchange after the extravagant compensation package for its CEO, Richard Grasso, caused an outrage. Fink, ironically, had led the exchange’s search committee that selected him. At the NYSE, Thain (who, perhaps not surprisingly, took a post-Grasso $16 million pay cut) unleashed a radical transformation, shaking the world’s largest stock exchange out of its clubby, anachronistic ways. He cut perks—shutting the wood-paneled Luncheon Club and firing the exchange’s barber—and turned the exchange into a for-profit, publicly traded company. He took on the powerful, entrenched constituency of floor traders and specialists, who protested in vain as Thain dragged them into the electronic trading age.
Thain, who had grown up in Antioch, Illinois, a small town just west of Lake Michigan, had always been considered a talented problem solver. In his junior year at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, when he interned at Procter & Gamble, he made a simple but highly significant observation of an assembly line he was supervising. The workers were making Ivory soap, and whenever technical problems forced the line to come to a halt, they would wait for it to start up again before getting back to work. The college boy persuaded the workers that there was no reason to stop—they could keep making soap and stack the boxes on the side until the line came back on. That way their bonuses, which were based on production, would not be affected. Thain won them over, especially after he pitched in and stacked boxes himself.
While his public image as a callous technocrat may not have been entirely fair, Thain did have his weaknesses. With an engineering background, he could come across as a purely linear thinker who sometimes seemed remarkably tone deaf. “When he made conversation, he would explain the things in detail to almost the point that I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about,” Steve Vazquez, one of his peers from high school, said. At a meeting at Goldman in 1999, Thain told a roomful of bankers and lawyers, “Would it hurt you to suck up to me once in a while?” He thought he was being funny; others couldn’t tell.
The incident that had so enraged Fink turned out to be just another example of his tin ear, as Fleming ultimately discovered. Thain had been taking part in a conference call with Deutsche Bank investors when Michael Mayo, the analyst running the call, asked him, “So, I think you said before that you’re comfortable with BlackRock and Bloomberg. Is that still the case? Under what circumstances would you say it doesn’t make sense to have those investments anymore?”
Thain, reasonably enough, took the question to be a hypothetical. Of course Merrill needed to look at all its assets and figure out which ones could be turned into cold, hard cash, he said; in this environment, any investment bank needed to do that. “At the end of last year when we were looking to raise capital, we looked at various options, which included selling common, selling converts,” Thain replied. “But also included using some of the valuable assets that we have on our balance sheet, like Bloomberg and BlackRock.
“And if we were to raise more capital, we would continue that process of evaluating