Posts Tagged ‘customer’

The “dy” Logo

January 18, 2010

I enjoyed reading  the new book about innovation at Hewlett-Packard  that Chuck House and Raymond Price just published[1]. It’s quirky and curiously researched, but, most of all, I was happy to read their account of Carly Fiorina’s tenure as CEO at HP.  History was in need of some fact-based revision.   If ever worlds collided, it was at HP when Carleton S.  Fiorina took over the reins after a stunning rise through the executive ranks at ATT/Lucent.  Chuck  points out that, although Carly was not well-liked by her employees (even her direct reports, many  of whom  ultimately undermined her), she sowed the seeds for Mark Hurd’s success.

The executive suite at HP Headquarters on Page Mill Road in Palo Alto was in those days a row of large cubicles, and, in keeping with  the HP culture, there were no doors and no outer offices.   Everyone’s office  – including Carly’s — was really just a cubicle. Carly insisted that I have two offices: one in HP Labs adjacent to the museum-like offices of Bill Hewlett and Dave Packard — these were not cubicles but were real offices,  impeccably maintained in their original 1960′s orange-and-brown Madmen decor —   and the other next to hers overlooking  a Japanese garden.    Carly’s executive council met nearly every week in a nearby conference room whose glass wall looked out over the same garden.

Several   council members had offices elsewhere, but those of us who had direct access were within a thirty-foot radius of her office.  These were the Gold Badge days at HP when a favored few retirees were granted the privilege of unrestricted, lifetime access to any building and any office suite in the company. The daily comings and goings telegraphed events that would not be visible outside the CEO’s office for days or weeks, even among business heads who had broad authority over multi-billion dollar enterprises.  This turned out to be an important vantage point from which to view sand being  thrown in the gears during HP’s acquisition of Compaq, but I will save these stories for later posts.

Chuck House had been gone from HP for some time when Carly arrived, so his account is based on interviews with a relatively narrow slice of insiders who were his colleagues — an impressive number of people, to be sure, but in a company with 80,000 employees not enough for a definitive portrait.  But House has never been shy about charging ahead when the terrain looks interesting, a personality trait that once earned him a medal from Dave Packard for “Extraordinary Contempt and Defiance Beyond the Call of Duty.”  It was awarded to commemorate a mutinous tour of customer sites to demonstrate a new display monitor after HP management in Colorado Springs had decided to shut it down.   Nevertheless, House’s account gets many things right.  One of the things he misses was what Fiorina brought to HP:  a WWC focus on the customer that was foreign to HP’s engineering culture before her arrival.

House and Price defer to old-guard HP employees in characterizing Carly as a marketer, a fiction that was rooted more in style than in substance.  Fiorina was unnervingly accurate in her assessment of general  market trends,  like the importance of the internet to HP’s mainline businesses,  but, in fact, she was a consummate saleswoman.   What she brought to the table was not the “let’s-see -what -they-think-about-this” arrogance of corporate marketing organizations,  it was the ability to listen to customers, sift through encyclopedic  knowledge of internal plans and projects, and  envision a solution.  Sometimes a  solution was forthcoming.  Sometimes it took a little while longer than customers were willing to wait.  But sometimes solutions were sabotaged.   To have an HP outsider from the East Coast — a telephone equipment salesman, not an engineer — propose a solution to customer problems was an unpardonable sin to some.   It was a WWC culture class that she was slow to recognize.

She was widely criticized for her lack of operational experience, but  the truth is that Carly delegated operational authority too widely and to managers with suspect motives (including past and future pretenders to the throne).  As a newcomer,  I tended to apologize for injecting long-range thoughts into the very operational discussions of the Executive Council, until one day Carly stopped me and said: “You don’t have to apologize for that.  It’s true that we’ll never get to the long-term without taking care of the short-term, but it’s the long-term that makes the short-term worth doing at all.”

Council chemistry changed in the months before the Compaq merger. Vyomesh Joshi took over as head of the imaging and printing business unit.  V.J. is not only a brilliant executive, he is a skilled engineer, whose technical  insights  were mainly responsible for transforming ink jet printing.

The other major additions were Pradeep Jotwani and Iain Morris.  Pradeep had control of worldwide consumer  sales.  He was fond of  long discourses —  sometimes literary, sometimes merely speculative — but their effect was always to slow down a speeding train and turn the discussion in a direction that was more productive.  Iain is a big, brash, Harley-riding  Scott  who Carly recruited from Motorola to carve out emerging businesses  like handheld computers and  entertainment.  Carly quickly transferred   the personal computer businesses to Iain from Duane Zitzner’s  computer business unit where they had languished as unprofitable also-rans.  Morris knew hardware, software and manufacturing from his days at Motorola, and he was also a great salesman.

At one of his first Council meetings, Iain walked in with an HP laptop and stopped everyone cold when he opened it up and bellowed: “What’s wrong here?”  When you  looked at an open HP laptop from the back, the “hp” logo was upside down. It read “dy”, and of course,  that was the way most people saw the laptop:  open and  from the back, inverted logo.  If anyone before had noticed this, it never made it to the upper reaches of management.  The order went out immediately to invert the logo and all of the millions of HP laptops produced since that time now display the logo right side up,  so that it reads “hp”.  It upset some of the industrial designers who argued that laptops were closed a lot of the time and that the orientation of the logo doesn’t matter when a laptop is closed.  It took a salesman’s eye to recognize that it was stupid to have millions customers staring at a “dy”  laptop.

This episode followed on the heels of two other quick-shifts.  One involved HP’s always painful  Federal sales performance.  I will talk about this more fully in a later post.  The other involved architectural consistency,  a concept that bridged customer issues and product design.

Shortly after VJ took over the imaging and printing business, he held an advanced projects review for me in San Diego.  I was struck but the ubiquity of infrared (IR) connectivity ports on HP printers and cameras, and mentioned it to VJ.  He had many compelling reasons for insisting on IR, but complained that Zitzner’s PC division had recently removed IR ports from HP laptops.

To Duane’s immense displeasure, I called  a meeting with some of his design engineers, ostensibly to review the component cost envelope for laptops.  At the end of the meeting, when everyone was worn out,  I asked about IR, and they had a string of good reasons to throw it out.  When I pointed out that HP printers, cameras, and PC’s no longer worked together, they just sat there blinking at me.  Carly overruled engineering objections and IR ports made  a miraculous (albeit short-lived) reappearance in HP laptops.

It would  not be apparent outside the CEO suite for months, but architectural consistency was a technology theme that would drive many R&D investment decisions, both near-term and long-term.   In an effort to jump-start a consumer-facing initiative, Carly had approached Sony about sharing some key technologies.  One of Sony’s success stories was the introduction of memory stick technology into a broad range of Sony products from hundred-dollar consumer entertainment devices to studio-quality video cameras that cost a half million dollars or more.  My counterpart at Sony was a CTO named Mario Tokoro, a computer scientist and engineer who had spent time at the famous computer science department at Carnegie-Mellon University.  Mario had been instrumental in arranging for memory stick technology across a staggering array of Sony’s consumer and business products. The idea of arranging product strategies around this kind of architectural unity would have sped up HP’s brief surge in Internet and Web technologies.  It was an idea that was undone by colliding worlds on a much different scale.


[1] Charles H. House and Raymond L. Price, The HP Phenomenon: Innovation and Business Transformation, Stanford Business Books, 2009

“the chase” — A Trip Report

November 24, 2009

It never fails. Someone from engineering joins the interdisciplinary team and the shoulder pad thumping begins:  tales of sales teams bartering local currency for booze in exotic locations or bailing customers out of jail for busting up a hotel lobby. Sometimes it’s that hilarious story about dressing up like a chicken, sacrificing dignity for a greater cause.  It usually has all the authenticity of  late-night, one-upmanship, “I can top that!”  fraternity bull sessions or maybe the battle scar competition between Quint, Brody and Hooper in Jaws.   I don’t remember that any of these stories had the dramatic impact of Ken Follett’s retelling of the rescue of Ross Perot’s  EDS employees from Iran [1]. But it sends a  WWC signal: “We business guys risk it all.  We’re dedicated. We live in a different — and way more exciting — world than you do.”  Maybe all the engineers need is a story like this one.

We were within hours of defaulting on the delivery schedule for an important contract.  My team was working around the clock to test and package software on a magnetic tape because those were the days when bits had to be sent from place to place in back of a truck. It was late Saturday afternoon and the only one who knew how to get to the Federal Express office in North Atlanta before it closed was our graduate student assistant, Walt, who, as we found out, was not only ingenious and loyal but had some experience in, umm,  navigating back roads.  Walt just wanted to be reimbursed for gas.  “Sure,” I said, “send me a short trip report.”

From: walt@gatech.edu  Sat  Sep 26  16:58:15  1987

Message-Id: <8709262147.AA17782@gatech.edu>

To: rad

Subject: the chase

Status: R0

well, it is on its way — but not without some work!!

i flew to fedx, speeding, running lights, etc. i ran the light at northside in front of oga’s bbq in the turning lane at 60 mph. there was a cop just gettin out of his car at the trajik markup.  i lost him by cutting thru the kroger parking lot and slipping across i-75. then i cut the big star lot to collier. next i had to get passed  the police station on collier — which i did with no trouble but then i came to the light on defoors ferry an met one comming the other way. i bit my lip hoping the other one had not radioed ahead, but he didn’t bat an eye. finally i get down the road to fedx and the truck was waiting for me. did my business and started back out.  there was 4 or 5 blue boys crawling up and down collier and defoors! i hid behind a dumpster til the coast was clear and then slipped 200 ft up defoors to bohler — an old trick — thru the residential section up to moors mill onto 75 and gone!

anyway — if they come get me tonight you may have to contact cathy for any more developments. i really don’t think they got my number.

signing off

walt — in hiding

My Thanksgiving request to all of you who would like to share a story that our dramatically challenged engineering colleagues can haul out as proof of  physical courage and personal commitment is that it be true.  Or at least someone should assure you that a friend of theirs swears that the story is true.

Like the time we took sausages in trade for network hardware.

[1] Ken Follett, On Wings of Eagles, William Morrow & Co 1983

Beware Sharp Edges!

October 23, 2009

BewareSharpEdges

I am sometimes chastised for saying it out loud, but engineers have a hard time with context.  Every physics homework problem that advises, “ignore the effects of gravity and friction” adds another brick to the wall that separates solutions to technical problems from solutions that are meaningful to customers.  I am not making a value judgment.  In fact, we would never make technical progress at all if every possible real-world variable had to be taken into account at the outset of a project.  An engineer once worked for me who insisted on starting every engagement with “What do we mean by reliability?”  before listing all of the possible ways that a system – any system, not necessarily just the one we were supposed to be talking about – could be unreliable.  None of those discussions ever came to a satisfactory conclusion.

However, as we saw in “Well, what kind of fraud is it?“, worlds collide when there is confusion about context. The collisions are damaging to business and sometimes it is impossible to recover from them.  It may be a technical feat to hone the edges of a warning sign to lethal sharpness, but it is not the purpose the sign.

Corporate culture can make it hard to blend context, and it is especially hard for companies with strong engineering roots to draw the line between valued technical advice and technical value that can be delivered to customers.  There was an internal joke at HP:

How can you tell where the sales meeting is?  Look for a dozen white Ford Tauruses in the  visitor parking lot.

The typical HP company car was a white Taurus, and it was common to hold customer meetings in which HP engineers outnumbered customers by five to one or more.

There is one sure-fire way you can tell that engineering culture is driving the business operations to a destructive collision.  I call it the catalog rule.  Imagine a sales meeting with N salesmen and M customer representatives.  One of the salesmen should be able to arrive with all of the sales material and, regardless of how large N is, there should be only M sales packets on the table — one for each of customers.  It happens so often that there are M times N catalogs on the the table that you sometimes scarcely notice it.  A customer wants to buy a solution to a complex problem. At the first customer engagement, glossy specifications for all of the carefully engineered component parts are dumped on the table.  This is the point in the meeting where the customer is supposed to have a flash of insight, leap to his feet and start congratulating the engineers.  In the real world, however, the reaction is a little different.   Very few customers want to be their own system integrators. My former Telcordia Applied Research colleague Dennis Egan puts it this way: “Our engineers just want to see their stuff used.”  It seems like a simple thing to ask for, but sometimes this urge for appreciation trumps all other concerns.   In particular, it can confuse the true business context, although you might have to look hard to find it.

It wasn’t that long ago that choosing a data communications service was a confusing and expensive task.  Many telecom customers chose the safe path and called their traditional voice telephony service providers, although it was frequently a big mistake to do that.  Data services in 1995 were a jumble of  software and hardware standards,  confusing pricing models, and regulatory inconsistencies.  A phone call to Bell Atlantic in 1995 inquiring about ISDN service inevitably led to questions that few commercial customers and almost no residential customers could answer.  The question “How far are you from the Central Office?” would usually be met with: “What’s a Central Office?” Because maps and engineering diagrams were frequently inconsistent, an ISDN customer would sit patiently through explanations of loads and coils and why the service probably would not perform as advertised anyway.  A thick reference book titled Engineering and Operations in the Bell System, published by Bell Labs, was given to every engineer in the company. Later, after the 1984 divestiture of the regional phone companies put the physical plant in the hands of seven independent regional operators, Bellcore maintained Engineering and Operations as the network engineering manual for all telephone infrastructure in the country.  By the time DSL service became widely available in 1997, Engineering and Operations specified a work flow diagram for providing DLS service to a single customer with steps that could only be completed after a hundred other independent steps all were completed.

These were the early days of e-commerce, and a clever group of entrepreneurs formed a company with the wonderful name Simplexity to simplify the life of telecom customers in the new age of data.  They had been buoyed by Michael Dell’s brilliantly simple business plan for the company that was to be Dell Computer™:  four pages that said in plain language that it was a hassle to buy computers and that virtually every potential buyer would choose to make a single phone call directly to a manufacturer if it would cut the hassle.  Buying data service was a hassle, too.  Simplexity’s founders reasoned that the 1997 equivalent of Dell’s single phone call for telecom services was this simple website:

Simplexityloginscreen

By negotiating with service providers for a percentage of all subscription fees – a process that was well understood in the industry because resellers of voice and data services were common – Simplexity was able to project a steady growth in revenue as data customers chose the Dell direct-sales shopping model.  Their first few customers apparently verified the market hypothesis, and Simplexity was one of the start-up successes of 1997, raising substantial venture funding and positioning itself for a successful IPO.

The engineering was flawless.  Simplexity’s Virginia-based development lab looked a lot like silicon valley start ups: an open floor plan with ping pong tables, bean bag chairs and board games scattered everywhere.  Java programmers seemingly fresh out of high school chattered excitedly about the next generation of services that would be marketed through Simplexity.com.

Then Simplexity’s revenue growth stalled.  The large number of smaller contracts that investors had anticipated did not follow the small number of large, early contracts.  In fact, new revenue began to decline even as data services began to explode.  Surprisingly, reseller revenue continued to rise as new customers shopped around and additional data service contracts were added to existing customer accounts in record numbers.  Simplexity began cutting its technical staff and adding traditional sales staff to compete head-to-head with the resellers.  This undercut the cost savings as Simplexity found itself paying more in commissions to order-book-carrying salesmen.  By early 2000, Simplexity had run out of cash, and, shortly after that, the company ceased operations.

In my discussions with company executives it was clear that they understood only too late that Michael Dell’s model did not work in telecom.  Customers had been purchasing voice and data services from human salesmen for years and the inherent inefficiency in doing that was more than offset by the personal relationships that drove sales.  A website – no matter how efficient – could not replace the long-standing social ties between buyers and sellers.  Simplexity was a great technology in a marketplace that did not need it.   The Dell model was a red herring.  Dell worked in the PC marketplace because there was no longstanding and trusted way of buying computers that had to be displaced.

Why didn’t Simplexity’s market research expose such a basic flaw in their business model?  I attended Simplexity’s early customer briefings – meetings for engineers aimed at selling their technical advantages.  They went out of their way to avoid positioning themselves as just another vendor.  Meanwhile their bricks-and-mortar competitors were fighting it out over who would get the next order.  It was “just another vendor” who got the order.

This is the message that I give to new start ups:  if it’s a choice between an exciting technology meeting and a boring sales meeting at which you are just another vendor, choose boring.   Your customer may not understand it, but if your product is really that good it will outshine the competition anyway.   And, if you are in a vendor meeting, chances are someone  is interested in buying.   It may be more exciting to warn everyone about your sign’s incredibly sharp edges, but that’s not the real reason it’s there.

.

Are R&D Customers are Always Wrong?

September 17, 2009

One of the reasons that the world of R&D collides with product worlds is that their agendas don’t quite line up the way you might think they should.  There are of course the questions of culture, incentives and time.  I will return to these questions in later posts, but today I want point out something more fundamental that I think helps explain why Alice and Edward in “Well, kind of fraud is it?” lived in worlds that were on a collision course from the beginning: many R&D managers are not even in the same business as their counterparts in product management and sales.

The Industrial Research Institute is an association of 200 R&D-intensive companies and is one of the most important forums for sharing data and best practices.  Among its members are recognizable brand names in consumer products, manufacturing, electronics and pharmaceuticals.  Alcoa, Xerox, and General Motors are members.  It is fair to say that the IRI represents traditional, orthodox R&D management thought.  Microsoft, Google, and Intel are not members.   It is interesting that innovation models based on the Internet, software, nanotechnology and other industries where startups often lead the way and product development cycles are compressed are notably absent from IRI.

The IRI Medal is awarded for impact on R&D in some of the largest corporations in the world, and in 1996 it was awarded to Robert A. Frosch, who for ten years led the General Motors Research and Development Center.  He anticipated by a generation the importance of industrial ecological impact. Frosch is a true visionary.  His Medalist’s Address to IRI was entitled “The Customer for R&D is Always Wrong!”.  It was a fascinating and very influential piece, but, because the IRI membership is not open to individuals, it is hard to find.

My first thought on hearing the address was that Frosch was talking about something like the “future value of research” (see “Loose Cannons”) until I read the published version of the speech[1]:

I have seldom, if ever, met a customer for an application who correctly stated the problem that was to be solved.

Frosch went on to describe many approaches to establishing and maintaining an effective R&D organization, and that’s what I remembered from the address until GM started its public foundering last year.

I started to wonder, “Did the GM R&D Center fail General Motors?”  I don’t think that’s a fair assessment. After all GM had for many years made vast research investments in efficient engine technology, telematics, and safety – many of the component technologies that we now know are important to the automobile industry,   I think the fault lies elsewhere: traditional R&D management often does not know who the customer is.  R&D managers talk mainly to each other, and senior management enables this behavior.  They worry – necessarily so I’m afraid – about sources of funding from the product divisions.  According to Frosch:

The R&D people must swim in an ocean of corporate problems, present and future.

To Frosch and many organizations charged with innovation, the customer is the one paying the bills for R&D not the one buying the products.  This is a bigger deal than you might imagine, because it shifts your perspective.   It helps explain why R&D organizations have been historically ineffective in resolving Clayton Christensen’s Innovators Dilemma[2], and it helps explain why Alice and Edward had such a hard time aligning their goals.

Frosch says that R&D performance should be measured by:

  • Past performance, not promises/predictions
  • Summing the value of the successes and comparing with the total cost of the research lab, not individual projects.
  • Projecting the value of successes ove their product or process life – the internal rate of return can be surprisingly high

These are internal measures, and there are many examples of R&D organizations that continued to be successful even as their parent companies spiraled into the ground. The IRI membership list is impressive but there are also members who make up  a veritable Who’s Who of companies that were stunningly wrong in their assessment of their markets, and had their R&D laboratories been focused on the real customers they might have avoided disaster.


[1] Robert A. Frosch, “The Customer for R&D is Always Wrong!”, Research Technology Management, November-December 1996: 22-27

[2] Clayton Christensen, The Innovator’s Dilemma, Harvard Business School Press, 1997

“Well, what kind of fraud is it?”

September 15, 2009

Business and engineering goals sometimes seem to be in perfect alignment when just the opposite is true.  When everyone seems to be making progress but the goal is not getting any closer, it might be time to ask whether worlds are colliding.  This happens more often in large organizations, but in fact everyone is vulnerable: if you misread your partner’s agenda there are very few ways to avoid a disastrous collision.

Here’s an example[1].  The project was high profile and complex, but not so complex that it could not be managed by a single project manager – let’s call her Alice — who reported in a line to senior executives.  The ultimate goal was to produce a working prototype based on new computing technology. A successful demonstration of the prototype would almost certainly lead to full-scale development of a new product, a spectacular win and probable promotion for Alice. There were a few nuts-and-bolts engineering goals but the overriding goal was a dramatic safety improvement, and this was how the project was sold internally: a public demonstration that the prototype would function safely under the most adverse conditions. There were many ways to achieve this goal, but Alice had been sold on a radical new technology that would not only leapfrog existing approaches but would be a platform for many future projects.

Alice invested well.  She funded a group of skilled and capable engineers and scientists.  In fact, she funded the team that invented the technology, so her investment was leveraged by several years of prior research, and  – refer to my last post “Loose Cannons, Volume 1” — this is the way managers are supposed to select promising technologies. The scientists were led by Edward, a senior technologist who had guided his R&D team to a string of patents, technical reports and publications that slowly and carefully put in place the building blocks for the prototype.

Under Edward’s supervision, the building blocks for careers were also being put in place.  A PhD dissertation here, a toolkit from a master engineer there, and senior R&D managers whose reputations were to some extent staked on the applicability of the technology to an important product just like this one.  At Alice’s direction, the engineering team focused on near-term milestones.  One was a technology demonstration for a critical component.  Another was the integration of key components.  A third was a real-time simulation of the prototype.  At each step, in careful technical prose, the engineering team reported constant and impressive progress,

But there were internal and external critics who thought that the technology was overly complex and that the claims needed to be more carefully examined.  Some critics, like Bob, were promoting competing technologies.  Others thought, like Charlie, that the underlying approach was flawed and should be discarded.  Others were seasoned but neutral scientists like Doris, who was skeptical of all sweeping claims but had no particular ax to grind.  Even the critics agreed, however, that the engineering team was first-rate and that if the approach could be made to work at all, this was the team that could pull it off. Alice was aware of the critics and to help her balance the technical risks, she invited Bob, Charlie and Doris to serve on her Advisory Board – to become her skeptical insiders for the project.

Quarter after quarter Alice reported both the steady progress and the risks to her management who asked the appropriate questions but gave her the green light to continue, largely on the growing reputation of Edward’s team.  As the project drew to a close, Alice was asked to prepare a balanced summary and recommendation.  Alice scheduled a final project review.  Bob, Charlie and Doris helped select a dozen additional reviewers while Edward began assembling the massive project documentation and preparing his team to brief the reviewers.  Alice’s direction to Edward was this: “We all understand your technology, so you don’t have to educate us about it.  We need to know exactly what was accomplished.”

It took several months to prepare for the review.  About two months before the review date, Alice and Edward scheduled a series of demonstrations at headquarters.  Charlie was there along with a group of a dozen executives including some of the review panelists, but the marketing nature of the meeting was unmistakable.  Sprinkled in the group were senior representatives from customer organizations, government agencies, most of Alice’s managers, and Edward’s boss.  Alice had staked her personal credibility on a successful outcome.  She was confident enough to preview the results and she wanted use that preview to build excitement as the product phase was launched. To the rest of the group – and especially to Edward — she was not Edward’s customer.  Alice was a partner in a new and exciting era that was being launched that day.

The day did not go as planned. The demonstration was a computer simulation of the prototype.  The group crowded around the color monitor (a big deal in those days) as the prototype was put through its paces.  Alice told the group she knew that a live demo was gutsy.  Then the image on the display began spinning and then froze.  Edward rebooted the simulation.  Still nothing.  Alice pushed on as if nothing had happened, inviting the group to a demo at the upcoming project review.  It is not clear that Alice and Edward understood the significance of this episode.

Couriers delivered large review packages to the reviewers’ offices as preparations for the meeting accelerated.  Charlie started receiving phone calls from Bob: “Charlie, I’ve been looking over the reports, and I have some problems with what Edward is claiming.”  “These are based on papers published in top journals,” Charlie said.  “It’s not the scientific claims,” Bob said, “It’s their application to the product.  I think they messed with the experiments to get the result they wanted.”

The review began on Tuesday morning in a large conference room.  Bob’s comments had spread quickly through the Advisory Board and there were perhaps a dozen back-channel conversations taking place about what it meant.  Edward’s team should have been on edge, but, although the atmosphere in the room was tense, the younger team members — buoyed by Alice’s collegial demeanor and Edward’s favorable report to the team of the outcome of the live demo — seemed unusually relaxed.

Over the next two days, every scientific claim was dissected. “Yes, we see what was claimed in this published report, but it looks like a purely mathematical result. What does it have to do with the prototype?”,  said one reviewer.   Several panelists wanted Edward to square published claims with the apparent inconsistency of the disastrous live demo.  Still another rushed to the blackboard and proceeded to find a counter-example to a published claim.  Bob wanted to know how Edward’s team could have pulled off what Bob’s competing team could not do.  This was hardball, but it was nothing that Alice had not expected.

Finally, at the end of day two, William – the youngest member of the Edward’s team  – moved to the podium and began a scientific summary that included his original research and the less technical summaries of it that had been prepared for popular consumption.  It was clear that William’s PhD dissertation had an enormous impact on the course of the project. .

Finally, from the back of the room, Doris spoke up, “I want you to explain this claim right here” pointing to a critical and widely reported result that apparently cleared the way to broad applicability of the technology.  Doris had been nearly silent to that point. The dramatic effect of her question brought everything to a stop.  Edward gave a nontechnical answer.  William jumped in with technical details.  Other members of the engineering team tried to help.  Doris wasn’t buying any of it and brushed aside all of the responses with well-reasoned arguments taken from their own published reports.

Doris said, “I certainly believe William’s claim, here.  It’s a groundbreaking result.  But what I don’t believe is the following report that it was used successfully in the prototype you are showing us today.”  The response was not planned, but William blurted: “It wasn’t.  We used a simplified version of the prototype.”  The room went silent.  “There’s no way we could have used the final version.  It would have been too complex.”  Alice stood up and stared at Edward:  “That’s not what you reported to me.”  At that moment, in Edward’s eyes, Alice, snapped back into focus as a customer, and Edward understood that Alice’s goals were not aligned with his. As the effect of Alice’s words sunk in, the more inexperienced William tried lighten the mood with a little humor: “Look.  Everything we said was true.  It’s not out and out fraud.”

Doris rose.  “Well, what kind of fraud is it?”

It took a long time for the panel’s report to appear. The project was buried, the product was never built and although Alice recovered successfully, Edward and his team were wounded, although William and some of the other engineers went on to careers in pure research, continuing their work on the underlying technology.

Edward’s team had been making progress on technology, and their primary loyalty was to the community of peers who would celebrate their continued success.  The prototype was an interesting but not essential piece of their research program – useful only to the extent it helped advance their research goals.  William’s work was the least tightly coupled to the prototype and in fact his primary interest in the project stemmed not from the prototype but from ideas born years before while he was still a graduate student.  They all interpreted Alice’s support over the years as not only endorsement of the underlying technology but also a kind of professional endorsement of career choices that were tied to scientific acceptance of the research.   Alice interpreted the acceptance of Edward’s team as a validation of her own credentials as a technology leader.

This was Edward’s R&D world that went crashing into Alice’s product world, a world where the prototype had value independent of whatever underlying technology it used.  Alice only too late understood that success in the R&D world had its own set of goals and rules for achieving them and that her support did not necessarily advance her own product goals. The Engineering team saw her as an ally in achieving their goals.  Alice saw Edward as a fellow traveler.  He was not.  Edward was imagining the many future projects that would regard his achievement as an enduring technological innovation.


[1] For reasons that will become obvious, I’ve disguised the names of the organizations and people involved, but I’ve been faithful to the conversations and the underlying message.