By Jeffrey Sussman and Robert Brass
For years, gentle Old MacDonald lived a quiet existence
on his pastoral farm in New Hampshire content with his way of life. Appreciating
the simple things that accompany a rural existence, he personified the
hardy individuals who formed the agricultural roots of the United States.
This, however, was only an image that his PR firm had successfully created
over many years. In reality, Old MacDonald was a crusty CEO and his farm
was actually an Agricultural Conglomerate listed on the New York Stock
Exchange. Following its IPO in the early 1990s, it had been one of that
decade’s stock market stars.
But times change and with the new millennium came stagnation
and decreasing profit margins but, still, Old MacDonald stubbornly insisted
on keeping the image intact even as the stock value dropped. He knew that
he needed something to generate excitement again. Many had tried to change
him including his son, a recent MBA. “Dad,” he had said, “this
baa-baa, oink-oink approach just doesn’t work anymore; you need
exotic animals like llamas.”
“Son,” replied Old MacDonald, “do
your homework. What kind of noise does a llama make?” He took a
deep breath, stared at his son and said, “It just doesn’t
fit the jingle.”
But, as will happen, things went from bad to worse.
His downwind neighbor’s complaints stopped his plans for enlarging
his pastures and the EPA said “halt” when he tried to increase
the density of the livestock. He couldn’t expand. He was cornered;
he desperately needed help.
So, on a gray, foggy, foggy day, full of malaise, following
a contentious breakfast with his son and more impractical ideas, Old MacDonald
picked up the phone and called his long-time financial advisor, Jack Jackal
of the firm Jackal, Jackal & Jackal and said, “I need some professional
advice.” Those were fatal words! Years later, as he was writing
his memoirs, he would remember this sorry occasion as “The Day of
the Jackal.”
Jack, with his eye on a fee, recommended acquiring a
safari park named FANG: it came equipped with tigers, lions, leopards,
cheetahs, and other jungle inhabitants but most important, it had lots
of land that could be used for pastures. At first, Old MacDonald rejected
the proposal as being absurd: “It would never fit in with the present
company,” he complained.
“Think synergy, synergy, synergy,” advised
the Jackal.
Realizing he had no other better options, Old MacDonald
finally agreed to the deal. “It’s a new Shangri-La,”
said the Jackal. “We’ll call the company Old MacDonald’s
Fangri-La. How about that!”
Following the optimistic press conference in San Francisco
at the Cow Palace, the new merged corporation settled into contentment
as the price of the stock began to climb. However, only one month later,
the law of unintended consequences once again reached out and snared a
new victim. The clashes of cultures began to surface.
While the big cats hunted at night and slept during
the day, the roosters, announcing the dawn, had a different schedule.
That was their time to crow. The noise, of course, made the big cats quite
irritable: they just wanted sleep. To add insult to injury, the lingering
aroma of the pigsties really got to the cats. Cleanliness, they knew,
was next to Godliness, and Godliness was certainly not near the pigsties.
So they retreated and hid in the far corner of the farm.
The park visitors, who supported the enterprise by their
paid admission, couldn’t see any lions, tigers and leopards, only
sedentary farm animals like cud-chewing cows. The result was predictable:
tourism and the associated revenue dropped like a rock. The next financial
drain came when the insurance company insisted that a high electric fence
separate the carnivores from the herbivores. “After all,”
said Old MacDonald’s insurance agent, “You don’t want
to have your assets eaten.”
The final blow came when the cats went on strike, or
so it seemed, since they refused to eat the canned food provided to them.
In reality, it was impossible to find out what they were eating since
they just skulked around looking guilty. What was particularly troubling,
however, was the mysterious and unexplained decrease in the population
of the farm animals; in fact, all of the sheep were missing. Something
had to be done.
MacDonald was at his wit’s end. Desperate people
do desperate things, so management brought in a consultant, Little Bo
Peep, to find out where all the sheep went. When Little Bo Peep also disappeared
he knew he had a real problem.
Old MacDonald decided he would have to discuss the
issue with the animals, so he called an “all feet” meeting:
herbivores on one side, carnivores on the other side. A tall cyclone fence
would separate them. He started the meeting explaining why peaceful coexistence
benefited both groups. The horse, the elected representative of the farm
animals, clung hopefully to every word. The spokesman for the big cats,
however, was a mean-looking tiger who paid no attention to what Old MacDonald
said; he just paced slowly along the fence, drooling. That sent the herbivores
into a panic. Amid hysterical snorts, whinnies and oinks about animal
rights, abuses, and crimes against nature, the meeting broke up. The next
day, Old MacDonald met with his Board of Directors and had a conference
call with his accounting (and auditing) firm. They agreed to sell FANG
to an amusement park that was trying to attract new customers. The deal
was swiftly executed.
Always the opportunist and sensing another fee, Jack
Jackal secretly arranged for a Wisconsin meat packing corporation, presently
being picketed by animal rights groups, to execute a hostile take-over
of Old MacDonald’s Farm. The image of Old MacDonald on packages
of pre-cooked, frozen meats, plus a petting zoo of farm animals would
show the world that they actually cared about animals.
There is a lesson to this story: Never try to manage
merged companies that have disparate cultures. If you do, one day you
may be taken over and become somebody else’s indigestible culture.
Also, if you happen to meet a jackal with a great idea for an acquisition,
remember what happened to the sheep.
All good fables have interesting epilogs and this is
no exception. Following the hostile takeover, Old MacDonald retreated
in isolation to his New Hampshire farm. There he refuses interviews and
won’t even answer his phone. Rumor has it, however, that he and
his son are contemplating starting a llama-breeding farm.
Author Bio: Jeffrey Sussman is president of Jefffrey
Sussman Inc., a marketing and public relations firm in New York. Its Website
is www.powerpublicity.com.
Robert Brass is president of Development II, a market research, survey,
and new products development company based in Woodbury, CT. Its Website
is www.development2.com
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