The founder of a tech company, departing the scene, hands off to his longtime deputy. Inside and outside the company, observers are relieved. The new boss is not going to screw the place up; he gets the corporate culture. He’s also not as personally difficult and mercurial as his predecessor—an aura of fire doesn’t surround him. And, in fact, for the first couple of years, the company runs like clockwork: It’s still making a fortune, with fewer screeching stops to retool a product based on executive whim. Yet, as time goes on, those same observers start to wonder: What is the next big thing for this company, and why don’t we see it yet? The company has slipped into the habit of refining what it does, vamping on established products and markets and expanding them—refinishing the furniture when it needs to be building a new wing.
Of course I’m talking about Apple, which last week announced a broadened line of iPhones, with much talk of market segments but a limited amount of new technology (though that fingerprint scanner might have caught your eye). One of the two new phones is the iPhone 5C, which is made with a plastic back instead of glass and is meant to scoop up some of the less affluent customers, especially overseas, who now tend toward Android phones. It’ll come in bright colors!
I’m also talking about the company I wrote about in my book Instant: The Story of Polaroid. I am hardly the first to compare Apple and Polaroid; in fact, Steve Jobs himself did. Edwin Land, the inventor of instant photography and founder of Polaroid, was one of Jobs’ first heroes. Apple’s co-founder called him “a national treasure” and said that little kids should aspire to be not astronauts or athletes but creators like Land. But the parallel between the two companies has become more striking than ever in recent days, as Apple revealed that it’s taking its first strides down the same road that ultimately doomed Polaroid.
Here’s the story. Polaroid photography launched in the late 1940s, with tricky-to-use cameras that required a bunch of switch-throwing and tab-pulling and photo-peeling. A relaunch with improvements came along in the early 1960s but still had a variety of inconveniences. In 1972 Land finally realized his dream of one-step photography—point, shoot, see—with a camera called the SX-70. He had thrown himself into its development like a man possessed, just as Jobs later did with his products, driving his staff crazy over everything from the leather covering to the fantastically complicated mechanisms within. (You can see a remarkable little film about the SX-70, directed by Charles and Ray Eames, here.) Creating the whole thing cost, by one insider’s estimate, about $2 billion. (Those are preinflation dollars, and yes, it’s billion, not million.) It really was revolutionary, full of new technologies that worked in uncommon harmony: precision machinery, crazy film chemistry, unique and very fine optics.
That complexity made both film and camera expensive and difficult to make, and in the first year, Polaroid’s factories couldn’t keep up. Wall Street types were saying that Land’s reach had exceeded his grasp—that he’d slung the company right up to the edge of a cliff yet again, and maybe slipped over this time. Polaroid’s stock, hitherto unstoppable, fell from nearly $150 to about $15.
The guy who dug the company out of this ditch was Land’s deputy, Bill McCune. He was an executive vice president, with responsibilities across much of the company’s engineering, although he was not the second-in-command, because Polaroid (as Land once put it), had no number-twos, and a lot of number-threes. (There was no question who was Number One.) McCune had been working at the company since 1939, when he started as a quality-control guy, and was well-liked. He’d also been uneasy about the size and cost of SX-70, and Land had therefore kept him away from his beloved project. But now that it was in trouble, Land called on McCune to help, and he succeeded magnificently—enough that, in 1975, after a power struggle among the number-threes, McCune emerged as Land’s successor and became Polaroid’s second president. The founder stuck around for five more years as chairman, and two more after that in a private lab, but the power shift had finally begun.