EXECUTIVE TRAPPINGS; Who Rates the Rugs & When

Who Rates the Rugs & When

IN the hierarchy of U.S. business, a big problem is the question of executive prerogatives. Who eats in the executive dining room? Who gets the best offices? And when does a man rise high enough to rate a rug on his floor? The scramble for the perquisites of rank is the butt of a thousand jokes, often leads to ludicrous situations. But to corporations themselves, the scramble is no joke. Says John D. Wright, president of Cleveland's Thompson Products, Inc.: "This involves a problem of morale, and often the little privileges that go with an office are more important to an executive than a raise. You'd expect executives to be more mature, but they frequently aren't." Wright himself ran into real trouble on how to list the names on round-robin office memos until he finally decided to list them alphabetically. Since this put Wright's name at the bottom, everybody was happy.

In many companies executives continuously play the game of "one-upmanship," the gentle art of being a jump ahead of colleagues in acquiring everything from better ashtrays to air conditioners. In general, the president and board chairman, who get the best of everything anyway, are rarely involved; the struggle takes place among the vice presidents, and below. A few years ago, a Dallas company set up a new subsidiary with five brand-new vice presidents installed in identical offices. Everything was peaceful until one used his expense account to replace his single-pen set with a two-pen set. Within four days all five worked their way up to three-pen sets. Then they went on to bigger and flossier names on their doors, and other changes, until the president called a halt and broke everyone back to one-pen sets. A big Chicago oil company caused a major crisis a few years ago when it bought a new type of posture chair to test on a few of its executives. Those left out were so miserable that one man, to save face, bought a chair with his own money and smuggled it into the office.

In one Cleveland corporation a vice president was lucky enough to wangle a choice corner office. His equal down the hall would not be appeased until he had a private washroom installed in his office. Some executives spend hours on such things as the "time chart" to prove that they get so many telephone calls and letters that one secretary alone cannot possibly do the job; therefore, they need two secretaries.

Rigid rules are often laid down to try to avoid such problems. Standard Oil of California, for example, classifies every employee from Type One (draperies, wall-to-wall carpeting, walnut desk, etc.) down to Type Four (no private office, oak desk). A big Manhattan company has set up a chart for every contingency in preparation for moving into a new building now under construction. A top-echelon man gets 280 sq. ft., "furnished to taste," with or without private washroom, depending on whether he is a director. Lesser lights will get 210 sq. ft., again furnished to taste, but now "within limits." Engineers and others who need privacy get 100 sq. ft., standard metal desks 60 in. by 30 in., two wooden chairs and a coat rack; everyone else gets 70 sq. ft. of work space.

Some bosses prefer to handle things less rigidly, try to turn the complaints into chuckles. An executive of Monsanto Chemical Co. has put out a complete "Exec-Chart" ticking off everyone from "Top Dogs" to "Hoi Polloi," lists their "visible appurtenances" of power, from "shoeshine service" to "plant stands." Sample: "Luncheon Menu for Top Dogs: Cream cheese on whole wheat, buttermilk and indigestion tablets. Menu for Hoi Polloi: Clam chowder, frankfurter and beans, rolls and butter, raisin pie a la mode, two cups of coffee." Pacific Gas & Electric Co., like many others, sensibly gives a man what he needs to operate, whether it is one phone or three. Other companies do better by an executive who is out where the public sees him. In many banks, which deal constantly with the public, a line is also drawn between "inside" and "outside" jobs. In Atlanta's First National Bank the officers on view in the main lobby all get $600 mahogany desks; those behind the scenes have $300 walnut desks.

Swift & Co., however, cares little about putting on a show front or catering to executive whims. It has its executive vice presidents sitting out in the center of a huge bull pen where they can look right across the desks at their assistants. At Philadelphia's Smith Kline & French Laboratories, the chairman of the board, department heads and general employees all look at the same green-painted walls, rugless floors and utilitarian furniture.

But generally, the trend is to more instead of less luxury. An increasing number of companies are coming around to the idea that the trappings of power and rank are normal incentives in U.S. business life. If redecorating an office results in higher morale for a top executive, the company counts the few extra dollars as money well-spent.

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