The world lost a bright light – and I lost one of my heroes
– with the recent death of former J&J CEO James E. Burke. Ironically, he passed away right around the
time that marks the 30th anniversary of the TYLENOL crisis, the
event for which Burke was best known.
In September of 1982, seven people died in the Chicago area from
ingesting TYLENOL that had been tampered with, the capsules opened and the
acetaminophen replaced with deadly cyanide.
To date, no one has ever been convicted of this reprehensible
crime. The event – and Johnson &
Johnson’s public response to it – has been cited as a textbook case of crisis
management. Soon after its return to the
market, TYLENOL regained its place as the market leader in the pain reliever category.
Plenty of people take credit for their roles in this
well-known case, but it was Burke himself who called the shots. Not armed with a “crisis manual” – they didn’t
exist at the time – he relied on his instincts, his heart and on the Johnson
& Johnson Credo to do the right thing and guide his actions, which included
recalling all bottles of TYLENOL and damn the cost (which added up to about
$100 million).
But it is not the Jim Burke that brought the business back
who left an indelible mark on me. It is
the Jim Burke who, during a nationally televised press conference from our New Brunswick
headquarters, choked up in mentioning the seven victims. It is the Jim Burke who allowed “60 Minutes”
to sit in and broadcast strategy sessions with senior management, and the Jim
Burke who won over a live audience of mostly women, and, in the process, a
national audience, by appearing on the daytime talk show hosted by the king of
daytime, Phil Donahue. There, viewers
got the measure of this remarkable man, his humility, his humanity, his
sincerity. That was the Burke I knew.
Mr. Burke became chairman in 1976, and I worked closely with
him on presentations until he retired from J&J 13 years later. I was young and too far down on the org chart
to meet one-on-one with the CEO, but that happened frequently. When his executive assistant – my still-good
friend and fellow graduate of Somerville
High School, Helen Hughes
– would summon me to his office, I always asked if I should bring my boss,
because that was proper protocol. No,
she’d say, “he said ‘Just Tina.’” To
this day, she calls me “Justina.”
Burke was an exceptional and inspiring leader, a brilliant
businessman who combined a creative streak and business acumen, and who
considered the ideas of others and sought their input but who was not afraid to
make a decision. You could not outthink
him. If I came up with a dozen ways to
illustrate something, he’d suggest another one that I hadn’t considered. Not that I always appreciated his input,
especially during long days, night and weekends revising and revising and
revising his presentation to the shareholders, but you could not get mad at
this man, because he wanted the best and always delivered on his end. Once, after we finished a rehearsal of his talk
for the shareholders, J&J President Dave Clare got up to speak. He had no sooner uttered, “Good morning,
Jim,” when Burke interrupted him to make a change. Hmm, I thought, if he’s changing, “Good
morning, Jim,” we are in for a LONG day.
After a grinding stretch, which required countless hours of
preparation, and finally the culmination of that work, when he would deliver
his speech, Burke would send me a note or give me a bone-crushing hug. I would feel the warmth and gratitude of that
man as his arms enveloped me. Now, we’d worry
about sexual harassment, but then, it was like was two friends who had worked
together in triumph, sharing a victory.
Jim Burke was about as down-to-earth as a major business
leader could possibly be. Once we went
on the company plane to California,
where he addressed a group of West Coast employees. The next day, he wanted to check out the
packaging on the diaper boxes in a local supermarket. He bought a few boxes, but, since he didn’t
need the diapers, he stood at the cash register and offered the diapers to the
other shoppers. I could feel their eyes
follow us out of the store as we got into a huge stretch limo. “Who was that masked man?” they must have
thought.
The most profound impact Jim Burke made on me was in 1979,
when he ended his presentation to a major management conference by telling
everyone in the room that they should be having fun. Fun was something I hadn’t considered much at
work since I was usually too busy working.
But Jim Burke gave me license to have fun, and that is advice I not only
followed but also have passed along to everyone who ever worked for me: Work hard, do your best and have fun, and if
you aren’t having fun, you are in the wrong place. I even consoled my nephew with those words of
wisdom after he would be the goalie on the losing soccer team. I hope the people to whom I provided this
advice will pass it along to the next generation as I did.
I have been fortunate to have some great role models and
heroes in my life: My parents, my high school English teacher, Larry Foster
(the man who hired me and helped me flourish and who knows more about public
relations than ANYONE), my next boss (Bill Nielsen) and, last but not least,
Jim Burke. I’ll remember him in his
prime, handsome and robust, the smartest man in the room and certainly, the
most fun. RIP, Mr. Burke.
