Troubleshooting Missileman

GEORGE MAVERICK BUNKER

In the burgeoning missile industry, dominated by oldtime planemakers, George Maver ick Bunker is a wingless newcomer. The chairman and chief executive of the Martin Co. (1959 sales: $524 mil lion), which produces more missiles for the U.S. Government than any other firm, he knew nothing about planes or missiles when he took over the company in 1952. But he did know how to deal with trouble -- and he found plenty of trouble at Martin. The company had lost $22 million in 1952, and its future looked even darker. Bunker put it into the air again by landing a lot of missile projects, including the Titan ICBM. With it, he also took on one of his big gest problems.

Last January, after the Titan had had so many failures that its future was in doubt, Bunker moved his headquarters from Baltimore to the missile headquarters in Denver and took over personal direction of the project. This week, after twelve Titan shots without a failure, the Air Force put its stamp of approval on the job Bunker did. It is ready to give Martin its first contract for a new Titan II, which will eventually bring the com pany another half billion in defense contracts. The Titan II will be bigger (no ft. v. 98 ft. for Titan I), longer-ranging (10,000 miles v. 7,000) and more pow erful (400,000 lbs. thrust v. 300,000). Most important, it will be the first U.S. ICBM to use storable liquid fuel. In stead of using --297.4DEG F. liquid oxygen, which can be kept in a missile only a short time, the Titan II will be fueled with a chemical mixture (main ingredient: hydrazine) that can be stored in the missile at near-ordinary temperatures, kept ready for firing for weeks.

BUNKER brushes off his achievement in Denver. But the fact is that the Titan program had grown so huge that it had no strong central guidance. Bun ker consolidated three divisions into one, switched executives around, tightened up missile checking procedures. Says he: "If you burn your fingers lighting a match, you're going to be more careful next time, and that's all that happened here."

By a devious route, Bunker got into the airframe business. He got an engineering degree from M.I.T. during the Depression, took his first job with Campbell Soup Co. at 38-c- an hour, switched to the Wilson meat-packing company as an engineer in 1934. After rising to chief engineer, he left to join Chicago's A.T. Kearney Co., a management engineering firm, moved on to become manufacturing vice president for Cincinnati's Kroger Co., in 1948 took over as president of Trailmobile. In two years, he doubled Trailmobile's sales to $52 million, boosted the stock value 400%, sold the company to Pullman Inc. When investment bankers backing the Glenn L. Martin Co., the oldest U.S. plane manufacturer, decided that the ailing company needed new management, they sent in Bunker to take over from Founder Glenn Martin.

BUNKER'S biggest contribution to Martin was his early recognition that there was little future in planemaking, especially for Martin, which lagged well behind. He began to shift Martin into missiles and electronics ahead of most of the industry. He got a name around Washington as a man who knew how to land a contract--and the name was not always admiring. He picked up dozens of Government jobs (including the Mace, Bullpup, Lacrosse, Vanguard and Pershing missiles).

He became so adept at it that the Hebert congressional subcommittee investigating undue influence on Pentagon officials took a critical look at his methods, publicizing the fact that a roll call of Pentagon brass had gone on Martin-paid vacations to a plush Eleuthera Island resort in the Caribbean. Bunker's way of combatting the criticism: "I cannot conceive that anyone could possibly believe men of their caliber and responsibilities could be improperly influenced by playing golf with me on Eleuthera." Martin also came under heavy criticism for the early failures of the Vanguard missile, but has since put the three highest U.S. satellites into orbit.

Bunker still flies back to Washington once or twice a month to keep up contacts, mingles with VIPs over golf. An adventuresome fellow who has been married three times, he lives in the Denver suburbs with his present wife, still keeps a home in Washington. Besides his $150,000 annual salary, he personally owns 73,741 shares of Martin stock worth $3,281,475, the largest individually held block of stock. He works a straight nine-hour day, never takes work home with him, raises flowers and vegetables (his specialty: dwarf tomatoes). He still knows little about airplanes. He does not have to: this year Martin, which earned $4.34 per share last year, will be out of the plane business entirely.

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