Musk’s chainsaw antics remind us of another guy who devastated organizations and lives

The picture of Elon Musk grinning and wielding a gold chainsaw onstage at a conference of conservatives last week left us scratching our heads. We wondered: What do the nation’s 3 million federal workers think of Musk’s antics? Their fate is in the hands of this leaping billionaire and his crackerjack team of 20-something gamer dudes in the Department of Government Efficiency. There was Musk, waving a chainsaw in the air, striking a superhero pose and growling like a middle school linebacker. The crowd at the Conservative Political Action Conference cheered in anticipation of the carnage to come.

The scene reminded us of another genius, a guy named “Chainsaw” Al Dunlap. Dunlap became one of the most celebrated CEOs of the 1990s, mostly because of his reputation for making quick and drastic cuts in the companies he headed. You don’t hear much about him these days. You don’t hear much about the companies, either. There’s a reason for that.

Massive cuts are hip again. Maybe they never went out of style. Musk’s DOGE bros have already fired tens of thousands of government workers in an effort to cut government spending so Musk and other ultra-wealthy people can celebrate tax cuts for themselves. Musk plans on slashing more jobs, tens of thousands more. He could, in the end, fire more American workers than any single person in this country’s history.

He claims he’s saving more than $55 billion in waste and fraud, but the “receipts” DOGE posted online are riddled with errors. News organizations that examined the paperwork say Musk’s claims don’t add up.

We don’t know what the future holds for Musk’s efforts. We do know the Al Dunlap story. It’s not unique. The ongoing American business narrative is filled with guys who storm onto the scene with great fanfare, pound their chests, stomp on people who have little power and then declare victory over a decimated landscape before anyone knows the true price that’s been paid. It’s a form of performance art that creates a ton of wealth for a few people. As for the rest of us, well …

When Dunlap took over companies, blood soon splattered across corporate boardrooms and factory floors. His first meeting with top executives at appliance maker Sunbeam is legendary for its brutality. The gathering is detailed in John A. Byrne’s book “Chainsaw: The Notorious Career of Al Dunlap in the Era of Profit-at-Any-Price.” For hours Dunlap raged. He verbally attacked executives, singling each one out for abuse. “He was condescending, belligerent and disrespectful,” said one. Then came the draconian cuts.

Dunlap confidently predicted he’d reduce Sunbeam’s 26 factories to four or five. He’d lay off half the company’s 11,200 employees, he said. His ignorance of the strengths and weaknesses of Sunbeam’s plants or products didn’t matter. Dunlap wanted cuts, even when it made no economic sense. 

“I have a reputation to maintain,” he said. “I don’t want people to think I’ve lost my touch. I want big numbers.”

Dunlap excelled at celebrating his own myth. He loved being on TV and seeing himself in newspaper and magazine articles. He didn’t care so much for the name Chainsaw Al. He thought it made him sound like a serial killer. But when people started calling him “Rambo in Pinstripes,” Dunlap grinned.

He liked it so much that Dunlap posed for a photograph with ammo belts slung across his chest and a bandana tied across his gray head. The picture shows him wielding automatic weapons, a la Stallone in that corny ’80s movie.

Folks on Wall Street swooned. They loved Dunlap. They didn’t seem to mind the destruction caused by all of the gleeful slashing. And it was gleeful. 

Before taking over Sunbeam, Dunlap ran Scott Paper Co., founded in 1879. Scott Paper gave us toilet paper and paper towels, among other things. We’d be a mess without Scott Paper — you can laugh, but it’s true. Scott was truly innovative in the American tradition.

Early in his tenure, Dunlap visited Scott’s production facilities in what became known as the “Chainsaw Massacre Tour.” Scott executives ordered T-shirts emblazoned with that very phrase. These suited bozos acted like ninth graders whose parents let them blow past curfew to attend a Weezer concert. Meanwhile, workers at Scott’s plants worried whether they’d be able to pay next month’s grocery bill.

In fact, thousands ended up in unemployment lines. Dunlap earned $100 million. A multinational corporation bought Scott Paper, shareholders made a fortune, Dunlap’s legend and ego grew, and a century-old American firm ceased to exist. 

Dunlap bragged that his actions at Scott would go down in business history as one of the greatest turnarounds ever. Executives at the company that purchased Scott, however, had been hoodwinked. They’d soon take a beating. Dunlap’s strategies for quick growth and earnings proved unsustainable.

No matter — Dunlap became a media darling. He appeared on CNN, CNBC, NBC’s “Dateline” and ABC’s “Nightline.” He wrote his brilliant book. His antics caught the attention of the big money boys at Sunbeam. This guy Chainsaw Al is the man we need, they said.

Every American knew about Sunbeam. Millions of people throughout the country dropped slices of bread into Sunbeam pop-up toasters, they blended cake mix and eggs in Sunbeam mixers and smoothed wrinkles in their clothes with Sunbeam irons.

Then came the greed-infused 1980s with its flurry of mergers. Sunbeam was swallowed by Pittsburgh-based Allegheny International and its boss, Robert J. Buckley.

Buckley seems like a comic book character, a scarecrow stuffed with money instead of straw. He lived like a king. He kept a fleet of five luxury jets, threw lavish parties in the Bahamas, spent tens of thousands of dollars on wine and ice carvings, used company money to buy a $650,000 condominium near Ligonier (used only by Buckley and his family). We could go on all day.

Sunbeam paid the price. Its profits helped finance Buckley’s indulgences, and so Sunbeam lacked the capital to update its production facilities or revamp its product lines. Allegheny International booted Buckley in 1986 and, a year later, filed for bankruptcy. By the mid-1990s, Sunbeam was in trouble. 

Dunlap swaggered in and did his thing. One stakeholder enthused, “It was like owning a football team with Johnny Unitas as quarterback.”

Dunlap couldn’t fool everyone, though. Some thought  his proposed cuts were so severe they’d cause chaos and destroy worker morale. There’d be a price to pay for this, they said. Dunlap plowed ahead. He planned massive layoffs. The stock price surged to $52 per share. The suits all went out for drinks.

There was a problem in those corporate offices, though. Dunlap used shady numbers and deception to prop up his claims about increased profits. In a short time, he wrecked the company. Losses under his leadership totaled $898 million. Sunbeam went into bankruptcy and was gobbled up by a company that makes stuff like Krazy Glue and Yankee Candles and Rubbermaid storage containers. Another American company gurgled down the drain.

Dunlap scored big time, collecting nearly $27 million, in addition to $13.7 million in reimbursement on taxes levied on his company stock and other benefits. A judge ruled the company owed him $5.2 million in severance and $58,000 in accrued vacation. He paid a few fines. His reputation took a hit, so Dunlap talked his pal Rush Limbaugh into saying nice things about him on the radio. Dunlap went on Lou Dobbs’ “Moneyline” show and painted himself as a victim and then donated a bunch of money to get his name on a building at Florida State University. We hear there’s a statue of the guy somewhere down in Tallahassee.

Here’s  how one CEO described Dunlap in a Business Week interview: “He is the logical extreme of an executive who has no values, no honor, no loyalty and no ethics.”

He thrived by stacking company boards with lackeys, controlling the flow of information and acting like an “imperial potentate.” A lot of smart people who should have known better went along with the charade until it was too late. The damage was done, and Dunlap was waving goodbye with the loot. He devastated thousands of workers and their communities; he betrayed his friends, who suffered massive losses; and sucked the soul out of the companies under his care.

These days, it’s federal workers who are in the crosshairs of a powerful, chest-thumping man who says he can make things peachy by creating pain he won’t feel. We at PUP feel for those whose jobs are on the line. We know something about economic and career uncertainty. Since October 2022, we’ve been fighting an employer that’s blatantly violating federal labor law. We’ve learned that workers and communities have great power when they bind together.

Dunlap died in 2019. A New York Times obituary called him a “tough executive,” which is like calling Hannibal Lecter an “interesting dinner host.”