Back on track: how an old-fashioned Kansan with railroading in his blood breathed new life into the UP

Chief Executive, The, Jan-Feb, 2004 by Peter Galuszka

By any account, Union Pacific's takeover of Southern Pacific in 1996 and 1997 was a train wreck. Rail cars bound for Houston from Chicago ended up in Los Angeles, thanks to incompatible software and a shortage of locomotives. Coal didn't reach electric utilities. Plastics molders didn't get their pellets. All in all, the botched merger cost Union Pacific's customers $2 billion. In turn, investors punished the venerable, Omaha-based company, forcing down its stock price from $73 in 1996 to $37 in 2000, wiping out about $9 billion in market capitalization.

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Yet this is a company planted firmly in prairie sod, where an exec's word is a bond. Had Union Pacific been a high-flying firm typical of the go-go '90s, its chief executive might have bailed out on a golden parachute or brazenly proposed yet another merger.

Not so Richard K. Davidson, who became Union Pacific's CEO during the height of the crisis, in early 1997. The spare-worded Kansan and former railroad brakeman characteristically took the heat himself. "I lived on an airplane for about, oh golly, six or nine months," he says in a flat Midwestern accent. "I went from meeting to meeting and government agency to agency apologizing for what was happening but assuring people that we would get it fixed." When he faced a hostile Surface Transportation Board hearing, his statement was notably lacking in hubris: "Our company is embarrassed at the time it has taken to recover from our congestion crisis."

Dick Davidson's mid-American values seem to consist of straight talk, a steady gaze and a handshake. Not one to throw $2-million toga parties in Sardinia, he lives modestly with his wife, Trish, near the more down-to-earth Omaha. For fun, he goes to work, although he's been known to head off into the fields, shotgun in hand, searching for pheasant or quail. "You look at the other CEOs out there and a lot of them are accountants or lawyers," says Davidson. "I think it's just my good fortune that I know what I am--a son of toil."

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This proletarian mind-set, combined with vast investments in advanced information technology, saved Union Pacific. Davidson spent $2.8 billion beefing up computer systems and integrating car coding and routing between the underfinanced Southern Pacific and its new owner. The pieces are still not all in place. Just this past fall, the railroad, along with its competitors, was blindsided by a bumper grain crop and a shortage of rail cars, causing more foul-ups. But Union Pacific has made a solid comeback. Its stock is up to the $65-per-share level and recent third-quarter earnings beat Street estimates by 6 cents and earned record revenues.

The re-energized UP is serving up strong competition against Burlington Northern Sante Fe, its historic and faltering competitor in the West and Midwest. The two railroads battle over low-sulfur coal from Wyoming, NAFTA products from Mexico and cheap consumer goods from China arriving at West Coast ports. UP directors are happy with the results. "I've always been a strong advocate of Dick. He's a no-nonsense, up-from-the-ranks kind of guy who understands the business," says Philip F. Anschutz, the Denver billionaire who is Union Pacific's chairman.

Davidson, his colleagues say, never forgets where he is from--a poor farm family making a tough living in the middle of Kansas. When he was 18, in 1960, he embarked on a career and style that would serve him the rest of his life. Lacking college money, he began working nights and weekends as a brakeman on the Missouri Pacific railroad, later bought out by Union Pacific. He climbed the ladder of the working rails, becoming a conductor and later, supervisor, while earning a history degree from Washburn University in Topeka.

He learned many practical lessons along the way. One of the sharpest came in 1965 from Downing B. Jenks, the late chairman of the Missouri Pacific. There was a massive flood in Texas and the railroad sent all the young members of its management training program, including Davidson, down there to get experience handling emergencies. Recalls Davidson: "Lo and behold, there I was up to my waist in water working on a piece of track that was washed out. Here came Mr. Jenks--the chairman of the company and the vice president of operations. That really set a tremendous leadership example of how you get out and just prove to everybody that you're willing to work as hard as or harder than anyone else in the company."

Unbeknown to Davidson, such experiences were prepping him for his career's biggest challenge, fixing the merger mess. As part of that, he needed to finesse the very different corporate cultures of several railroads. For example, the Missouri Pacific, which was bought by Union Pacific in 1982, had a reputation of being a laid-back, good-old-boy kind of route. By contrast, Southern Pacific was seen as a penny-pinching, second-best outfit struggling to survive.

The aristocrat of the bunch was Union Pacific. Its predecessor company had pounded in the golden spike in Promontory, Utah, in 1869 with the Central Pacific railroad, creating the first transcontinental line. Later, international troubleshooter Averill Harriman, a major shareholder, added to UP's classy image. In rail's golden age in the 1930s and 1940s, UP's mustard-colored streamliners whisked celebrities like Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland across the country.