Authors: Tom Connolly
Trout jumped in, “Stop, Sebastian, God, you’re depressing me. This can’t be what we’re going to talk about, is it?”
“Yes,” Ball laughed. “How to fix it.”
“So now you’re a sociologist, out to solve the world’s problems,” Winston smiled.
“Yup, that’s us.”
“What do you mean us? Don’t go including me in on one of your crusades,” Trout said, mindful, that Sebastian Ball really needed more to do. He would spend hours over the course of their years together, regaling his “brothers” with his plans to improve life as they knew it. And to be fair he had made good progress in a number of his philanthropies. Thinking of that good, Winston, checked himself as he noticed Sebastian frowning at his lack of enthusiasm, “OK, what is it. Tell me, what you want to do?”
That brought Ball back, “Winny, here’s my idea. I want to solve the energy crisis.”
“Doesn’t everyone. I was doing it at MIT with the ‘vessel,’” Trout added.
“No, I have the full plan. Solve the energy crisis at the same time, put millions of Americans back to work. I’m talking about shining up the rust belt. I’m talking about restabilizing hundreds of cities and towns in middle America,” and now warming to his own ideas, “I’m talking about ending America’s dependence on foreign oil, on foreign energy sources, and ending our balance of payments deficits with the Middle East and part of those deficits with China.”
“You’re running for office?” Trout asked, “Congratulations, Sebastian. Which one?”
“No, no!” an excited Ball said, “Not public office you smart ass,” Ball chastised his friend. “You’re the one always telling us about the importance of solar and the need to solve the energy crisis, right? You have all these panels you need to build, well build them here. In Steubenville, in Newburgh, in Homestead.”
“Well, you know my hot buttons, but we can’t build the solar industry here. It would be too expensive. It couldn’t compete with what the gas and electric utilities offer today. And we couldn’t compete against the Chinese who make the panels today; their prices are too low. Right now, price is the only factor that will make solar energy real,” Trout said.
“You once told me that the solar industry was too inefficient. What did you mean by that?” Ball said, tossing in a set up.
“It’s new. All its elements are scattered around the world. When the steel industry first got going, I told you this before, Carnegie had all those big plants but it was Frick who had the coke processes and plants to produce it that made steel purer and stronger. Carnegie was smart. He bought much of Frick’s business then brought Frick himself in to manage it all. And that was a simple industry. Solar—much more complex—and too many special interests in old energy like oil, gas and coal that would fight it and lobby it every step of the way,” Trout said with a frustrated gasp.
“But suppose it was in America’s interest?” Ball persisted.
“It is in America’s interest. It doesn’t matter. Old energy’s self-interest is first, to them.”
“What if I were able to bring the scattered elements of solar together?”
“It would make economic sense.”
“What if these elements were all in one company, an American company, creating thousands of jobs in depressed areas?”
“Then you should be running for public office,” Trout laughed. “You’re such a dreamer, Sebastian.”
“But, hypothetically speaking.”
“Yes, it would allow everything to scale up and the economics would make sense,” Trout said, partly to placate his friend. “But you don’t understand all that goes into making a panel.”
“I’ve been enlightening myself.”
“Please,” Winston smiled, “enlighten me.”
“Let’s see, you’ve got sand. You put it in a reactor, add some magic stuff and turn up the heat and presto you’ve got polysilicon. Then you take that, put it in a furnace, add some more magic stuff, and you’ve got an ingot. OK so far.”
Trout laughed, “So far much easier than steel, huh?”
“Then we take the ingot; slice it up with a “special” saw. Put in an oven, add some more stuff and you’ve got a wafer,” Ball said, adding smugly, “So far it does sound a lot like steel: take an abundant resource from the ground, boil it, bake it, and slice it up.”
“Pretty damn funny, Sebastian. It’s more complicated,” Trout said, sounding a bit defensive, like a person with great knowledge of an industry talking to a neophyte.
“How?” Sebastian said.
“The magic stuff, the technology in the reactors and furnaces, for one. Where it’s done, for another,” Trout shot back.
“Let’s try this, Winny. Suppose you had unlimited resources, here, draw this out,” Ball said, reaching and pulling a pad from his brief case. “Draw it. How? Where does it begin and where does it end?”
And taking a pen from his shirt pocket he wrote in process order: “Sand > Reactor > Polisilicon > Furnace/Technology > Ingot > Oven/Technology > Wafer > Technology > Panel > Technology > Module > Sales > Distribution > Customer > Installation,” and he said, “That’s it at a high level.”
“So how’s this so different than any other manufacturing and distribution process?” Ball said, rather than asking, as he leaned forward and looked the diagram over.
“It’s not particularly difficult that way—the process of a manufacturing business is common. It’s the scattered approach and the players. For example, right now at Trout Solar, we do nothing here except invent and design the technology, then we contract with the Chinese to build it according to our specs. They in turn buy the reactors, furnaces and ovens we specify from the US or Germany. We do the selling and contract with installers in different parts of the world. So you can see how fragmented it is. All the elements are scattered.”
“Exactly, let’s talk about them,” Ball said looking Winston in the eyes firmly.
“OK, for starters the Chinese own solar. They are years ahead of the US. By dragging our feet and letting special interests have their way, we gave it to the Chinese. There are maybe ten manufacturing plants in China that have forty acres of solar panel lines in production. We have two that maybe have ten acres. We had a real chance in the 1970s with the original oil shocks, then OPEC. It told us there was a limit. Then the environmental movement in the eighties and nineties. It told us there was a limit. We didn’t react, and the Chinese did. Now we’re stuck. If we can get out of foreign oil, we’ll be stuck with foreign solar. That’s it, game over!” Winston told his friend.
“Hah, then why the hell are you in the business, Winny,” Ball said, “You’re smarter than God; I can’t imagine you chasing a lost cause.”
“It’s almost over, but I think we can make a difference.”
“I know you can too,” Ball told his friend. “That’s why I’m here, Winny. I have been listening to you all these years. Tell me, all those elements under the roof of the Chinese solar companies, who makes them.”
“Not the Chinese. You do understand!” Winston said. “I know where you’re going. They are assemblers, manufacturers, distributors.”
“Exactly. They are not the inventors,” Sebastian added and continued, leaning forward once again. “They do innovate, but only in those processes they are engaged in. We can do what they do. They are making solar panels as commodities. But they do have labor costs on their side.”
Winston Trout stood up, squinted and faced the window, “The science is coming out of American universities, some in Germany, and from a few companies like ours. Same with the reactors and furnaces; all of them are designed and made in the US and Germany,” now he turned and looked down at Sebastian who sat back. “It’s the final products that are made in China, and now out of sensitivity to that the Chinese are starting to do panel assembly in the US to get over that hurdle, the same way the Japanese did by building car plants in the South. If we can out-innovate them, if we can produce on a giant scale we can take the labor cost off the table and make all elements here,” Trout concluded. He was warming to the conversation. “I’m thirsty, you’re whetting my appetite. Want a soda or some water?”
“Sure, Pepsi’s fine.”
There was a phone on the table between them, and Trout lifted the receiver and asked his assistant for water and a Pepsi. Ball stood to stretch and stood beside Trout at the window.
“This is some beautiful stretch of the city. A minipark right down the middle of the street.” Ball said.
“That’s why they call it Park Ave,” Trout said, as the assistant brought the two drinks in and placed them on the table.
“Hey, I never thought about that before, pretty neat,” Ball said, pleased with this tidbit of New York trivia.
“So we’ve been dancing around on this topic,” Trout said. “You know what I know, but I don’t know what you know, what you’re thinking.” It was a question phrased as a statement.
“Winny, I think I’ve found out what I want to do,” Ball said confidently. “I want solar to be America’s great new industry. With this economic downturn lagging, I want the country united around it, like the space program. Millions of new jobs, good paying jobs, top technology, and all supported by the government—nationally to drive research towards solar and with significant tax investment credit and with local government to support solar companies with grants of land and buildings and tax breaks. And these local governments work with the companies to build endowments to ensure their futures are secure if new technologies displace their citizens.”
“Sebastian, you’re way up in the clouds. You’re dreaming again.”
“No Winny, I want this to be our job. I want to partner with you—for you and me to become the next Carnegie and Frick.”
“Ha, ha!” Trout said in a mock laugh. “Sebastian, you are so freaking funny. Where do you get these ideas? And who am I? Carnegie or Frick.”
“You’re Frick. I just bought Solar Foundries and another smaller company, Solar Installation.”
“What? You’re mad!” Trout exclaimed, caught off guard. He was aware that Solar Foundries was the leading American manufacturer of all elements needed in the manufacture of solar products from reactors to furnaces, to all the parts required to keep the reactors and furnaces working. He was struck by the boldness of his friend’s statement. “You don’t know anything about solar.”
“No, but you do. I want to buy Trout Solar and put it together with the other two.” Sebastian Ball brought his punch line out, and it came out too quickly. Ball could see the shock on his friend’s face.
“And what will I do?” Trout asked almost meekly, hurt by his friend’s sweeping dreams. He and his billions would just come busting in to take over Winston’s father’s company, without considering whether there was interest by the Trouts. Winston had trouble with Ball when he went off in his tangents in the past, but they were harmless, but this, this was frightening. A person with no knowledge of an industry would suddenly appoint himself captain of that industry and buy up whatever he chose, including his friend’s business. Sebastian Ball: the hammer looking for a nail.
“You would run the combined company, well your father would, with you in a key executive position, and eventually you’d run the company.”
“No, Sebastian,” an obviously upset Trout said, now standing, facing the window. “The company is not mine to sell.”
“You haven’t let me finish. I don’t want these companies. They’ll be yours. I’ll have a substantial stake, but the majority will be owned by you and your father. In fact, I won’t even be in the company, other than maybe as a board member to help with funding, direction and political stuff. We’ll be taking the company private. It will be your company, Winny, only now you’ll have all the parts necessary to make it real, to compete with the Chinese,” Ball said.
“My God, Sebastian,” a now dumbfounded Winston Trout exclaimed. “You are serious.”
“I am,” a smiling Ball said. “What do you say?”
“I can’t say anything. Even though you say you bought two companies, to do all of the other things you said, it is going to take years.”
“I’ve talked with six companies that own the land we could bring everything together on; also to four cities that own buildings and land that they would love to get back on the tax rolls at some point. They will all work with us. I’ve acquired the rights to two large modern plants in Steubenville, Ohio, and two more up the river in Beaver Falls, PA. I’ve talked with the governors of both Ohio and Pennsylvania; they are very enthusiastic about the idea and have each set up teams to help us identify what we need,” He paused, and looked into Winston Trout’s eyes. “Please do this with me, Winny? I need you. We need to do this.”
“I can’t believe you’re that interested, but it sounds like you are. Somehow I’ll help you. I’ll talk with my father. Then both of us will talk with him.”
Chapter 26
Everything in a father passes emotionally to his son. It was no different for Arthur Trout and his son Winston. And there was no hesitation on the part of the son to accept the love of his father. They were inseparable whenever they were at home, and when away from home, they talked daily.
Winston Trout was a great friend to his Brunswick School mates, and even though he and Traynor Johnson were like brothers, his best friend was his father, Arthur.
Winston chose to attend MIT and not just because his father graduated from MIT. MIT was in his blood from a very young age. Arthur Trout had grown up in Cambridge, and whenever possible the Trout family found a reason to go to that city. Arthur regaled young Winston with his stories of Cambridge, a number of which Kathy Trout did not care for her son to hear. But mostly she allowed Arthur to ramble on with his stories of playing pool in Tom Lynch’s pool hall on Hampshire St. “It was dark when you walked in from the sun, and in the back grouchy, angry old Tom Lynch sat, yelling half the time, ‘If you’re not playing, get the hell out.’” In Tom’s you had to get your dime on the table for the next rack.