ARCHIE NORMAN
SYou all know the sort. Clubbable, cherry-nosed, don’t-rockthe-boat types there to collect a couple of hundred large, a decent wodge of expenses and, if they play their cards right, a trip down the Palace for a knighthood.
For them, corporate governance is for wusses, board meetings a waste of a morning which could be better spent negotiating the tricky back nine at Swinley Forest.
The chief exec wants to install a shark tank in the lobby? Oh well, sounds reasonable enough, now let’s all head to Wilton’s for bullshots and war stories.
Archie Norman is no such creature. Shrewd and hands-on, little Archie is a boardroom heavyweight. What he doesn’t know about retail probably isn’t worth knowing. In footballing terms, when it comes to managing public companies he’s Pep, Potch and Jurgen all rolled into one.
‘The Turnaround King’ they call him, after resuscitation jobs at Asda and ITV.
It is hoped he can perform similar miracles in his current role as chairman of Marks & Spencer, the wilting retailer which, in keeping with the footy analogy, is beginning to resemble Preston North End.
ANATIONAL institution, in other words, whose glory days are looking a thing of the past. Born the son of two doctors, young Archie could hardly have wished for a better start in life. He was schooled at Charterhouse, Cambridge then Harvard. After a stint at Citibank, he joined McKinsey, rising to be become the management consultant’s youngest ever partner at 28. At 32 he was made finance director of Kingfisher, owner of Woolworths, Comet and B&Q. It was a successful period for what was then Britain’s biggest retailer, so it was clear boss Geoff Mulcahy was going nowhere.
Keen to get on, Norman accepted the chief executive position at Asda in 1991, a job to which it transpired he was the only applicant.
Soon after arriving at the grocer’s Leeds headquarters, it was quickly apparent why. As well as being on the verge of bankruptcy, staff morale was almost non-existent.
Norman applied eccentric, touchy-feely management gimmicks he learned at McKinsey as a ploy to get employees more involved. He recruited future grandees such as Allan Leighton and Justin King.
Eight years later, by which time Archie had become chairman, he sold Asda to Walmart for £1.6bn.
His next incarnation, as a Tory MP, was far less successful. After Norman entered the Commons as MP for Tonbridge in 1997 – the first exFTSE 100 chair to do so – William Hague, a protegee of his from McKinsey, charged his mentor with modernising the party. Conservatives, who resembled a bunch of chalk-striped fossils next to their slicker New Labour counterparts, simply weren’t interested in anything he had to say.
‘I wouldn’t tell you how to run a supermarket,’ barked Brylcreemed smoothie Lord Parkinson.
Norman departed the political fray in 2005, a frustrated and disenfranchised figure, yearning for a return to business where he felt he could actually get things done.
He knocked around in a few finance roles before being made chairman of ITV in 2010. It wasn’t quite flatlining like Asda had been, but the directors were certainly reaching for the defibrillators.
Ad revenue was down and the channel had become over reliant on X-Factor and other Simon Cowell garbage. Norman appointed Post Office boss Adam Crozier who decided to focus on making watchable dramas, such as Downton Abbey. Six years later, when he stood down, ITV’s price had risen from 56p upon his arrival to 259p.
He had declined the chairmanship of M&S twice before finally agreeing to take it on in 2017. Why now? He’s made stacks several times over, so money can hardly be a motivation. Ego? Colleagues say he’s not lacking in that department. Or perhaps he genuinely feels the retailer will benefit from a dose of the Norman secret formula.
Marks’ disappointing Christmas sales figures suggest he’s yet to work his magic but the last person panicking will be the chairman. Sinking ships, after all, are busy Archie’s spiritual home.