Skunk Works

When the Blackbird made its last flight in 1990, I called Nancy and asked her if she thought we could take Kelly out to the plant for the flyby we had scheduled. We both agreed that we didn’t want any of his old friends to see him in his condition, but rather to remember him the way he was when they last saw him. So we put him into a limo that had dark windows, making the passengers invisible from the outside, and drove him to the Skunk Works. Kelly was not alert that day, and I really was not sure he understood what that ride from the hospital was about.

All the employees from the Skunk Works were standing outside waiting for the overflight. Kelly sat in the car. We had put out the word that he was not feeling well and would not be able to greet anybody. Everyone respected that and they cheered the car’s arrival. Around the time the SR-71 came roaring in over the rooftops and cracked out two massive sonic booms in salute, Nancy had stirred him awake and partially lowered the car window. The booms were as loud as thunderclaps. Kelly looked up, startled. “Kelly, do you know what that was?” I asked. “The pilot was saluting you. We all are saluting you.” He didn’t reply to my question and seemed to be nodding off. But when I looked at Kelly again he had tears in his eyes.

Kelly Johnson died on the final day before my own retirement as head of the Skunk Works—December 22, 1990. He was eighty years old. We ran a full-page black-bordered ad the following day in the Los Angeles Times. It showed the logo of our Skunk Works skunk with a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Clarence “Kelly” Johnson was an authentic American genius. He was the kind of enthusiastic visionary that bulled his way past vast odds to achieve great successes, in much the same way as Edison, Ford, and other immortal tinkerers of the past. When Kelly rolled up his sleeves, he became unstoppable, and the nay-sayers and doubters were simply ignored or bowled over. He declared his intention, then pushed through while his subordinates followed in his wake. He was so powerful that simply by going along on his plans and schemes, the rest of us helped to produce miracles too.

Honest to God, there will never be another like him. He was a great boss if he liked you and a terrible boss if he didn’t. Once he was down on an employee, the situation was usually terminal. We would kid, “The only way out of Kelly’s dog-house is out the door.” Unfortunately, that was true. I was annoyed by things he did at least half a dozen times a week—but I loved that guy.

The fact that there were very few Jews in the top management echelons of aerospace around the time he pushed me to succeed him at the Skunk Works didn’t concern him whatsoever. I mentioned the religion question to him in passing. “Ben, I don’t give a damn how you pray. I only care about how you build airplanes. And that’s all our board will care about too.” That was that.

In the mere act of trying to please him and live up to his expectations, I became twice the man I otherwise would have been. Like all the rest of us at the Skunk Works, I ran my heart out just to keep up with him. Kelly, I thank you. All of us do.

15 THE TWO-BILLION-DOLLAR BOMBER

KELLY’S GHOSTLY VOICE nagged at me during the fifteen years I occupied his big corner office and ran his Skunk Works. I always thought of the place as his, because his personality and character were branded on everything we did. Whenever I did something I knew he would never approve of, the old pain in the butt would be hammering at my conscience with a sledgehammer. Expediency and Kelly were archenemies. As his successor, I inherited all his old nemeses as well as his friends. All of Kelly’s fourteen golden rules for running the Skunk Works stayed in place: they worked for him and they worked equally as well for me.

Angels belong in heaven, not in the tough competitive world of aerospace, but I kept my word to Kelly and never did build an airplane that I didn’t believe in. Like him, I turned down projects I felt were wrongly conceived. I never lied to a customer or tried to dodge the heat when we screwed up. I knew how other companies operated, and I was convinced that our reputation for integrity would gain more business than we would ever lose by turning away questionable ventures. And I was right.