RAILROADER: The Unfiltered Genius and Controversy of Four-Time CEO Hunter Harrison

Nobody can bullshit him,” said Hargrove in 2017. “Not the management, not the union, not the workers.” Harrison knew their jobs. That gave him credibility in the field, but it also created angst among employees.

The flip side of the railroad genius was dismissiveness and distaste for corporate protocol. Harrison had little patience for boards. Put simply, they were a pain, a waste of time and money. They didn’t increase shareholder value or improve the operating ratio (OR), the key metric for a railroad that’s constantly scrutinized by investors.

He’d come to the conclusion that if you said yes to everything the customer wanted, you wouldn’t make any money. That approach would help him make enormous profits in later years, but it would also eventually result in criticism that would hound him.

“Just care,” he pleaded.

He often ignored what others thought and there’s no question he got lots done that way. But it made him vulnerable.

“I worked my ass off all my life so I could afford to drink a good bottle of wine, and now I can’t drink it,” he said. He could no longer play hard, unable to enjoy the rewards that had always been there for his considerable efforts.

Like he had done at CN, Harrison also visited the mail room, a place he believed sent profound signals about a company.

He became a piece of very high-end, pricey human software with the nose of a bloodhound. There’s a now-famous story of him checking into a Vancouver hotel room that happened to be equipped with binoculars and had a view of a CN rail yard. Harrison spied a locomotive—number 5867—sitting idle. A half hour later, it was still there. He made a call and

Many people have multiple personae they present to the world, depending on the situation or person with whom they’re interacting. But Harrison was the same with everyone. He didn’t waste precious energy playing roles. He just was.