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Snow is not alone. The phantom employment record, as it might be called, is a common executive-retirement practice in corporate America--and one that is spelled out in corporate filings with the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC). Drew Lewis, the Pennsylvania Republican and onetime head of the U.S. Department of Transportation, got a $1.5 million annual pension when he retired in 1996 as chairman and CEO of Union Pacific Corp. His pension was based on 30 years of service to the company, but he actually worked there only 11 years. The other 19 years of his employment history came courtesy of Union Pacific's board of directors, which included Vice President Dick Cheney. And then there's Leo Mullin, the former chairman and CEO of Delta Air Lines. Under Mullin's stewardship, Delta killed the defined-benefit pension of its nonunion workers and replaced it with a less generous plan. Now, little more than a year after he retired, the airline is in bankruptcy and can dump its pension obligations. But you need not fret about Mullin. On his way out the door, he picked up a $16 million retirement package. It's based on 28.5 years of employment with Delta, at least 21 years more than he worked at the airline.
HOW SAVINGS CAN BE HIJACKED
At the same time corporate executives are paid retirement dollars for years they never worked, hapless employees lose supplemental retirement benefits for a lifetime of actual work. Just ask Betty Moss. She was one of thousands of workers at Polaroid Corp.--the Waltham, Mass., maker of instant cameras and film--who, beginning in 1988, gave up 8% of their salary to underwrite an employee stock-ownership plan, or ESOP. It was created to thwart a corporate takeover and "to provide a retirement benefit" to Polaroid employees to supplement their pension, the company pledged. Alas, it was not to be. Polaroid was slow to react to the digital revolution and began to lose money in the 1990s. From 1995 to 1998, the company racked up $359 million in losses. As its balance sheet deteriorated, so did the value of its stock, including shares in the ESOP. In October 2001, Polaroid sought bankruptcy protection from creditors.
By then, Polaroid's shares were virtually worthless, having plummeted from $60 in 1997 to less than the price of a Coke in October 2001. During that period, employees were forbidden to unload their stock, based on laws approved by Congress. But what employees weren't allowed to do at a higher price, the company-appointed trustee could do at the lowest possible price--without even seeking the workers' permission. Rather than wait for a possible return to profitability through restructuring, the trustee decided that it was "in the best interests" of the employees to sell the ESOP shares. They went for 9ยข. In short order, a $300 million retirement nest egg put away by 6,000 Polaroid employees was wiped out. Many lost between $100,000 and $200,000.