Book Chapter Review
A review is THREE single-spaced pages long, with a font type of Times New Roman, a font size of 12, and 1 inch page margins.
Creativity Inc. Chapter 1, 2,3,4
Three Components:
1. Summarize the chapters in sufficient but concise details.
* at least one and a half pages (Single-spaced) * main themes, main stories, main theories/concepts.
Personal reflections.
* your favorite/least favorite stories.
* How are some stories, theories, or concepts related to your personal or professional life?
* at least half a page.
3. Theory/concept applications.
* strategic management theories/concepts can be applied to the chapters.
* at least half a page.
Avoid plagiarism: No copy/paste.
Copyright 2014 by Edwin Catmull
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint and division of Random House LLC, a
Penguin Random House Company, New York.
RANDOM HOUSE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Catmull, Edwin E.
Creativity, Inc. : overcoming the unseen forces that stand in the way of true inspiration / Ed Catmull with
Amy Wallace.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-8129-9301-1
eBook ISBN 978-0-67964450-7
1. Creative ability in business. 2. Corporate culture. 3. Organizational effectiveness. 4. Pixar (Firm) I.
Wallace, Amy. II. Title.
HD53.C394 2014
658.40714dc23 2013036026
www.atrandom.com
Jacket design: Andy Dreyfus
Jacket illustration: Disney Pixar
v3.1
http://www.atrandom.com
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction: Lost and Found
PART I: GETTING STARTED
Chapter 1: Animated
Chapter 2: Pixar Is Born
Chapter 3: A Defining Goal
Chapter 4: Establishing Pixars Identity
PART II: PROTECTING THE NEW
Chapter 5: Honesty and Candor
Chapter 6: Fear and Failure
Chapter 7: The Hungry Beast and the Ugly Baby
Chapter 8: Change and Randomness
Chapter 9: The Hidden
PART III: BUILDING AND SUSTAINING
Chapter 10: Broadening Our View
Chapter 11: The Unmade Future
PART IV: TESTING WHAT WE KNOW
Chapter 12: A New Challenge
Chapter 13: Notes Day
Afterword: The Steve We Knew
Starting Points: Thoughts for Managing a Creative Culture
Photo Insert
Dedication
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
INTRODUCTION: LOST AND FOUND
Every morning, as I walk into Pixar Animation Studiospast the twenty-foot-
high sculpture of Luxo Jr., our friendly desk lamp mascot, through the double
doors and into a spectacular glass-ceilinged atrium where a man-sized Buzz
Lightyear and Woody, made entirely of Lego bricks, stand at attention, up the
stairs past sketches and paintings of the characters that have populated our
fourteen filmsI am struck by the unique culture that defines this place.
Although Ive made this walk thousands of times, it never gets old.
Built on the site of a former cannery, Pixars fifteen-acre campus, just over the
Bay Bridge from San Francisco, was designed, inside and out, by Steve Jobs. (Its
name, in fact, is The Steve Jobs Building.) It has well-thought-out patterns of
entry and egress that encourage people to mingle, meet, and communicate.
Outside, there is a soccer field, a volleyball court, a swimming pool, and a six-
hundred-seat amphitheater. Sometimes visitors misunderstand the place, thinking
its fancy for fancys sake. What they miss is that the unifying idea for this
building isnt luxury but community. Steve wanted the building to support our
work by enhancing our ability to collaborate.
The animators who work here are free tono, encouraged todecorate their
work spaces in whatever style they wish. They spend their days inside pink
dollhouses whose ceilings are hung with miniature chandeliers, tiki huts made of
real bamboo, and castles whose meticulously painted, fifteen-foot-high
styrofoam turrets appear to be carved from stone. Annual company traditions
include Pixarpalooza, where our in-house rock bands battle for dominance,
shredding their hearts out on stages we erect on our front lawn.
The point is, we value self-expression here. This tends to make a big
impression on visitors, who often tell me that the experience of walking into
Pixar leaves them feeling a little wistful, like something is missing in their work
livesa palpable energy, a feeling of collaboration and unfettered creativity, a
sense, not to be corny, of possibility. I respond by telling them that the feeling
they are picking up oncall it exuberance or irreverence, even whimsyis
integral to our success.
But its not what makes Pixar special.
What makes Pixar special is that we acknowledge we will always have
problems, many of them hidden from our view; that we work hard to uncover
these problems, even if doing so means making ourselves uncomfortable; and
that, when we come across a problem, we marshal all of our energies to solve it.
This, more than any elaborate party or turreted workstation, is why I love
coming to work in the morning. It is what motivates me and gives me a definite
sense of mission.
There was a time, however, when my purpose here felt a lot less clear to me.
And it might surprise you when I tell you when.
On November 22, 1995, Toy Story debuted in Americas theaters and became
the largest Thanksgiving opening in history. Critics heralded it as inventive
(Time), brilliant and exultantly witty (The New York Times), and visionary
(Chicago Sun-Times). To find a movie worthy of comparison, wrote The
Washington Post, one had to go back to 1939, to The Wizard of Oz.
The making of Toy Storythe first feature film to be animated entirely on a
computerhad required every ounce of our tenacity, artistry, technical wizardry,
and endurance. The hundred or so men and women who produced it had
weathered countless ups and downs as well as the ever-present, hair-raising
knowledge that our survival depended on this 80-minute experiment. For five
straight years, wed fought to do Toy Story our way. Wed resisted the advice of
Disney executives who believed that since theyd had such success with
musicals, we too should fill our movie with songs. Wed rebooted the story
completely, more than once, to make sure it rang true. Wed worked nights,
weekends, and holidaysmostly without complaint. Despite being novice
filmmakers at a fledgling studio in dire financial straits, we had put our faith in a
simple idea: If we made something that we wanted to see, others would want to
see it, too. For so long, it felt like we had been pushing that rock up the hill,
trying to do the impossible. There were plenty of moments when the future of
Pixar was in doubt. Now, we were suddenly being held up as an example of what
could happen when artists trusted their guts.
Toy Story went on to become the top-grossing film of the year and would earn
$358 million worldwide. But it wasnt just the numbers that made us proud;
money, after all, is just one measure of a thriving company and usually not the
most meaningful one. No, what I found gratifying was what wed created.
Review after review focused on the films moving plotline and its rich, three-
dimensional charactersonly briefly mentioning, almost as an aside, that it had
been made on a computer. While there was much innovation that enabled our
work, we had not let the technology overwhelm our real purpose: making a great
film.
On a personal level, Toy Story represented the fulfillment of a goal I had
pursued for more than two decades and had dreamed about since I was a boy.
Growing up in the 1950s, I had yearned to be a Disney animator but had no idea
how to go about it. Instinctively, I realize now, I embraced computer graphics
then a new fieldas a means of pursuing that dream. If I couldnt animate by
hand, there had to be another way. In graduate school, Id quietly set a goal of
making the first computer-animated feature film, and Id worked tirelessly for
twenty years to accomplish it.
Now, the goal that had been a driving force in my life had been reached, and
there was an enormous sense of relief and exhilarationat least at first. In the
wake of Toy Storys release, we took the company public, raising the kind of
money that would ensure our future as an independent production house, and
began work on two new feature-length projects, A Bugs Life and Toy Story 2.
Everything was going our way, and yet I felt adrift. In fulfilling a goal, I had lost
some essential framework. Is this really what I want to do? I began asking
myself. The doubts surprised and confused me, and I kept them to myself. I had
served as Pixars president for most of the companys existence. I loved the
place and everything that it stood for. Still, I couldnt deny that achieving the
goal that had defined my professional life had left me without one. Is this all
there is? I wondered. Is it time for a new challenge?
It wasnt that I thought Pixar had arrived or that my work was done. I knew
there were major obstacles in front of us. The company was growing quickly,
with lots of shareholders to please, and we were racing to put two new films into
production. There was, in short, plenty to occupy my working hours. But my
internal sense of purposethe thing that had led me to sleep on the floor of the
computer lab in graduate school just to get more hours on the mainframe, that
kept me awake at night, as a kid, solving puzzles in my head, that fueled my
every workdayhad gone missing. Id spent two decades building a train and
laying its track. Now, the thought of merely driving it struck me as a far less
interesting task. Was making one film after another enough to engage me? I
wondered. What would be my organizing principle now?
It would take a full year for the answer to emerge.
From the start, my professional life seemed destined to have one foot in Silicon
Valley and the other in Hollywood. I first got into the film business in 1979
when, flush from the success of Star Wars, George Lucas hired me to help him
bring high technology into the film industry. But he wasnt based in Los
Angeles. Instead, hed founded his company, Lucasfilm, at the north end of the
San Francisco Bay. Our offices were located in San Rafael, about an hours drive
from Palo Alto, the heart of Silicon Valleya moniker that was just gaining
traction then, as the semiconductor and computer industries took off. That
proximity gave me a front-row seat from which to observe the many emerging
hardware and software companiesnot to mention the growing venture capital
industrythat, in the course of a few years, would come to dominate Silicon
Valley from its perch on Sand Hill Road.
I couldnt have arrived at a more dynamic and volatile time. I watched as
many startups burned bright with successand then flamed out. My mandate at
Lucasfilmto merge moviemaking with technologymeant that I rubbed
shoulders with the leaders of places like Sun Microsystems and Silicon Graphics
and Cray Computer, several of whom I came to know well. I was first and
foremost a scientist then, not a manager, so I watched these guys closely, hoping
to learn from the trajectories their companies followed. Gradually, a pattern
began to emerge: Someone had a creative idea, obtained funding, brought on a
lot of smart people, and developed and sold a product that got a boatload of
attention. That initial success begat more success, luring the best engineers and
attracting customers who had interesting and high-profile problems to solve. As
these companies grew, much was written about their paradigm-shifting
approaches, and when their CEOs inevitably landed on the cover of Fortune
magazine, they were heralded as Titans of the New. I especially remember the
confidence. The leaders of these companies radiated supreme confidence. Surely,
they could only have reached this apex by being very, very good.
But then those companies did something stupidnot just stupid-in-retrospect,
but obvious-at-the-time stupid. I wanted to understand why. What was causing
smart people to make decisions that sent their companies off the rails? I didnt
doubt that they believed they were doing the right thing, but something was
blinding themand keeping them from seeing the problems that threatened to
upend them. As a result, their companies expanded like bubbles, then burst.
What interested me was not that companies rose and fell or that the landscape
continually shifted as technology changed but that the leaders of these
companies seemed so focused on the competition that they never developed any
deep introspection about other destructive forces that were at work.
Over the years, as Pixar struggled to find its wayfirst selling hardware, then
software, then making animated short films and advertisementsI asked myself:
If Pixar is ever successful, will we do something stupid, too? Can paying careful
attention to the missteps of others help us be more alert to our own? Or is there
something about becoming a leader that makes you blind to the things that
threaten the well-being of your enterprise? Clearly, something was causing a
dangerous disconnect at many smart, creative companies. What, exactly, was a
mysteryand one I was determined to figure out.
In the difficult year after Toy Storys debut, I came to realize that trying to
solve this mystery would be my next challenge. My desire to protect Pixar from
the forces that ruin so many businesses gave me renewed focus. I began to see
my role as a leader more clearly. I would devote myself to learning how to build
not just a successful company but a sustainable creative culture. As I turned my
attention from solving technical problems to engaging with the philosophy of
sound management, I was excited once againand sure that our second act
could be as exhilarating as our first.
It has always been my goal to create a culture at Pixar that will outlast its
founding leadersSteve, John Lasseter, and me. But it is also my goal to share
our underlying philosophies with other leaders and, frankly, with anyone who
wrestles with the competingbut necessarily complementaryforces of art and
commerce. What youre holding in your hands, then, is an attempt to put down
on paper my best ideas about how we built the culture that is the bedrock of this
place.
This book isnt just for Pixar people, entertainment executives, or animators.
It is for anyone who wants to work in an environment that fosters creativity and
problem solving. My belief is that good leadership can help creative people stay
on the path to excellence no matter what business theyre in. My aim at Pixar
and at Disney Animation, which my longtime partner John Lasseter and I have
also led since the Walt Disney Company acquired Pixar in 2006has been to
enable our people to do their best work. We start from the presumption that our
people are talented and want to contribute. We accept that, without meaning to,
our company is stifling that talent in myriad unseen ways. Finally, we try to
identify those impediments and fix them.
Ive spent nearly forty years thinking about how to help smart, ambitious
people work effectively with one another. The way I see it, my job as a manager
is to create a fertile environment, keep it healthy, and watch for the things that
undermine it. I believe, to my core, that everybody has the potential to be
creativewhatever form that creativity takesand that to encourage such
development is a noble thing. More interesting to me, though, are the blocks that
get in the way, often without us noticing, and hinder the creativity that resides
within any thriving company.
The thesis of this book is that there are many blocks to creativity, but there are
active steps we can take to protect the creative process. In the coming pages, I
will discuss many of the steps we follow at Pixar, but the most compelling
mechanisms to me are those that deal with uncertainty, instability, lack of
candor, and the things we cannot see. I believe the best managers acknowledge
and make room for what they do not knownot just because humility is a virtue
but because until one adopts that mindset, the most striking breakthroughs
cannot occur. I believe that managers must loosen the controls, not tighten them.
They must accept risk; they must trust the people they work with and strive to
clear the path for them; and always, they must pay attention to and engage with
anything that creates fear. Moreover, successful leaders embrace the reality that
their models may be wrong or incomplete. Only when we admit what we dont
know can we ever hope to learn it.
This book is organized into four sectionsGetting Started, Protecting the
New, Building and Sustaining, and Testing What We Know. It is no memoir, but
in order to understand the mistakes we made, the lessons we learned, and the
ways we learned from them, it necessarily delves at times into my own history
and that of Pixar. I have much to say about enabling groups to create something
meaningful together and then protecting them from the destructive forces that
loom even in the strongest companies. My hope is that by relating my search for
the sources of confusion and delusion within Pixar and Disney Animation, I can
help others avoid the pitfalls that impede and sometimes ruin businesses of all
kinds. The key for mewhat has kept me motivated in the nineteen years since
Toy Story debutedhas been the realization that identifying these destructive
forces isnt merely a philosophical exercise. It is a crucial, central mission. In the
wake of our earliest success, Pixar needed its leaders to sit up and pay attention.
And that need for vigilance never goes away. This book, then, is about the
ongoing work of paying attentionof leading by being self-aware, as managers
and as companies. It is an expression of the ideas that I believe make the best in
us possible.
PART I
GETTING STARTED
CHAPTER 1
ANIMATED
For thirteen years we had a table in the large conference room at Pixar that we
call West One. Though it was beautiful, I grew to hate this table. It was long and
skinny, like one of those things youd see in a comedy sketch about an old
wealthy couple that sits down for dinnerone person at either end, a candelabra
in the middleand has to shout to make conversation. The table had been
chosen by a designer Steve Jobs liked, and it was elegant, all rightbut it
impeded our work.
Wed hold regular meetings about our movies around that tablethirty of us
facing off in two long lines, often with more people seated along the wallsand
everyone was so spread out that it was difficult to communicate. For those
unlucky enough to be seated at the far ends, ideas didnt flow because it was
nearly impossible to make eye contact without craning your neck. Moreover,
because it was important that the director and producer of the film in question be
able to hear what everyone was saying, they had to be placed at the center of the
table. So did Pixars creative leaders: John Lasseter, Pixars creative officer, and
me, and a handful of our most experienced directors, producers, and writers. To
ensure that these people were always seated together, someone began making
place cards. We might as well have been at a formal dinner party.
When it comes to creative inspiration, job titles and hierarchy are
meaningless. Thats what I believe. But unwittingly, we were allowing this table
and the resulting place card ritualto send a different message. The closer
you were seated to the middle of the table, it implied, the more importantthe
more centralyou must be. And the farther away, the less likely you were to
speak upyour distance from the heart of the conversation made participating
feel intrusive. If the table was crowded, as it often was, still more people would
sit in chairs around the edges of the room, creating yet a third tier of participants
(those at the center of the table, those at the ends, and those not at the table at
all). Without intending to, wed created an obstacle that discouraged people from
jumping in.
Over the course of a decade, we held countless meetings around this table in
this waycompletely unaware of how doing so undermined our own core
principles. Why were we blind to this? Because the seating arrangements and
place cards were designed for the convenience of the leaders, including me.
Sincerely believing that we were in an inclusive meeting, we saw nothing amiss
because we didnt feel excluded. Those not sitting at the center of the table,
meanwhile, saw quite clearly how it established a pecking order but presumed
that wethe leadershad intended that outcome. Who were they, then, to
complain?
It wasnt until we happened to have a meeting in a smaller room with a square
table that John and I realized what was wrong. Sitting around that table, the
interplay was better, the exchange of ideas more free-flowing, the eye contact
automatic. Every person there, no matter their job title, felt free to speak up. This
was not only what we wanted, it was a fundamental Pixar belief: Unhindered
communication was key, no matter what your position. At our long, skinny table,
comfortable in our middle seats, we had utterly failed to recognize that we were
behaving contrary to that basic tenet. Over time, wed fallen into a trap. Even
though we were conscious that a rooms dynamics are critical to any good
discussion, even though we believed that we were constantly on the lookout for
problems, our vantage point blinded us to what was right before our eyes.
Emboldened by this new insight, I went to our facilities department. Please,
I said, I dont care how you do it, but get that table out of there. I wanted
something that could be arranged into a more intimate square, so people could
address each other directly and not feel like they didnt matter. A few days later,
as a critical meeting on an upcoming movie approached, our new table was
installed, solving the problem.
Still, interestingly, there were remnants of that problem that did not
immediately vanish just because wed solved it. For example, the next time I
walked into West One, I saw the brand-new table, arrangedas requestedin a
more intimate square that made it possible for more people to interact at once.
But the table was adorned with the same old place cards! While wed fixed the
key problem that had made place cards seem necessary, the cards themselves had
become a tradition that would continue until we specifically dismantled it. This
wasnt as troubling an issue as the table itself, but it was something we had to
address because cards implied hierarchy, and that was precisely what we were
trying to avoid. When Andrew Stanton, one of our directors, entered the meeting
room that morning, he grabbed several place cards and began randomly moving
them around, narrating as he went. We dont need these anymore! he said in a
way that everyone in the room grasped. Only then did we succeed in eliminating
this ancillary problem.
This is the nature of management. Decisions are made, usually for good
reasons, which in turn prompt other decisions. So when problems ariseand
they always dodisentangling them is not as simple as correcting the original
error. Often, finding a solution is a multi-step endeavor. There is the problem
you know you are trying to solvethink of that as an oak treeand then there
are all the other problemsthink of these as saplingsthat sprouted from the
acorns that fell around it. And these problems remain after you cut the oak tree
down.
Even after all these years, Im often surprised to find problems that have
existed right in front of me, in plain sight. For me, the key to solving these
problems is finding ways to see whats working and what isnt, which sounds a
lot simpler than it is. Pixar today is managed according to this principle, but in a
way Ive been searching all my life for better ways of seeing. It began decades
before Pixar even existed.
When I was a kid, I used to plunk myself down on the living room floor of my
familys modest Salt Lake City home a few minutes before 7 P.M. every Sunday
and wait for Walt Disney. Specifically, Id wait for him to appear on our black-
and-white RCA with its tiny 12-inch screen. Even from a dozen feet awaythe
accepted wisdom at the time was that viewers should put one foot between them
and the TV for every inch of screenI was transfixed by what I saw.
Each week, Walt Disney himself opened the broadcast of The Wonderful
World of Disney. Standing before me in suit and tie, like a kindly neighbor, he
would demystify the Disney magic. Hed explain the use of synchronized sound
in Steamboat Willie or talk about the importance of music in Fantasia. He
always went out of his way to give credit to his forebears, the menand, at this
point, they were all menwhod done the pioneering work upon which he was
building his empire. Hed introduce the television audience to trailblazers such
as Max Fleischer, of Koko the Clown and Betty Boop fame, and Winsor McCay,
who made Gertie the Dinosaurthe first animated film to feature a character
that expressed emotionin 1914. Hed gather a group of his animators,
colorists, and storyboard artists to explain how they made Mickey Mouse and
Donald Duck come to life. Each week, Disney created a made-up world, used
cutting-edge technology to enable it, and then told us how hed done it.
Walt Disney was one of my two boyhood idols. The other was Albert Einstein.
To me, even at a young age, they represented the two poles of creativity. Disney
was all about inventing the new. He brought things into beingboth artistically
and technologicallythat did not exist before. Einstein, by contrast, was a
master of explaining that which already was. I read every Einstein biography I
could get my hands on as well as a little book he wrote on his theory of
relativity. I loved how the concepts he developed forced people to change their
approach to physics and matter, to view the universe from a different
perspective. Wild-haired and iconic, Einstein dared to bend the implications of
what we thought we knew. He solved the biggest puzzles of all and, in doing so,
changed our understanding of reality.
Both Einstein and Disney inspired me, but Disney affected me more because
of his weekly visits to my familys living room. When you wish upon a star,
makes no difference who you are, his TV shows theme song would announce
as a baritone-voiced narrator promised: Each week, as you enter this timeless
land, one of these many worlds will open to you. Then the narrator would
tick them off: Frontierland (tall tales and true from the legendary past),
Tomorrowland (the promise of things to come), Adventureland (the wonder
world of natures own realm), and Fantasyland (the happiest kingdom of them
all). I loved the idea that animation could take me places Id never been. But
the land I most wanted to learn about was the one occupied by the innovators at
Disney who made these animated films.
Between 1950 and 1955, Disney made three movies we consider classics
today: Cinderella, Peter Pan, and Lady and the Tramp. More than half a century
later, we all remember the glass slipper, the Island of Lost Boys, and that scene
where the cocker spaniel and the mutt slurp spaghetti. But few grasp how
technically sophisticated these movies were. Disneys animators were at the
forefront of applied technology; instead of merely using existing methods, they
were inventing ones of their own. They had to develop the tools to perfect sound
and color, to use blue screen matting and multiplane cameras and xerography.
Every time some technological breakthrough occurred, Walt Disney incorporated
it and then talked about it on his show in a way that highlighted the relationship
between technology and art. I was too young to realize such a synergy was
groundbreaking. To me, it just made sense that they belonged together.
Watching Disney one Sunday evening in April of 1956, I experienced
something that would define my professional life. What exactly it was is difficult
to describe except to say that I felt something fall into place inside my head.
That nights episode was called Where Do the Stories Come From? and
Disney kicked it off by praising his animators knack for turning everyday
occurrences into cartoons. That night, though, it wasnt Disneys explanation that
pulled me in but what was happening on the screen as he spoke. An artist was
drawing Donald Duck, giving him a jaunty costume and a bouquet of flowers
and a box of candy with which to woo Daisy. Then, as the artists pencil moved
around the page, Donald came to life, putting up his dukes to square off with the
pencil lead, then raising his chin to allow the artist to give him a bow tie.
The definition of superb animation is that each character on the screen makes
you believe it is a thinking being. Whether its a T-Rex or a slinky dog or a desk
lamp, if viewers sense not just movement but intentionor, put another way,
emotionthen the animator has done his or her job. Its not just lines on paper
anymore; its a living, feeling entity. This is what I experienced that night, for the
first time, as I watched Donald leap off the page. The transformation from a
static line drawing to a fully dimensional, animated image was sleight of hand,
nothing more, but the mystery of how it was donenot just the technical process
but the way the art was imbued with such emotionwas the most interesting
problem Id ever considered. I wanted to climb through the TV screen and be
part of this world.
The mid-1950s and early 1960s were, of course, a time of great prosperity and
industry in the United States. Growing up in Utah in a tight-knit Mormon
community, my four younger brothers and sisters and I felt that anything was
possible. Because the adults we knew had all lived through the Depression,
World War II, and then the Korean War, this period felt to them like the calm
after a thunderstorm.
I remember the optimistic energyan eagerness to move forward that was
enabled and supported by a wealth of emerging technologies. It was boom time
in America, with manufacturing and home construction at an all-time high.
Banks were offering loans and credit, which meant more and more people could
own a new TV, house, or Cadillac. There were amazing new appliances like
disposals that ate your garbage and machines that washed your dishes, although I
certainly did my share of cleaning them by hand. The first organ transplants
were performed in 1954; the first polio vaccine came a year later; in 1956, the
term artificial intelligence entered the lexicon. The future, it seemed, was
already here.
Then, when I was twelve, the Soviets launched the first artificial satellite
Sputnik 1into earths orbit. This was huge news, not just in the scientific and
political realms but in my sixth grade classroom at school, where the morning
routine was interrupted by a visit from the principal, whose grim expression told
us that our lives had changed forever. Since wed been taught that the
Communists were the enemy and that nuclear war could be waged at the touch
of a button, the fact that theyd beaten us into spa
