ng earnings. There was a huge gap between the value of the com- pany's individual parts and the consolidated "T" stock. "If they won't value the company on the sum of the parts," he said, "we'll give them the parts." Zeglis, eager to finally run his own company, jumped on the breakup bandwagon and fed Armstrong's new strategy back to him. Noski had always suspected Zeglis of inflating his unit's capital needs to force the break-up discussion. Now, he watched Zeglis eagerly grab a felt-tip marker. He drew four columns on an easel and labeled each with the name of one of the business units. Then he drew a horizontal box across the columns. "We've been spending 90 percent of our en- ergy trying to build bundles across these businesses," he told the di- rectors. "But 90 percent of the value of bundles is within each business." His best example was AT&T Wireless's Digital One Rate calling plan, which treated long distance as just another wireless call. It attracted far more customers and was far "stickier" than trying to put wired and wireless accounts on a single bill. On top of that, all four business units had come up with potential merger partners or investors if they were spun off from AT&T. The board had plenty to chew on. Before Armstrong's arrival, AT&T's annual board retreats were held at genteel resorts such as the Greenbrier in West Virginia. Spouses were usually invited, and afternoons were free for golf, ten- nis, or organized sightseeing and shopping. Evenings featured gour- met dinners, sometimes with entertainment. Under Armstrong, board retreats were held at the company's Basking Ridge, New Jersey, conference center. They started on Thursday or Friday evening and ran through Saturday or Sunday lunch. One dinner was at a local res- taurant; all the other meals were taken at the conference center. There were no sports, no entertainment, and no spouses. But even though the board members had plenty of time to discuss the ramifications of the situation being outlined for them, as well as the proposed solu-