At 9 a.m. on Tuesday, October 29, 1929, Watson, Nichol, Braitmayer, Hastings, Evans, Phillips, and dozens more men and women drifted into the Jersey City Terminal for the trip to Endicott. The men wore suits, top coats, and fedoras. The women wore droopy dresses hemmed about mid-calf, and flapper-style hats. Some wrapped themselves in fur. Many of the men and women puffed cigarettes. Watson greeted his colleagues as they arrived. Usually, a Watson greeting went like this: He'd see the colleague coming, smile broadly, and briskly move into his path, hand extended out from the hip. The colleague, running smack into Watson's tall physical presence, would stop short and teeter back a bit, as if he'd run into a tree while not looking. He'd peer up, return the smile and finally grasp Watson's hand. The two would stand there talking animatedly, until Watson spotted another arrival and sprang off to repeat the process.

Each traveler brought with him a folded, pocket-size white card, which outlined the trip on the IBM Special: "Seating of guests on train, according to own preference. Facilities for playing Bridge will be provided." It told them that lunch would be served and their baggage checked and delivered to their hotel rooms. At the Arlington Hotel in Binghamton, "a page will conduct you to your room. It is not necessary to register. You will find your key in your door, and your baggage in your room." The celebratory dinner, the card informed them, would be at 7 p.m., announced by trumpet call.

In the hour spent on the platform and boarding the train, from 9 a.m. to 10 a.m., panic was gripping Wall Street. Sell orders instantly overwhelmed traders. Nearly 650,000 shares of U.S. Steel were sold in the first three minutes after the market opened. Stocks plunged at an unprecedented rate, quickly wiping out the market's gains for the entire previous year.

At mid-day, as the train clacked through Upstate New York's forested countryside, all those on the train gathered in the dining car. They started lunch with vegetable soup and salted almonds. The main course was a choice of filet of sole with tartar sauce, or lamb chops with a rasher of bacon. After the white-jacketed waiters cleared the meal away, they set down a dessert of mince pie with cheese.

As the travelers ate, the market rallied in New York. Investors expected J.P. Morgan and his bankers to again jump in to prevent a meltdown. They didn't, and the market went into free-fall.

On a rail car moving through scenic hills in 1929, there was no way to get news. The travelers were clueless about the crash.

In the early afternoon, the IBM Special stopped near the factory in Endicott. There was no train station or platform, just bare dirt and gravel. The men and women streamed out of the cars under a cloudy sky. The IBM Band lined up near the train and struck up a welcome march. The band -- trumpets, trombones, French horns, clarinets, and drums, played by men wearing band uniforms and hats -- escorted the arriving group on the walk to the factory, blaring the whole way. Watson, age 55, bounded out to the front of the crowd, leading them onward like a military general overrunning captured territory. When they arrived at the IBM plant, the two-story main entrance was draped in red, white, and blue bunting, and a large sign that said "Welcome." The entire group -- executives, wives, friends, the band, with Watson and Ford front and center -- lined up for a panoramic portrait. Afterward, some of the executives and wives took a tour of the factory. Watson and the other directors pealed off to conduct their board meeting. In the meeting, nearing 4 p.m., they must have learned the full measure of what was happening on Wall Street.

By the close of trading, 16,410,030 shares had traded hands, a record that would stand until 1968. Perhaps $15 billion, maybe more than $30 billion, in market value had been lost -- no one could tell because the volume of trades was so great that stock tickers could not keep up. Frantic traders on the exchange floor tried to liquidate their holdings before the closing bell rang, creating a sound that one observer described as a constant, ear-ringing roar. The damage flashed out across the nation on telegraph wires, and investors watched their net worth spill away. One man died of a heart attack while reading the ticker in a brokerage office. John Schwitzgebel of Kansas City, Mo., shot himself twice in the chest, saying, "Tell the boys I can't pay them what I owe them."

In Endicott, the only certainty among Watson and his directors was that the carnage had been great. Most of them probably first thought of their personal concerns -- they all held considerable amounts of IBM stock, which had taken a beating like all other stocks. What the crash meant for IBM as a company they could not fathom.

But, while much of the business world worried and tended to its wounds, Watson put on a tuxedo and went to a banquet. At the Arlington Hotel, the trumpets blew. The doors to the Spanish Ballroom opened as the IBM band playing a rousing march. The 600 guests found their places among long rows of white tables. An attendee described the scene: "Jeweled pendants hanging from the chandeliers flashed the rich colors of rubies, emeralds and sapphires. Candle flames gleamed among the warm tones of autumn flowers." The band gave way to the IBM Factory Orchestra, which played Broadway tunes. As guests picked up the menu, many of them chuckled. The names of the items were given a twist using IBM jargon. First came a Labor-Saving Consommé. It was followed by a choice of Dayton Scaled Fish with Electrically Controlled Potatoes, or Key Wound Breast of Chicken Eugene with Mechanically Perfect Potatoes and Brussels Sprouts with Counting Attachment. Dessert would be Lacquer Finished Ice Cream and Key Verified Cake. Dayton Ground Coffee would finish the meal.

Before dessert, Harry Evans took the stage and led the hall in IBM songs. A group of executives put on a skit poking gentle fun at Ford, parodying him and a golf foursome as they arrived at a country club. Moments later, four waiters appeared bearing a giant cake topped by 40 candles, followed by 40 waiters each carrying a normal-size cake topped by a single candle.

Watson played toastmaster. He made brief remarks, then began introducing the speakers who would pay tribute to Ford. Watson invited 16 men to speak, from Braitmayer to the mayor of Endicott. All told stories about Ford and detailed his accomplishments. For the audience, it must have seemed interminable. When the 16 speakers finished, Watson took his turn.

As he wound toward a conclusion, Watson engaged in the kind of kitschy pomp he was coming to adore. Two silk curtains hung behind the head table. Watson paused dramatically, stepped to the side and pulled a cord. The curtains parted to reveal a trio of outsized photographs of Ford and his family. The crowd applauded enthusiastically. For his grand finale, Watson named Ford's son a vice president of the Time Recording division. E.E. "Tink" Ford had been the division's sales manager.

At no point in the evening did a single speaker mention one word about the stock market crash. Not a hint.

The next morning, October 30, America woke up to the dull pain of a new economic reality. The New York Times headlines screamed the news: Under banner headlines, the first paragraph called the day "the most disastrous trading day in the stock market's history." But in Binghamton and Endicott, Watson delivered alternative medicine. The banner headline at the top of the Binghamton Press read, "American Business Sound, Notwithstanding Stock Crash, IBM Head Says Here." Watson spoke to reporters about the crash. "This flurry, which has brought large paper or actual losses to many persons, has seemingly left a large portion of the public in a more or less befuddled state of mind, and perhaps in some instances has resulted in a loss of confidence in the stability of American business," Watson pontificated. "I see absolutely no reason why the public should feel alarmed over the situation -- nor get the idea that a money or business panic might be impending."

Watson was wrong. The stability of American business was in question, and so was IBM's future.