This article focuses on the nineteenth-century fertilizer manufacturer the Pacific Guano Company, and seeks to understand how it adapted its production in response to the collapse of the Maine menhaden fishery in 1879. This collapse devastated the national market for fish scrap, the firm’s primary input. The company managed to maintain relatively consistent fertilizer output throughout this period of uncertainty by embracing new materials and by actively seeking more stable sources of these novel ingredients. Outwardly, the company gave no indications that it was dealing with supply chain disruption, even though it was, at the same time, rapidly rewriting the recipes for its core products. This disconnect demonstrates how generic categories of nature can help a firm adapt to a crisis and how an environmental change as significant as a fishery collapse can be hidden from the public.

This article offers a new interpretation of the coming of state ownership in aluminium-related big businesses in Norway. It shows that the Norwegian aluminium business of the late 1930s and the 1940s was undertaken by a Scandinavian business elite fully capable of filling capital requirements after the war. This elite had, however, entangled itself in the German war effort in Norway mainly by supporting the building of new aluminium plants under the German occupiers’ control. This left it morally vulnerable to the increasing emphasis during the war on aluminium as a strategic metal. The Allied war effort—especially evident in US attitudes—had come to see the cartelized aluminium industry of the 1930s as working against the national interest by impacting national production capacity in a negative way. The Allies bombed the major new plant in Norway in 1943, and after the war the US acted restrictively toward Norwegian capital assets in the US. By pursuing ownership after 1945, the Norwegian state performed strategic ownership roles in large corporations, thereby also protecting these entities from the possible wrath of the US against private owners.

During the last three decades of the twentieth century, John Labatt Ltd., one of Canada’s oldest and most successful breweries, attempted to gain a share of the British beer market. This article examines the push and pull factors of why foreign brewers like Labatt decided to enter the competitive British marketplace and analyzes the strategies of the winners and losers of the “lager war.” The article pays attention to the branding efforts of marketing managers and how some used product–place associations to imbue their brands with authenticity. While positive country images often lead to a favorable assessment of the products from that country, it is also true that unfavorable perceptions often foster negative assessments of their products. By examining the entrepreneurship and structural barriers of the beer industry in the United Kingdom toward the end of the twentieth century, the article adds to our understanding of the dynamics of business failure.

This address calls on historians and other social scientists to delve deeper into the nature of human imagination and its role in business. Interpreting a business plan written by my father prior to his death, I draw attention to the opportunity to use such sources to study the formation and consequences of “entrepreneurial imaginaries.” By this term, I mean the situated and embodied process by which human beings imagine desirable future ventures. Drawing on insights from neuroscience, philosophy, and psychology, I explore how recognizing the embodied nature of human imagination can deepen our understandings of how our subjects (a) imagine their ventures, (b) imagine themselves, and (c) imagine the moral worth of their venture in society. I conclude by highlighting why some of the sources and methods used by business historians may be particularly well suited for studying imagination and its relationship to entrepreneurship and change.