03/01/2026
What a wonderful achievement. Love too that she was so supportive of others once she was able to do so.
The typo that got her fired made her $47.5 million. Her son became a rock star with the money she left behind.
Dallas, 1950s. Bette Nesmith Graham was terrified every single day she walked into work.
She was a high school dropout, a divorced single mother, raising a young son on a secretary's modest salary. She was the only thing standing between her child and poverty. And she had a devastating secret: she was a terrible typist.
The new IBM electric typewriters at Texas Bank & Trust made everything worse. One mistake meant starting over completely. The carbon-film ribbons turned pencil erasers into smudge machines. A single misplaced letter could cost hours of retyping. Pages and pages of work destroyed by trembling fingers.
Bette lived in constant fear of the day her boss would finally notice just how many errors she was making.
Then one December afternoon, she watched artists painting holiday scenes on the bank's windows. When they made a mistake, they didn't scrape it off and start over. They simply painted over the error and kept going.
Something clicked.
That night in her kitchen, Bette mixed water-based tempera paint in her blender, carefully matching the color to the bank's stationery. She poured it into a nail polish bottle, grabbed a watercolor brush from her son's art supplies, and slipped it into her purse.
The next morning, her hands shook as she painted over her first typo. She held her breath as it dried. Would it show? Would anyone notice?
It disappeared perfectly. Her boss never saw a thing.
Other secretaries started asking questions. Where did she get that magic paint? Could she make them a bottle? Bette began mixing batches in her kitchen after work, calling it "Mistake Out." Her teenage son Michael and his friends helped fill bottles by hand, earning a dollar an hour while Bette balanced the books at her kitchen table.
What started as survival slowly became something more. By 1957, she was selling about 100 bottles per month. In 1958, she renamed it "Liquid Paper" and filed for patents. When an office supply magazine featured her invention, she received over 500 inquiries from a single article. General Electric ordered more than 400 bottles.
But Bette was drowning again—this time in success. She'd work her secretarial job all day, then stay up past midnight filling orders, answering letters, perfecting her formula. She was running on fumes, working two full-time jobs with no end in sight.
Then exhaustion caught up with her. In 1958, after another sleepless night fulfilling orders, Bette accidentally signed a bank letter with "The Mistake Out Company" instead of her employer's name.
She was fired immediately.
Most people would have seen it as failure. Bette saw it as freedom.
With no job holding her back, she dove into Liquid Paper completely. She formalized the business, improved the formula, secured major clients, and built real infrastructure. In 1962, she married Robert Graham, a salesman who joined her in growing the company.
The expansion was remarkable. By 1968, Liquid Paper had its own automated factory in Dallas. By 1975, they were producing 25 million bottles annually and shipping to 31 countries worldwide.
But success attracted predators. Her second husband attempted to seize control of the company, trying to change her formula and strip away her royalty rights. Bette fought back fiercely, protecting her 49% stake. She divorced him in 1975, refusing to let anyone take what she'd built.
In 1979, Bette Nesmith Graham—the high school dropout who'd once cried over grocery money, the fired secretary who couldn't type—sold Liquid Paper to the Gillette Corporation for $47.5 million.
She immediately established two foundations supporting women in business and the arts. She'd designed her company with revolutionary ideas: on-site childcare, employee libraries, shared decision-making. She believed business should be built on dignity and community, not exploitation.
Bette died in 1980, just six months after the sale, at only 56 years old from complications of a stroke. Her son Michael—the teenager who'd once filled bottles for pocket change in her kitchen—inherited half her estate: over $25 million.
You probably know Michael better as Mike Nesmith of The Monkees. Years later, he told David Letterman: "She had a vision... she built it into a big multimillion-dollar international corporation and saved the lives of a lot of secretaries."
The irony is exquisite: A woman fired for making a mistake built an empire by helping millions of others fix theirs.
Before Liquid Paper, a single typo could destroy hours of work. After Liquid Paper, mistakes became correctable in seconds. Bette Nesmith Graham didn't just invent correction fluid—she gave people permission to be imperfect and still succeed.
Her story isn't about paint in a bottle. It's about refusing to accept that problems have no solutions. It's about turning your greatest vulnerability into your most valuable asset. It's about a struggling single mother who looked at something everyone else had accepted as unfixable and whispered to herself, "There has to be a better way."
And then she created it in her kitchen with a blender and a brush.
The mistake that got her fired became the fortune that set her free. Sometimes the greatest success comes from fixing what everyone else learned to live with.