Uncle’s corporate dilemma

Press, 25 January 1986, Page 15

Uncle’s corporate dilemma

By

RUSSELL BAKER

NZPA“New York Times”

An uncle of mine had an idea for getting rich: a flying bicycle. He called it an "aerocycle.” This shows how long ago he had the idea because the prefix “aero” went out with the buggy whip and would now be forgotten if the Air Force 30 years ago hadn’t concoted the word “aerospace” to justify its dubious claim on the billions soon to be lavished on rocketry. I did not see how the aerocycle could fail to make my uncle wealthy. It was the natural next step beyond the automobile and as he often explained from his backyard hammock, it was not only a more pleasant machine to travel by but also more economical. Almost anyone would rather cruise along just above the treetops than sit earthbound in a hot, oily metal box which constantly rattled the spine to remind you how many politicans were unscrupulous enough to take the

pothole-repair money and run. Like all American boys, I knew who Henry Road was and admired him for having got rich off machines. General Motors was not so famous: I guessed he had served with General Pershing during the Great War and was glad when it ended so he could go home and try his hand at making cars. My uncle talking about the aerocycle made me realise he might be richer than Henry Ford some day. He .still had not solved all the engineering problems, as he confessed when I asked if he planned to attach the wings to the handlebars

or to the pedals. Still, I thought that if Henry and the general had any sense at all, they would pool their fortunes and offer' my uncle hundreds and hundreds of dollars not to go ahead with the aerocycle. Later when I had moved to knickers and then to long pants, I wondered if this had happened, because the aerocycle had still not revolutionised transportation despite years on the drawing board, or, more precisely, in the backyard hammock. By then, having moved far from that suspended hotbed of ideas, I had been too battered by pro-

fessorial and military minds to do much thinking. Mentally anesthetised, I naturally dismissed the aerocycle as a bit of foolishness my uncle had cooked up to entertain me. President Reagan’s example gave me the courage to realise that people do not mind foolishness as long as you are serious about it, so I went back to my uncle’s hammock. “The aerocycle,” I said. “You never made it Did Henry Ford and GM buy you off? Or was it the highway lobby? The concrete and asphalt trusts? The construction unions?” Did he look that rich? “No.” But his hammock

was obviously new and top-drawer quality. “Couldn’t you lick the engineering problems?” "The engineering was so easy a child could have done it” he said. “If I had gone ahead I could have filled the skies with aerocycles, could have built a business the like of which “You could have made millions?” “Billions at least” he said. “Don’t fun me, uncle. I’m grown up now. Learned to think under Instruction by professors and military men. Interesting ideas cannot excite me anymore.”

"Nothing Interesting about a billion,” he said.

“But not taking the billion ... that’s interesting.” “What was the use?” “A billion. You could have had your picture on magazine covers.” “Nephew,” he said. “Have you grown up to be the fool you sound like?” “I’ve been to college. I’ve been in the military. Then I went to Washington and . ..” “It’s like this,” he said, and told me: He was-all set to produce aerocycles en masse in a huge company to be called Uncle Aerocycles. In no time at all Uncle’s revenues would place it third in the Fortune 500.

Then he learned that the tax law was written to make it almost impossible to pass the business on to his children so they would have work. He would have to put Uncle on the stock market His children, filthy rich with nothing to do, would turn into tennis bums and spend their lives getting divorced. Stockholders, demanding higher profits every three months, would force the company to abandon expensive aerocycle research. Uncle would inevitably fall far beyond Japanese competition. Unable to make anything worth selling, it would start raiding other companies and end up making lipstick, frozen pizza, nerve gas and portable motel rooms. “That’s a terrible thing to do to the aerocycle,” he said. “But for billions . . .” “I’d rather have a sweet idea that has not been spoiled,” he said. He is unreal, that uncle.