Lessons from the Boot of a Car

INTRODUCTION 

 

Lessons from the Boot of a Car is not a how-to book or a how-I-did-it book. It’s a story-book intended to encourage the novice entrepreneur to make a start and help the square peg in a corporate hole seize the opportunities that come along. In short, this book is for the captains of industry who are currently corporals. Hopefully, it has its lighter moments with some instructive elements here and there, but essentially it’s a book of incitement. A key aim is to incite ambitious commercial upstarts to have ideas above their station, launch a business and make a success of it. 

Because if I can do it, just about anyone can. 

Not everyone is born to be an entrepreneur. But even if you never own a business it is possible to own your job, grow it and get more fun out of it. If you’re that person, this book is for you as well. 

Entrepreneurs almost always need capital. They also need encouragement; especially when they fail and have to start over. My ambition for Lessons from the Boot of a Car is that it will provide that encouragement. 

Some closet entrepreneurs never fail. They don’t get that far because they simply do not try. Prospects of commercial success look so grim these wannabes wait till “next year” or the year after or the year after that. The timing is never right. 

I hope this book nudges them into making a move. 

I also hope to reach out to “gifted” South Africans, those fortunate to have been gifted a start in life by trust funds and wealthy parents, first-generation entrepreneurs who made their pile and passed it on. Many of these gifted individuals have maintained the family’s entrepreneurial traditions and built even bigger businesses or launched new ones, but just as many have shown nothing like this level of enterprise. 

Of course, in recent years some have become independently wealthy via empowerment transactions and, on occasion, this has led to further investment in enterprise development – but not always. Again we see a reluctance to take risks that might create new businesses and new jobs. Many prefer safer options. And if this book prompts gifted but risk-averse folk to be more entrepreneurial, more proactive and less passive in the enjoyment of their wealth it will have done a worthwhile job. 

But why should South African entrepreneurs need a book to encourage them? Our country has produced plenty of outrageously successful entrepreneurs – Sol Kerzner (the “Sun King” and creator of South Africa’s modern hospitality industry), Richard Maponya (the father of black retailing), Mark Shuttleworth (the first African in space and developer of the Thawte internet security system), Robbie Brozin (founder of Nando’s, the international chicken restaurant chain) and lots more. Their success should be encouragement enough, shouldn’t it? 

Regrettably, no. 

Some major companies in our country have spent five years trimming costs and cutting jobs. These businesses cut back to protect profits, then cut some more. What happened to new investment, new products and new ideas to drive growth? All were in short supply – despite the fact that for more than 20 years most large businesses have paid lip service to the development of entrepreneurial managers and the creation of an entrepreneurial culture. But when it came to taking a calculated risk, too many business leaders behaved like safe, solid managers and took no risks at all. 

At the other end of the scale we have yet to see an explosion of start-up businesses run by new, energetic owners. A few have indeed emerged, but we have certainly seen no new wave of zero-to-hero Maponyas and Brozins. 

South Africans work hard enough and are smart enough to succeed, but it seems our nation is gripped by a plague of caution. I learned years ago that you can’t sell pessimism. In today’s South Africa you don’t need to. So many people are pessimistic already. So, this book is also for those optimists that still exist. In fact, I’m in awe of tough-minded optimists. The future is theirs because the pessimists don’t want it or can’t see it. 

I confess I also have another agenda for writing this book. The year 2013 marked the thirtieth anniversary of the launch of TBWA \ Hunt\Lascaris, the country’s most awarded advertising agency and the agency recognised in 2012 as the third best in the world. Thirty is a significant number. It’s almost time for me to move on. But before I do, I would like to share some of the things I’ve learned and admit to some of the stupidities that tripped me up. 

Landing on your butt hurts but can be good for a laugh. There’s nothing wrong with looking back and laughing at your slip-ups … as long as you learned from them and got it right next time. 

 

Reg Lascaris

Johannesburg 2013 

 

CHAPTER ONE 

 

BEGINNINGS 

 

I confess. I’m another of those 1960s’ dropouts who somehow fell on his feet, though at the time it felt like I’d fallen on my bum. I managed one year on campus at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg studying for a Bachelor of Commerce degree. That was back in 1966. I pulled in another year studying part-time off campus, but that never worked out either. I was distracted. We all were back then. 

My friends were planning to travel overseas; going to Europe for a whole year. I was desperate to join them. Europe was cool (downright freezing when you come from South Africa) and “doing Europe” was obligatory for any kid who strummed a little guitar and wanted to be part of the music scene. I loved rock music and idolised Elvis Presley and The Beatles. 

To get started I needed money to travel and cover living – or at least survival – expenses. So, while still officially a Wits student, I began part-time work for a realtor selling residential property. There was no formal sales training, but I picked up the basics about selling features and benefits. The market must have been heavily in my favour because I actually managed to sell some homes and I began banking the commission. After two years of selling, saving and supposedly studying, I had enough money and headed for Europe with my friends. 

Overseas I learned that the streets aren’t paved with gold. They use tarmac for that. Another thing I learned about the streets is that they position you very close to the gutter. 

The day we took off, however, we were at a much more elevated level. My friends and I travelled first class to Paris on UTA (later Air France). We were bumped up courtesy of some perks due to my mother who worked at UTA’s Johannesburg office. 

As I remember it, Paris was a riot. 

A couple of days after our arrival, we decided on a stroll along the Left Bank. Paris was bathed in late spring sunshine, though we soon noticed a little intermittent cloud … of teargas. We had strolled into a student riot. Sorbonne students had taken to the streets in a massive protest. We had absolutely no idea what was going on. 

The riots of May 1968 came close to toppling the French government, but that was a little later. On that first day, we were totally confused and bewildered. We were on the outside of the massed student ranks, rubber-necking a riot, just soaking up the authentic French student experience, when suddenly we were surrounded by baton-wielding police in full riot gear. We were kids, we were in jeans and the cops took us for rioters. The next thing I knew I was grabbed by the French police and frog-marched to a police van (there’s a pun in there somewhere). The police also grabbed my pal Tikkie. 

We protested (very quietly and politely, of course) that we were tourists from South Africa. We’d never seen a full-on riot before and just wanted to take a closer look, as one does. But the gendarmes weren’t listening. The van, by now full of students, took us off to a police station and we were thrown into the cells. I still don’t know the charge. Our only crime was being young and wearing jeans. How could a couple of visiting South Africans know Paris had such a strict dress code? 

My French was not too bad back then, but I stuck to South African English and played dumb. Two hours later, we were released. Bienvenue à Paris! 

Other parts of Europe were kinder to us and, to be fair, so were the French after the riots calmed down, though it will take a lot to convince me the French police are wonderful. 

The onset of the European winter coincided with the onset of extreme poverty. I did not have a sou or a lira for that matter. The lack of lira was a particular problem on the morning we arrived in Rome, the Italian capital. 

It was Christmas Day. I had my guitar. My friend Tikkie had his bongos. We trekked off to a piazza near the railway station and I started to sing (Donovan and Elvis numbers, if I remember correctly). I wasn’t only broke, I was hungry. So we literally sang for our supper. The Italians are a nation of music lovers, but for us they stretched a point and we ended up with enough cash to last a couple of days. 

I still had my return air ticket. It was time to go home and time to look for a proper job. 

 

Entry to the mining industry 

Back in South Africa, I was prepared to do anything, which explains my foray into the mining industry, the secretarial department of Union Corporation to be exact. The company was a substantial mining house back then. My stature was a lot less grand. I was a junior clerk. I had a little desk and, more importantly, a chair – an antiquated swivel one with a tilt feature. 

After being put in my place (an admin office with several other clerks and office staff), I decided to sit back and survey my new surroundings. I tilted back in my chair and just kept going … I flipped over and went full circle before landing in a heap. It was like something out of Monty Python. I was very embarrassed, but I picked up the chair, positioned it carefully and sat down again; very gently and gingerly this time. 

After a few seconds I felt a little more at ease, shifted my weight in my seat and leaned to my right. The arm of the chair came away and I fell in a heap again. 

This was ridiculous. 

I went to my superior at the other end of the room. What followed was even more like Monty Python. 

I said, “Excuse me, I need a new chair. I can’t lean back and I can’t lean sideways.” 

He said, “Do you see that man over there in the corner? When he leaves, you can have his chair.” 

I asked, “When will that be?” 

He answered, “In about five years.” 

I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. He was serious. I was stunned. But what do you do when you are 21 and desperate for a job? You stick it out and try to be positive. 

The next morning, the guy whose departure was expected in five years was not at his desk. His chair was empty. Opportunity knocked. So I took the chair and swapped it for mine. It seemed like a perfectly logical solution to me. The upshot was an unholy row when my colleague returned to his desk. He escalated the issue to our boss and I was given the sack. 

I’m still not sure of my offence; though it might have been insider chair trading. 

I had lasted two days in the mining industry. My only consolation was that my early departure did not affect the gold price or furniture prices for that matter. 

 

Entry into the music industry 

I had never really thought of the mining industry as a long-term option and being catapulted into a new career direction by an item of office furniture was hardly an unmitigated disaster. What really appealed to me were the music industry (I might not know the ropes but at least I knew a few chords), perhaps the media business or even advertising. The advertising industry was fairly new and exciting, and the idea of being an adman seemed so cool. 

There were no obvious openings in the Johannesburg ad industry for a know-nothing entrant (not then, not now). But there was a job going in the music business. Gallo, a Johannesburg record company, needed a recording engineer. A friend tipped me off to the vacancy and I applied. I had no technical qualifications, but I managed to gloss over that and they gave me a chance. 

Only a day later I got my big break. 

Gallo was working on a Greatest Hits compilation for some international artist or other. I forget the name. All I had to do was play the selected tracks and record them on the master tape. After playing each number, I simply had to pull out a yard of tape, reset the recording machine and play the next song. The yard of empty tape created a pause between the various hits on the LP. 

I’m a music fan. I’ll give anything a listen. And I quite liked the “Greatest Hits” as they played out. I was enthralled. I’d only been in the industry a couple of days and already I was working on an LP for an international singing star. I mean, is that stellar progress or what? 

But, yes, you guessed it. I forgot to stop the tracks and pull out that empty yard of tape. We had a master tape with no gaps between the cuts. Not that anyone noticed; well, not right off anyway. 

Albums were on plastic in those days and tracks had to be burned onto disc. The first copy off the press was sent upstairs for my boss to check. All hell broke loose. The LP was one continuous medley of hits without a gap. One song spilled over into the next without missing a beat. In effect, I had invented multi-track audio mixing. 

Not that I got any credit for it. Gallo had to write off a whole batch of LPs and I got the sack the next morning. 

So, I had fallen flat in the mining industry and been burned in the music business. What next?

 

Entry into the film industry 

My next job was in the movies; not at the Brad Pitt level, you understand, but I was pretty thrilled at the time. And I lasted a lot longer than a few days, though I did miss out on a long-service award. Apparently, they don’t hand them out for nine months’ continuous service. Back then, however, several months in a paying job seemed like a major breakthrough for me. 

My new employer was Ster Films. I loved movies and I was determined to do well. One of my new jobs was to meet the entertainment needs of prison film clubs; just about every Correctional Services prison had one. All I had to do was ensure prison inmates across South Africa had a suitable monthly diet of film fare from Ster, a national film distributor. 

I had a captive audience and I took my responsibilities very seriously. This is the first time I can remember thinking deeply about the needs of a well-defined target market. I began treating my captive consumers to movies such as The Great Escape and Hang ’em High. 

I was confident I was meeting the needs of my target market and the feedback I got was that the prisoners loved them! Unfortunately, the warders didn’t. Apparently, I was contributing to discipline problems on the inside. I thought this was a small price to pay for better appreciation of the cinematic arts, but I wasn’t going to argue the point. 

The complaints flooded in from the Prisons Department. Another sacking was imminent. I got wind of it and escaped the axe by putting in my resignation as fast as possible. 

This left one last item on my career wish list …advertising.