PART FOUR
Ross started in without preamble. “Reverbo, what is the domestic industry probably least likely to suffer for the foreseeable future?” A relevant question, to be sure. “Slim-Jim production, my astral-projected figurine?” I said. “You’re on the right track,” said Perot, “it’s health care. You’re all getting older and the boomers, despite their courageous fantasy of exercising and eating their way nutritiously to eternal youth, are all going to be ordering orthopedic pants within the next ten years, if not sooner. You’re going to be the biggest group of American sickos ever assembled at one time. Manufacturers know this, care givers and medical providers know it, assisted living communities are gearing up, drug companies and insurance companies are drooling over it–that’s one place where the profits will never dry up. See this chart I’ve prepared? As the age line goes up, the sick line follows, and this dollar sign just explodes.”
“Look around,” said Perot, “what do you see now? Everywhere people are younger than you. The business world is basically comprised of frat boys and 30-something managers making half of what you made when you got the slip, and who couldn’t give a damn how long you’ve worked or how loyal and dependable you are. What few decent jobs are left they give to their buddies. The government ain’t much better–cronies in almost every corner. What else is new? If you want to dilute the competition, you have to go at it in a sector-specific way.
There was no arguing with this logic. But I had no experience in the health care industry. Perot already guessed my predicament. “Now Larry…sorry, Reverbo, you’re probably asking yourself, well Ross, how am I going to fire a torpedo right into the middle of this one? From the edge. Let me tell you a little story. One time I had an idea to develop a line of personal adhesives. People are always needing to stick stuff to things, right, and don’t always have a way to do it. I convinced the 3–M Corporation to wrap me in an experimental high-density adhesive foam for three weeks, and was handsomely compensated for it, I might add. Now, what does this have to do with our health care discussion? Nothing, except I’m just demonstrating the potential economic power of unconventional possibilities. One time I was in Canyonlands National Park and watched how a husky lad of about ten gathered up a little too much speed down a slippery trail and then tripped and suffered a badly sprained face. You know what I thought of right then? The Runaway Tourist Ramp. I had some plans drawn up, and after a couple of phone calls to a senator friend of mine and a few million dollars later, these public safety features are now installed in almost all our national parks. Do you see what I’m trying to tell you here?”
Sure. Wish I was H. Ross Perot and could do any damn fool thing I wanted? That maybe this perky plutocrat was part of the problem? But that was not going to be a constructive answer, and anyway, I don’t hate all the super rich, only the ones who use their wealth to jack the system at the expense of everyone else. My response was unnecessary, though, because this was his show and his point was on. I remembered how Vonnegut felt about the edge. Fifty-nine years ago he wrote in Player Piano, “I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can’t see from the center.” Right now my job was to listen and learn.
“You know,” said Ross, “speaking of health, I had an idea for an affordable alternative to traditional, insurance-based medical care. I’ve been working up a plan for a home-based, all-in-one consumer machine that could fit in a shed or the corner of a garage for simple neighborhood family trimming and grooming jobs. Takes the place of costly treatments, unpleasant lotions, and often hard-to-find tools. I’ve named it the Master Family Groomer. You can offer it as a kit using relatively inexpensive components from the Sears Catalog. A do-it-yourselfer could put the whole shootin’ match together in an afternoon.
I had that captivating sensation one gets when the brain knows something odd and wonderful is soon to be revealed. “Dial me in, H.R. What does this contraption do?”
“Well, it does more than just groom,” said Ross, “way more. I’m using that as kind of a catch-all word. Think about this, Larry. Almost everyone you know has some minor physical abnormalities, right? Cousin Leo has that thing on his back that embarrasses the family every time he takes off his shirt at the lake; Uncle Dave contracted a peculiar rash on his hands from operating a lemur ranch that never healed properly to this day; Aunt Louise has never been able to completely remove them chin hairs––there’s always something.”
“Familiar stories all,” I nodded. Perot continued. “If you don’t need a specialized medical procedure or a university-trained anesthesiologist, this could be a profitable part-time occupation.”
Ross, of course, had a sketch of the device that combined a triple-action, three-speed Dino-Shift gearbox from a Craftsman lawn mower connected to a modified weed-eater shaft with bolt-on accessory and attachment flange, and the whole thing mounted on a wheeled tripod with dual patio lights and push button alarm–maybe $1500 worth of Sears parts. An enterprising promoter with an attractive price list could smooth out unsightly clusters of lichens, carbuncles, saddle sores, and bunions on a Saturday morning and still have time to get to the bank by noon.
“Listen to this,” Perot said, and started reading copy off another chart he had flipped on the easel. “At last, a practical, portable, and economical home unit that completely cleans, grooms, trims, grinds, peels, polishes, scrubs, slices, probes, buffs, routs, de-burrs, and de-greases every member of the family, including house pets and farm animals. Removes unwanted boils, lint, moles, lumps, hair, hives, cowlicks, frostbite, road tar and tattoos. Take it on your next vacation for emergency wilderness trimming. Opens stubborn pores!” The man was completely enthralled by his presentation. His expression had brightened into an almost incandescent gleam. As for me, I was unable to form complete sentences at this point.
The bubbly brainiac wasn’t done. “There’s more,” said Ross. “You got to hook ‘em with everything, Reverbo, so I thought of a couple of more teasers.” Still another chart was produced with more promotions and graphics, and the enchanting industrialist continued his pitch. “Colons re-bored! Order by Memorial Day and we’ll include a Pulse-King Dino-Flow Bowel Jet with pressure gauge, fifteen feet of hose and 6-gallon insulated water tank. A $99.95 value, yours absolutely free. And how about this Deluxe File Cabinet? Replace that complicated home computer and store individual trimming schedules you alphabetize!”
Although ill-at-ease with the picture of the bowel jet and pressure gauge accessory, I was nevertheless stunned by this man’s enormous capacity for ideas. “I can’t think of anything left to add except maybe, DOCTORS BAFFLED!” I laughed. “You ought to send one to Southern Culture on the Skids. It’s right up their alley. They’d use it as a door prize at one of their shows. Hell, you might as well say, ‘And boy, can this catch fish!’ Even on one of his 72-hour psilocybin benders Ron Popeil never dreamed of anything this big.”
Ross flashed that big grin. “See, Larry,” he said, “you’re catching on and thinking it through. Now’s no time to try to become an employee. Hell, there ain’t no regular jobs around anymore that pay worth a damn anyway. You want to really push the envelope? What we do is take the Home Groomer to the next level: Genome Modification. Picture a fleet of airships with this logo on the side: BIO–GEN Mobile DNA Sales & Service. Bio-Genetic Engineering While–U–Wait. This is where it’s going to happen, Reverbo. It’s right around the corner.”
Next: Cortex grinding, slaw slinging, tater topping, and a final chart for now.
Reverbo Critic-At-Large
