What You See Is What You Get: My Autobiography (41 page)

One day, he came into my office, in a rather formal manner, and said that he wanted to jack it in. He'd worked all his life and now he felt it was time to retire. This was no problem to me. I knew he was now financially secure, with me occasionally backing him and Mum - when they'd let me! I'd sent them on holiday to Israel for the first time and even to Miami - all expenses paid, of course - but Dad still wanted his independence and insisted on paying for their European holidays with his own money.

Long after he'd left Amstrad, I was sitting in my office in Garman Road when Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (aka Dad and his mate Sid) burst in. This was typical of my father - he had no regard as to whether I was in a meeting or on the phone, he would just barge in. He told me that he and his mate had booked a package holiday through a travel agent in Clissold Road, Stoke Newington. Unfortunately, my dad's mate got sick and was advised by his doctor not to fly. They'd paid a deposit up front, but when they spoke to the travel agent that morning, he'd told them it was non-refundable.

Dad was aggravated. I knew my father's mentality - this was going to really wind him up and make him worry like crazy. After he had explained the situation, he said, 'We want to know what you can do about it.'

'What
I
can do about it?' I asked. 'What am I supposed to do?'

'Well, you know what to do with these things. Go on, phone up the man at the travel agent and tell him to give us our money back.'

I knew there was no chance of getting his money back because unless you took out some insurance, there were no refunds when it came to these package deals. In any case, the only refund would be to his mate and not to my dad, as there was nothing wrong with him.

My phone was ringing and I dismissed him quite quickly, saying, 'Okay, leave it to me. I'll get on to it.'

Two days went by and my dad was phoning me up. 'Well? What have you done? Did you get my money back yet?'

'No, Dad, I haven't had time.'

'Well, when are you going to do it?

'I'll do it tomorrow, leave it to me.'

Eventually, after a few more calls from Dad, I worked out what I hoped was the solution. The total amount of the refund was roughly PS650 (PS325 each). I called the travel agent and asked him which company the trip was booked through and he told me it was Laker. After assuring him I wasn't going to make a fuss, he reluctantly gave me their phone number.

I called Laker and spoke to some lady. 'Madam, you don't know who I am, but could you please listen very carefully. My father and his friend have booked a holiday with your firm and regrettably the friend cannot travel. They are very old, in their seventies, and they're driving me round the bleed-in' bend. Now, I know they haven't got a leg to stand on and I'm not going to ask you to give them a refund, but this is what I'd like you to do: I'm going to write out a cheque now to Laker Airways for PS650 which I'll post to you immediately. When you receive this cheque, could you please write out two cheques for PS325 - one to my father, the other to his friend - and send them to me.'

I had to repeat this at least twice before she got the plot. I told her that my father was driving me mad and that this was the simplest solution, otherwise he'd have a heart attack. In the end, she agreed and about a week later the two cheques turned up at my office. I phoned the old man up and told him to get down to Garman Road, as I had some good news for him - I'd got his money back. The pair of them were there within the hour and I presented them with their cheques.

'There you are,' my dad said to his friend. 'I told you he would do it. I told you my Alan would give 'em what for. Didn't I tell you he'd get the money back - see?'

He turned to me. 'What did you tell them, Alan? What did you say? Did you tell them you were going to get a solicitor on to them?'

'Don't worry, Dad, I sorted it out, just leave it at that. See you later, bye. Hope you get better soon, Sid.'

As they walked out of the room, I could still hear my dad saying, 'See, I knew he'd do it, I told you.'

A week or so later, Sid sent me a little present. They never did find out the true story behind their refund, but Daphne, Shirley, Derek and Ann were impressed with my little scheme and found it quite funny. Dad had been driving
them
mad too.

Meanwhile, there was some good news on the home front when Johnnie met a really kind and caring lady called Minnie, who had the patience of a saint. They married and she would go on to be called Auntie Minnie by my kids. She was warmly welcomed into the family.

Minnie was also a SuperJew and immediately fitted in with Johnnie's ways of kashrus and attending synagogue, so he was in heaven. They moved to Westcliff-on-Sea, near Southend, where there was a large Jewish community. They found a very nice flat with a lovely view of the sea, which we purchased in Ann's name. They lived there for quite a few years and gained a whole new bunch of cronies - serious synagogue-goers, of course; what else would you expect? We spent many a Sunday driving down the Southend Arterial Road with the kids to visit Johnnie and Minnie.

'And the Award Goes to the Amstrad Blockbuster Computer'

1982-6

In February 1984 I received a letter from the
Guardian
informing me that their committee of experts had selected me as the Young Businessman of the Year and inviting me to attend a big bash at the Mansion House in the City on 29 March.

I called Tim Holland-Bosworth and asked him what this was all about. He told me it was one of the highest accolades a businessperson could achieve and that it was a really big do, attended by all the City dignitaries, including the Lord Mayor. He added that I would be the guest of honour and would most certainly have to make an acceptance speech. Bloody hell, I thought, the last time I made a speech was at my wedding.

My mood at the time was not that great. I was concerned that the Amstrad bubble might be about to burst. Since flotation, we had doubled our profits year on year, but I knew there was no way we'd achieve this in 1984 and I was worried about what my next business move should be.

Ann and Jim Rice were with me in the car on the way to the Mansion House. I was very nervous at the prospect of speaking to all these people, so while Jim was talking to Ann about what a wonderful event this would be, I was being my usual sceptical self. I felt like a bit of a fraud, accepting this great accolade knowing that the overhyped expectations of me were about to evaporate. Both Ann and Jim told me to stop being a killjoy and shut up. They reminded me how far we'd all come since the days of Ridley Road and told me I should stop being silly. It didn't help.

When we arrived and I saw the size of the room and the hundreds of people there, I
really
got cold feet. I sat through the lunch at the top table, nervously trying to exchange pleasantries (ha, ha -
me
exchanging pleasantries!) with the Lord Mayor and other dignitaries, and then it was time to accept the award and make my speech. Heaven knows what I said. I just blurted out
some words, including a joke that got a mild grumble of a laugh, but that's all I can remember.

After the lunch, I had to hang around while a load of photographers took pictures of me in the line-up with the Lord Mayor and others, but then I got out of there as quickly as possible. I was relieved when it was all over. The next day there were some very nice pictures of Ann and me in the papers and the family all called to say they'd seen them. I'd picked up my first gong.

*

By 1984, sales of our tower systems had flattened out. Like all boom products, they were starting to reach saturation point. Compared to the profits for the year ending 30 June 1983 (PS8m on a turnover of PS52m), the year ending June 1984 saw profits starting to plateau out at PS9m on a turnover of PS85m. The figures for 1984 would have been worse if we hadn't moved into the growing market for colour TVs and VCRs and, once again, the Emperor was to play a role in the Amstrad story.

A couple of years earlier, I had received a call from Itakura of Orion. We had not done any business with them for a long time, but they had noticed the phenomenal growth of Amstrad in the UK audio market. Itakura, obviously prompted by Otake, called to say that they were very interested in supplying us with audio chassis and, if we agreed to this, they might supply us with the colour TV they were now making. He also mentioned that they planned to start VCR production and that when they did, we might be able to buy these also. I didn't need to kiss Otake's arse any longer, so I was quite dismissive. Itakura told me that they had purchased some of my tower systems to study and would be able to produce them at a very good price.

In fact, the timing was fortunate. Rumours had been floating around the Taiwanese market that Hawson was in terrible financial trouble. Chi Chi Liu from VQC told me they were not paying their suppliers and that it was inevitable they'd soon go bust. With this in mind, I played along with Itakura, but in a very standoffish manner. I fired some prices at him which were ridiculously lower than those we were paying Hawson, thinking that he'd simply go away.

To my surprise, a couple of days later, he told me that they would be eager to produce at those prices. I sent Bob Watkins to Korea to check it out. He was hosted by Orion's chief engineer, Mr Ogami, a short, quiet man with a rather shrewd look about him. He was quite a nice fellow who I believe was about the only one that stood up to the Emperor's nonsense.

Bob called me from Korea and told me that their factory was virtually
idle. Bit by bit, he managed to pump information out of Ogami, who told him that Orion's audio business with Michael Raymond had gone down the pan - my tower systems had taken over and wiped out the music-centre market completely. It was clear that Otake was desperate for work to fill his Korean factory and, typical of him, he used the carrot of selling colour TVs and the promise of supplying VCRs to tempt me to transfer production of my tower system chassis to him. It was nice to have Otake in a position I was comfortable with for once and I took the decision to switch production of the tower system chassis to Orion in Korea on the proviso that he would sell us fourteen-inch colour TVs immediately and VCRs when they started production.

From an engineering point of view, Orion was a far more professionally run organisation than Hawson or Morse. The speed of reaction into production was brilliant and the quality of the tower system chassis was a cut above what we'd been used to. Our after-sales service department had been suffering due to the poor quality of some batches of Hawson chassis, as had our reputation as a result. This reputation for poor quality had to be nipped in the bud quickly, as it was the only argument our competitors could raise against us, so we took the opportunity of sorting this out while we were changing manufacturers. Bob insisted that the products had to be produced to a certain quality level and that we would be placing independent inspectors at the factory to ensure that the goods were perfect. We appointed our own quality-control manager, Chris Pullen, who worked in conjunction with Bob to write up new testing procedures.

You have to take your hat off to Otake - he had a nose for the market. He wanted to move away from the audio business and had spotted that the VCR market - monopolised by JVC with their VHS system - was starting to boom. By the early eighties, JVC had won the video war against Philips, who originally introduced the Video Home Recording system, and Sony, who were next to market with their Betamax system.

Otake duly started a VCR production line, but for some strange reason he was desperate to get his first orders, so desperate that he made an unexpected visit to England, during which he was uncharacteristically pleasant and schmoozy. He asked me to buy 10,000 units and offered to supply them to me on open account, without a letter of credit, quite unprecedented for him, as he always insisted on LCs.

This wily old fox was up to something and I couldn't quite work out what. Here he was with his new charming persona, begging me to buy VCRs. He didn't need to beg Amstrad to enter the VCR business - it would be a great
boost for us - so while I was confused over his strange change of nature, I didn't care about the reasons; I was delighted to get into the VCR business.

His price was around Y=72,000 (the Japanese yen had dropped to Y=350 to the pound). This would translate into a retail price of PS399, the highest-priced Amstrad product ever, but one had to consider that JVC's and Ferguson's VCRs were at least PS200 more.

Knowing that the market was desperate for VCRs, I made an appointment with the buyer at Currys, Ian Radley, the same guy who had bought CB radios from us a couple of years earlier. Tricky Dickie and I sat in Radley's office while he leaned back in his chair, very arrogant, telling us that there was no way we would be able to supply VCRs, due to the strict quota instigated by MITI (the Japanese Ministry of Trade). I told him to mind his own business regarding the technicalities and stick to whether he wanted to buy them or not - it would be up to me to deliver them. He placed an order for 10,000 units, exactly the amount I'd bought from Orion.

Stanley Kalms, the chairman of Dixons, had always had a pretty negative mentality towards Amstrad. He didn't want to buy from me if he thought I was buying from someone else - he wanted to buy direct. Dixons' buyer, Terry Fitt, used to buy a few tower systems from us simply to maintain the credibility of their stores, as they couldn't be seen to be without the best-selling kit. I would go so far as to say that
all
my business with Dixons in years to come would be on that basis - I would generate the demand through my ground-breaking products and advertising. There were never any favours coming from Dixons. They bought what they had to buy because the market demanded it.