Books:

Discovered! 505
Odd Enterprises

Hidden Dollars

How to Make
Money at Home

Small Business
of Your Own

You Can Own
a Business

During eight tedious months in an Army hospital, Mr. Garvy amused himself by making simple little Lucite and Plexiglas gifts from materials furnished by the Red Cross. He sent these articles home to his appreciative young wife, who was so delighted with them that she encouraged her husband to think up more and more designs.

Following his medical discharge, the Garvys set up an experimental plastic workroom in their home. After intensive study and hard work, enough small articles were made so that a shop could be opened and a retail business begun.

"The whole thing," laughs Garvy, "was begun on less than three hundred dollars. We probably didn't have more than forty-five dollars worth of materials."

Such items as aquarium book ends were popular from the start. Individual flower holders and bud vases attracted notice. Candy dishes in various colors sold well, and larger centerpieces were good sellers. No sizable objects such as large picture frames, boxes, or tables were attempted, due principally to lack of space and facilities with which to manufacture them. The Garvys have continued to follow this policy of designing and making small items. They are the retail outlet, however, for large pieces made by other plastic firms.

The one exception to this policy of making only small things was a handsome fish bowl, which was made from discarded navigator domes from bombers. The fish bowls were terrific sellers—but the supply of bomber's domes was exhausted before the demand for the fish bowls declined.

Soon after the establishment of the shop, Edmond L. Way, who had become interested in Garvy's experiments with plastic in the hospital, joined forces with the new shop. An accountant, Way fitted very usefully into the new business. By this time Mrs. Garvy had become proficient in designing. She also does most of the selling.

An arrangement was tried whereby the House of Plastics articles were placed in one or two stores, the idea being not only to increase sales but to help introduce these products to the public. The arrangement did not pan out too successfully and was discontinued. Meanwhile, the new plastics business caught the eye of Eileen Bryne, the Miami Herald shopping editor, and she devoted a column to it. The Miami News also used the shop for a colorful page feature in its Sunday magazine. Both articles gave impetus to the Garvy venture.

Many repeat sales are made from such originally designed objects as swizzle sticks, barber pole style, of clear and of frosted Lucite. Cold-drink coasters are good items, since they do not break when they accidentally stick to the bottoms of glasses. A popular gadget is the holder for a package of cigarettes, formed by two isoceles triangles on opposite sides of a wide base. Two short end-pieces provide a slot for book matches. A pipe rack and humidor ensemble has also gone well. Candlesticks have been popular, but if any one thing may be said to be the most sought after of the Garvy originations, it is a pair of aquarium book ends. It sells itself on sight.

The original factory, in the Garvy's home, quickly outgrew its space "not much bigger than a bathroom." It was expanded then to "garage size." A table saw was used, rigged up with an old motor and blade, with a piece of plastic for a base. A polishing wheel was fixed up to be run by the same motor. Sanding was done by hand. The oven of the Garvys' stove was used to heat and bend the plastic into shape. Mr. Garvy makes light of the process, saying "anybody can do it."

The original shop in which the House of Plastics was housed soon began to be too crowded, and its location was not too fortunate. With the completion of some new, airy, light, and conveniently located store rooms in Miami came a request from a third young man to join the plastics organization. He is Benjamin Levitin and his ideas for a new shop were so enthusiastic that it seemed altogether logical he should be included in the business. The new store room was secured and moving began.

The three young men have shown great ingenuity in their merchandising plan, as well as ingenuity with the saw and hammer and elbow grease, not to mention the paint brush.

The shop consists of a showroom, tables, chairs, mirrors, and other large items on one side, and show cases and shelves displaying the originally designed products on the other. A small office is partitioned off in one corner. Back of the showroom is the workroom. Some motor tools, vibra saws, jigs, cement, sheets and rods of plastic materials comprise most of the equipment.

The atmosphere of the store is more that of a hobbyist's workshop than of a commercial venture. The four people are obviously doing something they love to do and they have the true hobbyist attitude of wanting to pass their pleasures along to others.

One of the interesting features of the shop is its hobby corner. Anyone is welcome to come in and learn how any of the plastic articles are made. Instruction from the enthusiastic owners is without charge, although the pupils inevitably purchase the raw materials from the shop.

"For a ten dollar investment," says Garvy, "anybody can come in and learn how to make enough stuff to solve his Christmas gift problem easily. We won't even turn 'em away if they bring their own supplies. We want everybody to become plastic-conscious."

The shop is now prepared to do a certain amount of custom work. Already the partners have made, to specifications, windshields for motorcycles and speed boats. On automobiles they are installing colored plastic shields as protection against glare. This makes it unnecessary for the motorist to wear sun glasses. These custom jobs, the partners believe, will greatly increase just as soon as people begin finding out such services can be had. Far from trying to keep any of their processes secret, the firm seems to feel that the more people know about plastics, the better it will be for everyone.

The shop displays and sells elaborately made merchandise, including dressing tables and dining sets, from factories in several states, and it is the retail outlet for a number of local manufacturers. The small useful and decorative articles, however, are still the main drawing cards that entice the buyers into the shop.

Anyone interested in working with plastics could well start by studying Adventures with Plastics, by Newirk, Hewitt, and Zutter (published by D. C. Heath and Company). The book was written with the home workshop in mind and includes detailed instructions for making over one hundred projects.

Lucite may be bought from the Arthur W. Brown & Bro., Inc., at 67 W. 44 St. New York, N.Y.; and Plexiglas from American Handicraft, 103 William St., New York, N.Y. Send to the Society of the Plastics Industry, Inc., at 295 Madison Ave., New York 17, N.Y., for the booklet "Plastics, the Story of an Industry." Write to the Plastic Materials Manufacturers Association, Inc. at 14 and K St., N.W., Washington 5, D.C., for a copy of "How to Buy and Sell Plastics."

I first ran into these tender coconut chips, which look very much like wood shavings, at a cocktail party and later learned they had come from Hawaii. It was sometime after the war that Barbara Thompson ate a homemade coconut chip and wondered if they couldn't be put out on a commercial scale. Her two friends, George McLanahan and Dick Fairservice, both Navy veterans, fell in with the idea, and with nothing but a hatchet, a knife, a garage, and some tin cans they went to work. The first year making Kokies was mainly experimentation. Production was small and most of the work was done by hand. The coconuts were opened by hatchet, the chips sliced with a knife. It was tough, slow work. There was little money for advertising and many merchants were wary of stocking an untried product on their shelves.

Then, at the eleventh hour, luck came their way. The famous Royal Hawaiian Hotel was about to reopen; one of its executives tasted some Kokies and asked, "Could the Polynesian Food Specialties Company (Kokies' owners) deliver six gallons of chips by five-thirty tomorrow, in time for the gala opening?"

They could and they did. George scurried about in his jeep locating coconuts. When he couldn't buy them he shinnied up coconut trees in native fashion and picked them. Dick whacked the coconuts open as fast as George brought them in, while Barbara saw they were properly cooked. Worn, dirty, and ragged, they met their deadline, marching into the Royal's kitchen to deposit their six gallons of chips before changing to attend the grand opening.

Later, when they arrived at the Royal, their precious chips were nowhere to be seen; someone had forgotten to bring the Kokies out of the kitchen! George quickly collared a harassed waiter, slipped ten dollars into his hand, and told him to get the coconut chips out of the kitchen and circulate them throughout the hotel—but quick!

Kokies made an instant hit that evening. The hotel placed a permanent order. Next, Matson Lines authorized the chips on all their Pacific ships. Soon, orders began to pour in from all parts of the Islands and, thanks to the tourists who had eaten the Kokies on shipboard, from every corner of the United States.

Today, Kokies are sold in such scattered spots as Trader Vic's in Oakland; Bullock's, Los Angeles; Charles and Company, New York; S. S. Pierce, Boston; and Don the Beachcomber, Hollywood, to mention only a few. The three owners, still in their twenties, now employ twelve full-time workers and the demand for Kokies is so great that they expect their Polynesian Food Specialties Company to double production next year.

Kokies' sudden growth to fame, however, made it necessary for the firm to expand from their backyard garage, no easy problem in overcrowded Honolulu. Finally, they found a surplus Army building for rent. Roomy, its concrete floor was ideal for maintaining sanitary working conditions. And their joint pool of several thousand dollars was sufficient for additional equipment and working capital.

The trio first purchased some huge Army surplus bread stoves. Then they designed and built an electric slicing machine for their coconut chips. But the major production problem still remained—a speedy method of opening coconuts. The hatchet was all right for limited production, but without some fast method of opening the nuts, production would bog down. Letters to manufacturers brought the reply that no machinery had ever been devised to open coconuts. Then they hit upon the idea of using a large electric bandsaw. If it would cut wood, why not coconuts?

The bandsaw speeded up production remarkably. Now the coconuts are opened in seconds instead of minutes. The whole coconut is shoved through the saw like a hunk of wood. Then the halves are cut into quarters. Once the nut is quartered, the meat is easily flipped out with a sharp knife. It was as simple as that.

After this operation, the coconut meat is washed. Then it is placed in the chipping machine, then salted, put into large pans, and cooked until a golden brown. While in the oven, chips must be raked over every few minutes so that they won't burn. When finished, Kokies are packed in four- to sixteen-ounce cans, carefully weighed, labeled, and sent to all parts of the world.

What are the opportunities in the coconut-chip field? The three partners think it is wide open. They feel there is no reason why a coconut business could not be set up in any part of the country.

The main problem is maintaining a steady supply of coconuts. Polynesian Food Specialties guarantee their own sources by paying five cents apiece for coconuts. It takes about one-half of a coconut to fill a four-ounce can.

The second problem is to produce without a vast outlay of money for machinery. The bandsaw worked wonders in opening and quartering coconuts, but new bandsaws can cost up to a thousand dollars. The Kokies partners therefore suggest that anyone thinking of going into production should scout around his own neighborhood watching for sales of used equipment. All major cities have trading sections where second-hand machinery and second-hand or even new war surplus ovens are for sale. Dick feels that a newcomer to this business could profitably explore the possibilities of renting space from a small neighborhood baker whose ovens are not in full use. A few thousand dollars should start anyone off in this business.

"The amount needed for outfitting the business depends on location, rental charges, local labor costs, expected production, and whether used or surplus equipment is available," says George. "Its best and safest to start out slowly, gaining markets and knowledge as you go along."

He believed that people will always buy a superior food product, even in the middle of a depression, and with some knowledge of chemistry he started in his own kitchen, with the help of his wife, to concoct jellies and jams from the exotic fruits he found in Florida. The family of four ate jams and jellies in their hunger, but soon Henry was peddling jams, jellies, and candies made from oranges, grapefruit, loquats, surinam cherries, pomegranates, lemons, and limes to the wealthy homes in Miami. Repeat orders came in.

Hoping to get in on the tourist trade, he talked a landlord into renting him, on speculation, a small warehouse. Before the winter was over he had purchased the building and had paid all his grove friends of better days who had let him have cases of fruits on consignment. Mr. Cobb knew now that his idea of selling only superior fruit products was going to pay off.

Displays in two hotel lobbies brought in more business and gradually one outlet after another was added, until today Mr. Cobb is the top man in shipping gift fruits and their products in the United States. Four hundred workers are on his payroll.

The baby's formula is delivered in as many bottles as the baby has feedings, plus an extra for emergencies, two bottles of sterile water, and one sterile bottle for juice or an extra amount of water. Each bottle is wrapped in cellophane and sealed with a label bearing the name and address of the baby, date of preparation, and contents of formula. They are usually delivered in the early afternoon and there is always enough formula to last until the six o'clock feeding—a twenty-four hour supply.

Mrs. McClennen, herself, prepares the formulas in a spotless kitchen kept just for this purpose. She is a trained dietician with hospital experience, not to mention plenty of personal experience preparing formulas for her own three children. She says that she used to prepare formulas for her own children at night when they were not around to distract her and there were plenty of evenings when she wished the job could be done by someone else. Now that her children are old enough no longer to require constant care, she has undertaken to do this important job for other mothers. She started doing it as a hobby and as a practical gift to those of her friends who were new mothers, but she soon became so swamped with requests that she decided to find a way to go into this business.

It took weeks and months of planning before the McClennens could turn their hobby into a paying business. Materials were scarce and the first floor of the building (their own kitchen was too crowded once they decided to branch out) the McClennens rented had to be made over, painted a clean white, and all new plumbing installed. The stove is brand new; kettles, pots, and pans, all baby equipment had to be bought with an eye to Board of Health requirements (watch out for this) as well as durability.

Advertising had to be planned, as well as some publicity. It took lots of planning and experimentation before the proud announcement of the new business could be made. The announcements read, "Baby Formulas, delivered to your home daily, by trained dietician," and gave the phone number.

The most careful mother would find it hard to be more careful than Mrs. McClennen. She dresses in a spotless white uniform, and everything in the kitchen is spotless. When the bottles are received they are thoroughly washed and rinsed three times. Then they are sterilized by dry heat. Each baby's formula is made up individually, according to written instructions received from the baby's doctor. When the bottles are filled with formula, the sterile nipple is put on quickly, capped with a sterile glass and placed in a carrier tagged with baby's name and number. The carrier is then set in the cooler, after which the bottles are packaged in individual cellophane wrappers and sealed. The laboratory or kitchen stands ready at any time and the formula-making process may be observed through the glass windows, made especially for that purpose. Observers are not permitted inside while the formulas are actually being made.

Fortunately, Mr. McClennen is one of those born mechanics who know how to make tools work for them. The McClennens needed a specially constructed truck for the delivery of baby formulas and could not find any. A small truck was found and Mr. McClennen proceeded to make it over for their purpose. The inside of the body was tom out and compartments made for each refrigerated carton to stand in. Since ice is placed in each carton, allowance had to be made for melting ice. A thermometer was installed to insure maintenance of a steady cold temperature, and doors placed in such a way that the truck could be opened only from the front. No one but the McClennens can open that door, as they are the only ones permitted to handle the refrigerated cartons.

The Board of Health had to be dealt with, and pleasing it was no easy business, as the McClennens found out. Every inch of the kitchen was inspected and many suggestions made for improvement, most of them little ones, but necessary for meeting the Board's rigid requirements. Both McClennens had to have blood tests and periodically a made-up formula chosen at random must be sent to the Board of Health's laboratories for bacteria count. The last one sent came back with the report, "as nearly perfect as possible." The truck was also gone over thoroughly and one or two suggestions made there. The McClennens were only too happy to comply with the Board of Health's suggestions, as a new business needs helpful suggestions and their aim is to improve service constantly. If making baby formulas appeals to you, talk with your own Board of Health; it is possible that a basement laundry could be made sterile and used for this purpose, but the Board will know what your state laws are.

Many persons have inspected the McClennen kitchen. It's a new business and there are many curious. Mrs. McClennen welcomes all observers. She, herself, is a confident, unhurried, and thoroughly cheerful person. Just to meet her and talk with her gives new mothers all the assurance they need that here is a person who is thoroughly capable of undertaking the responsibility of preparing the formula for that precious baby. She is very willing to oblige, and delivers formulas on very short notice. She also contracts to deliver formulas on a one- or two-days-a-week basis if the mother decides she needs a vacation once or twice a week.

Advertising the new business has sometimes been a headache. The logical place to contact new mothers was through their doctors, but the first doctor approached said that he thought his patients were all too fussy about the formulas, and would prefer to make them up themselves. That was until Mrs. McClennen named one of his patients as a customer. The doctor was incredulous. "Why, she's one of the fussiest patients I have!" he exclaimed. "She's almost too fussy. She's one of your customers?"

"Yes, Doctor, she's been a customer for five weeks," Mrs. McClennen assured him. Since that time the same doctor has sent her more customers than all the other doctors put together.