The initial surge was led by the medical products division as Hubis's strengthened graft won widespread acceptance in the medical community -- eventually it would control 70% of the market. Then the Gore-tex fabric division kicked in with its first commercial product, a tent.
Amountaineer named Bill Nicolai had nearly frozen to death in the Picket Range of Washington State's North Cascades in the fall of 1971. Like the Gores, Nicolai had problems with his tent, only his was shredded to streamers in a storm. And also like the Gores, he wasn't going to let it happen again. That winter he created a two-man expedition tent especially designed to withstand nature's high-altitude perversities. He called it the Omnipotent, in praise of its virtues, and then he founded a company, Early Winters Ltd., to make it and sell it.
But the Omnipotent was a costly and complex affair meant for very serious climbers, and Nicolai soon learned that there just weren't that many people around who habitually spent their time on the roof of the world. For several years, Early Winters, like its customers, lived close to the edge of disaster. Even by January 1976, the company -- one product, five employees, and rented space in a former neighborhood grocery store in Seattle -- was still struggling to survive. Then Joe Tanner walked through the door. Since February 1974, when he joined Gore, Tanner had been traveling around the country literally trying to give Gore-tex away to anyone who would agree to make something with it. A few companies were willing to give it a try, but afterwards they balked when they were asked to buy it. Then Tanner found Nicolai.
"I'd never met the man before," says Nicolai. "But there he was telling me about this stuff that was waterproof and breathed. He wanted me to make a tent with it. Of course, I'd heard all this before, but I had nothing to lose; my tent wasn't selling very well." Nicolai took some Gore-tex laminate, quickly fashioned a prototype tent, and headed for the hills. "The fantastic thing about it was that it worked," he says. "I took it camping at Icicle Creek in the Cascades. That night it was drizzling and 29 degrees Fahrenheit -- perfect for condensation. When I woke up in the morning, I felt the side of the tent and it was bone dry. A shiver went down my spine." Nicolai's new tent, christened Light Dimension, was an instant success.
Although the Omnipotent is still favored by professional climbers, the Light Dimension reached a much bigger market because it set up quickly and was light, compact, and, at $195, some $60 less than its big brother. Sales at Early Winters jumped from $6,000 a month to $35,000, enabling Nicolai to introduce several new products. Today, the company's tents, parkas, and other equipment produce annual sales of roughly $10 million.
There was only one man who could have matched Nicolai smile for smile, and that was Joe Tanner. Two years of hope, disappointment, tests, and more hope had finally paid off. That summer he explained to a young business school graduate recently hired at Gore that even though he was making only tents with Gore-tex laminate, it wouldn't be long until the great out-of-doors was draped with Gore-tex. During the next two years, as word of waterproof, breathable fabrics spread from Nicolai's store, Tanner signed up some half-dozen larger and better-known manufacturers.
Gore supplied the membrane and the lamination process, but it left design, cutting, and sewing to the manufacturers. Companies like Sierra West, Banana Equipment, and Recreational Equipment Inc. started making parkas, rainwear, sleeping bags, and a variety of outdoor accessories with Gore-tex. Once again, the sun was shining on W. L. Gore & Associates. But the summer of 1978, which began so full of promise for the Gore-tex fabrics division, gradually darkened into deepest gloom. "It was a nightmare," says Peter Gilson, the division's business leader. "Parkas were being returned because they leaked."
Gilson had just joined Gore. He was 38 years old, but he already had 15 years of conspicuous accomplishment in the fabrics business at Du Pont. But even with all his experience, Gilson was bewildered when leaky parkas started showing up in groups of threes and fours. "We had no idea why they leaked," he says. "At first we thought the customers hadn't sealed the seams properly or maybe they punctured it somehow. We sensed we had a problem, but because the parkas straggled in, we weren't sure how big it was." But there was one thing that Gilson did know: The entire company's reputation and credibility were on the line.
