And started Branson on the road to hero-hood.
By sheer coincidence -- although with Branson, one can't be sure -- a barge comes by draped with a red banner that reads UK 2000, a job-development organization that Thatcher's government last year asked Branson to chair. Branson's barge shudders as the wake pushes it against the canal bank.
There are 3 million people out of work in Britain, some 11% of the nation's work force -- about three times the total of unemployed in May 1979, when Margaret Thatcher first took office as prime minister. UK 2000 can't solve the problem, says Branson. What Britain needs is more Virgins: "Entrepreneurism should be encouraged, because it's where the future Virgins are going to come from."
These days it's a lot easier for entrepreneurs in Britain to do what Branson did. And Thatcher is largely responsible. Her re-election last June is widely seen as a demonstration that her "popular capitalism" is gaining popular support and that the country's overall business climate is improving. Since 1979, she's battled the unions and sharply curtailed their power to demonstrate. She started a broad campaign to privatize British industry, a nationwide garage sale that put control of some of Britain's largest corporations into the hands of private shareholders -- such companies as British Telecom, British Airways, and Jaguar. In 1980, Britain's Unlisted Securities Market opened, making it much easier for companies to raise money and reap the rewards of ownership. And venture capital is easier to come by. There are more venture firms, and they are investing more of their money in United Kingdom firms, 42% more in 1986 than in 1985.
But Britain has a way to go yet, Branson says. For example, take Britain's banking system. "It's extremely conservative and very unadventurous," he says. "American and German banks are much more adventurous." Indeed, Britain's favorite son and most celebrated entrepreneur does the greater part of his company's banking through American banks. And Britain needs to have far more new companies before the economy can begin reabsorbing the masses of people out of work. "What we're still lacking in Britain is masses of new acorns sprouting up everywhere to be the oak trees of the future," says Branson.
Acorns? Oak trees?
Sometimes the things Branson says sound like lines from an old Robin Hood script. Sometimes you expect to hear a distant boys' choir singing "God Save the Queen." Is this guy too good to be true? "Having been around him for a while," says Mick Brown, the biographer, "I think he does have a kind of knack that's natural -- that what you see is what you get."
Branson's generals worry that Britain may be seeing him too often -- that maybe he's worn one too many funny suits. Heaven forbid that Branson should become, well, boring. "I think Richard's coming to a stage now where there's almost a reaction of, 'Oh no, not Branson again. What's he into now?" says Tait. "No one would be surprised in this country if one morning they go to open their eggs and there's Richard's face emblazoned on the end of each."
Branson steps from a car at Lake Heron, outside London, where he is to be guest of honor at an international competition for disabled water-skiers. People start moving toward him. A boy repeatedly takes his picture and follows at an awestruck distance. An elderly Frenchman sidles up holding out his program: "I have a grandchild. She is beautiful. I wonder . . ." Branson, of course, autographs the program for him. The man shuttles away, beaming.
Midway through the ceremony, the MC summons Branson ("a household name!") to the podium. It's not hard to pick Branson out, as he's the only man in three rows of chairs not wearing a suit.
In his talk, Branson tells the audience that he became president of the association of disabled water skiers after seeing how waterskiing bolstered the morale of a handicapped Virgin employee. Lest things get morbid, he quickly switches gears.
"I don't feel I'm dressed quite appropriately. So I think I'll have to change that." He strips down to a black 1930s-style bathing suit.
The crowd loves it. The MC, exultant, shouts: "No one ever knows what he'll do next!"
Branson dons a life vest and boats off to the far side of the lake, then comes skiing back between two women, each of whom has lost a leg to cancer. They skim past a boat top-heavy with reporters and photographers.
"And now, here's Action Man himself," the MC cries. "Another big hand -- he is something special." He lingers on that last word.
Branson and the two women finish their spin around the lake, then glide in and float just offshore. Someone passes them a bottle of champagne and three glasses. With the glasses in hand, the two women take turns kissing Richard Branson on the cheeks.
Branson grins at all the cameras aimed in his direction and then quips, "All right -- both cheeks, please!" Both women kiss him at once.
The shutters click.
