In Laughlin's opinion, the home-video industry was about as creative in reaching its potential audience as the movie industry had been when he took over the distribution of Billy Jack. The similarities were unmistakable, and to Laughlin's mind, so was the cure. He had spent two decades developing his techniques for transforming the motion-picture industry. But each technique was merely a distinct outcropping of a more generic concept -- namely, that movies could be more profitable if the industry would make it more convenient for people to watch them. From that simple premise, it did not take Laughlin long to identify the ultimate convenience in home video: home delivery of cassettes through anational network of independent distributors.
It is, certainly, an ambitious scheme. If Laughlin has his way, Billy Jack Video will, in the space of three years, become one of the modern wonders of capitalism, a paradise of fully integrated harmony. A motion-picture studio at least equal to any of today's major studios will finance and produce its own films -- "good films," Laughlin promises, "films that make you feel good about life, not the kind of garbage we've been getting recently." Then, as one of the world's largest wholesalers, the company will market not only its own tapes but also those acquired from other studios through 1,500 company-owned warehouse superstores that will offer records, compact discs, and other electronic equipment, as well as 10,000 movie titles.
Meanwhile, 300,000 independent distributors will be signed up at the current price of $295 apiece (to cover the cost of training and sample inventory), and it is they who will be out working the neighborhoods of America. They may sell or rent out of their own inventories, or they may rely on the stocks of the nearby warehouse/superstore. The actual home deliveries and pickups -- $5 per delivery, 99? per tape for two days' use -- could be accomplished, Laughlin figures, by high-school students and a few full-time employees.
There is, of course, a good bit of ground to cover before the vision becomes a reality. In fact, most of what Laughlin has at the moment is wholly vision. Not one warehouse/superstore exists, nor does he currently plan to have actual product available to his sales force until 10,000 distributors have signed up -- a number he expects to reach by March 1988. By late September, however, Laughlin had signed up only 125 distributors after roughly two months of work. And although he admits that the process was much slower than he had originally anticipated, he expects things to shift into high gear once he completes negotiations with a well-known national chain of record stores and begins advertising his company's potential on national television.
Then, too, there is the matter of Laughlin's management team. Still without his watchdog, Laughlin is launching his latest assault on the motion-picture industry with the help of his wife, Delores, his son, Frank, and his longtime aide-de-camp, Robin Hutton. Nor, it appears, does he have any ongoing professional advice about the tangle of overlapping regulations may or may not apply to his new scheme, which he says is neither a franchise nor a multilevel marketing organization.
But as in any Laughlin enterprise, there is at the core of Billy Jack Video both sound analysis and a good idea. Laughlin is on to something -- even the experts agree that the future of movie-making lies with video distribution, and that home delivery is likely to be the industry's new frontier. Indeed, there are those who have already staked out a claim, albeit on a much smaller scale than Laughlin has in mind. Duke Kreps, for example, co-owner of The Video Room, in New York City, has been serving the Upper East Side of Manhattan with home delivery for nearly five years now, and with great success. He points out, however, that he was able to exploit two built-in advantages: first, his customers are per force packed into a tight geography; and second, the ubiquitous New York City doorman has proven to be an invaluable intermediary for tape pickup and delivery. And unlike Kreps, Laughlin intends to build a national network, and it is simply too early to tell whether his specific approach to the opportunity will catch on -- whether the Laughlin formula for revolutionizing industries still has its magic.
Everyone's left the meeting now and Laughlin himself is gathering up his papers and charts. It's been a long night. Altogether, Laughlin's been talking for about four hours and only one distributor has signed up -- although there are hopes that others will think it over and call in tomorrow. Over the next few days, Laughlin will make similar presentations in several other cities -- Chicago, Sioux Falls, Milwaukee, Detroit, Minneapolis. Mostly he drives between destinations because it's those shorter flights that are so expensive. Indeed, when this particular trip ends, he will have driven 1,091 miles in a rented car.
He pauses at the door to exchange a few last-minute pleasantries with an acquaintance. He jokes that once he played Billy Jack and now he's playing Willy Loman. Then a presentiment of the long, tiring journey ahead seems to overtake him unexpectedly.
"You know," Laughlin says, obviously weary, "people say a lot of different things about me, but there's one thing you can't say -- nobody ever gave me nothing."
