To fund the early going, Whiteford emptied her $25,000 trust fund and added the $5,000 she had in savings. Those bucks disappeared quickly.
Right off the bat nearly $20,000 went for computers and top-of-the-line software that does everything from order entry and tracking to invoicing. Another computer and a modem were needed so All-Ways could be on-line with Kodak in Rochester, to keep inventory current. The state-of-the-art computer system -- commonly used by only the largest courier operations -- would be Whiteford's second big competitive advantage. It would, for one thing, allow her to cut down on overhead and deliver on the low-price bids she had made.
Incorporating had cost $1,500, the operating license another $500. "Non-owned and hired" liability insurance for her drivers came to $4,000. There were outlays for copiers, phones, rent, and beepers, plus two-way radios so drivers could keep in contact with headquarters. Obviously, Whiteford needed more money to run the business, and her luck held. On the strength of the Hemdale and ADL contracts, Whiteford attracted the interest of a private investor named Andrew Abrams. In return for 38% of All-Ways' stock, Abrams invested $30,000 in February. Whiteford's strategy on equity was to retain at least 51% in hopes of somehow capitalizing on her "female-owned" minority status. And she wanted to keep some stock available to use as an incentive for key personnel. Now equipped with operating cash, and fast outgrowing her location, Whiteford moved her operation to a 2,500-square-foot ground-floor space in a warehouse district. Within walking distance of central L.A.'s skyscrapers, the new headquarters has ample space for the Kodak inventory. There's an office for Whiteford, a dispatching desk, a break room, and a parking lot. A cactus garden and wicker chairs out front provide a spot for the drivers to relax between missions. And Kodak foots $900 of the $1,500 monthly rent.
The beauty of a courier company -- from an owner's standpoint, anyway -- is that drivers pay their own operating expenses. Under All-Ways' compensation plan, drivers get half the amount billed on each job they complete. On, say, a one-hour priority rush trip from downtown to Beverly Hills, the messenger gets $11 of the $22 charge. Right there, Whiteford loses half her revenues.
Moreover, she pays 17.6% of payroll -- a savage hit -- for workers' comp, even though not all the drivers' compensation is considered payroll. At the end of each week Whiteford calculates how many hours a driver worked and multiplies by the minimum hourly wage. She pays that total as salary, and the remainder of what the driver is owed is paid as a partial lump-sum reimbursement for vehicle expenses. That makes All-Ways drivers employees, not independent contractors.
Recruiting drivers has been fairly easy, given L.A.'s high unemployment, even though Whiteford sets high standards for personal grooming, reliability, and courtesy. Messengers are a mixed bag of personnel -- students, summer hires, retirees, and "pros." Some do the job for years, others last a week.
It's a tough way to make a living. A driver handling the usual 6 to 10 runs a day can, depending on traffic and distance, make $300 to $500 a week. But out of that, he or she is responsible for all costs of vehicle ownership, insurance, maintenance, and fuel.
All-Ways driver Mario Ramirez, for instance, makes about $350 a week, or roughly $18,200 a year. Insurance on his 1985 Chevy S-10 pickup runs about $1,000. A gas hog, the thing guzzles $250 a month in fuel. And given that he's logging more than 4,000 miles a month, his truck has already burned through two sets of tires and needed a valve job. Last year, when he was working elsewhere, his vehicle expenses totaled $14,000. Even so, he likes the job. On the road, he feels he's his own boss, and no two days are alike.
Vehicle costs are a lot lower for David Gomez, who makes the center-city runs on his bicycle. Then again, he's getting the short $9 to $18 jobs, not the $74 runs to Newport Beach or the $60 trips down to Santa Ana.
Although getting drivers is easy, keeping them is not. Since All-Ways opened, last February, turnover has been 100%. Drivers leave because they dislike the hours or the money, or because the job is killing their cars.
There's also the risk factor. Pat Blowers, All-Ways' dispatcher, once dropped off a legal document in burned-out South Central L.A. on his way home. As he got out of his truck, eight hulking teenagers wearing red jackets and red bandannas quickly surrounded him. He was wearing blue. Unknowingly, Blowers had ventured into big-time gang country, where people get shot for wearing the enemy's color. "I guess they spared me because I was delivering this thing to one of their mommas," he says. "But now I keep both blue and red jackets in my truck."
A dispatcher is the quarterback of a courier shop. He keeps the ball moving, takes calls from customers, records the particular specifications of every order, runs orders through the computer, and then assigns the work to drivers. He's the nerve center, and when action is frantic, the job calls for someone cool under pressure. Blowers, an eight-year industry vet who had been Whiteford's boss at one time, came on board after she fired her first two dispatchers. (One guy had ripped off some COD money and bolted to Mexico.) In need of a trusted manager to staff this critical post, Whiteford hired Blowers last August. Although he had a good dispatching job in nearby Irvine, her offer proved irresistible. She gave him a big salary increase, paying him $2,900 a month. She pays herself $2,500.
The challenge of the job appealed to him. "A lot of courier companies start up and are gone in six months," he says. "You can make mistakes and screw up deliveries, but as long as you communicate that to your customers, you'll be OK. They want to know what's going on. These packages are important to them."
Whiteford is nothing if not a communicator. Articulate, ambitious, and savvy about the trade, she is constantly calling and meeting with clients and prospects. She'll do anything within reason to get business and ensure satisfaction -- tailor services to meet peculiar needs, handle daily routes, whatever it takes to add a personal touch.
Until August, when she hired a sales manager, Whiteford did all the sales work. Starting with a small marketing budget, $950 a month, she cold-called, walked the skyscraper beat, and sent out mass mailings -- anything to get her name out there.
