The stacks of the New York Public Library proved shamefully deficient in related texts, but Barry did find in a history of bathrooms a reference to the medieval practice of "cupping": placing glass cups on the skin to bring blood to the surface. "When I found out about cupping, it was like a bolt of lightning," he says. "Cupping! My god, suction cups have almost the same history as magnets!" With that rich historical precedent confirmed -- "Hippocrates probably used cupping to treat people," he theorizes -- Barry soon found an illustration of the procedure and mounted it on a wall of what later would become his museum. It was soon joined by another discovery: an illustration of an experiment performed in the 1600s in which 16 horses harnessed to a couple of metal suction cups attempted to break the cups' seal. "They couldn't do it," says Barry with satisfaction.
Aside from the patents and a few framed news clippings detailing the exploits of Dan Goodwin, a human fly who used suction cups to scale Chicago's Sears Tower, most of Barry's exhibits are applications of his own products and those of his competitors. (Actually, Presto Galaxy has only one significant competitor, a company toward which Barry harbors such bad blood that even cupping probably couldn't cure it.) Many of the suction cups are significant for their design -- soccer balls, children's faces, and tropical scenes among them. Barry holds the patent on decorative suction cups.
Some of the exhibit items -- including kid's-meal prizes from fast-food chains -- were donated by Presto Galaxy's general manager; the rest Barry or his customers tracked down, ordering them either from catalogs or online. "The Internet is such a wonderful tool for finding out about these things," he says, flourishing a printout that identifies such potential acquisitions as a belt made of suction cups designed to melt away fat. Barry has decked out his own Web site ( www.suctioncupsinc.com) with the science and history of suction cups, including reproductions of some of his prized illustrations. "I don't really expect people to come to my office and look at what I have," says the CEO. "But if people want to learn about suction cups, they won't have to go through what I did."
He's serious -- as usual. After all, it's natural for Barry to assume that what he's found will someday prove useful -- not just to grade-school students researching science projects or dilettantes in the art of clamping but to a future version of himself, an entrepreneur who cherishes what he sells. Such people still exist, despite the forces that strain their fierce devotion: professional mobility, industry consolidation, and the dominance of high-technology products that are, by their nature, less lovable.
Craig Orr, an archivist at the National Museum of American History, in Washington, D.C., says he hears from about 25 small companies every year, offering their collections to his museum, which is part of the Smithsonian Institution. "Often these companies just have a couple of glass cases, a little exhibit space, a spare room set aside somewhere," says Orr. "Sometimes it's more. I remember visiting Pratt, Read & Co., in Ivoryton, Conn., which made piano keys. The piano trade had fallen on hard times, and the company had lost its lease and was going out of business. They had furnished an entire floor of their headquarters with mementos of the ivory trade and the products they made. They had objects, photographs, and archival records. It was wonderful. We took it all."
Leigh Buchanan is a senior editor at Inc.
Past Company:
Reconstructing Your Business History
Once you've decided that the world deserves to know more about your company's rich legacy, there's still one key question to consider: How much will you mind being locked inside a glass case all day?
After all, it's not unusual for a small company to find that its best -- and sometimes only -- archives reside inside the brain of its founder and earliest employees. That's hardly surprising. These days executives purge the past by hiring consultants to help them reduce clutter, and businesses unload outdated products and equipment online.
But just because a company hasn't been scrupulous about retaining records and artifacts doesn't mean it can't cobble together at least a glass case's worth of material. Bruce Brumberg, who visited company museums in the process of researching Watch It Made in the U.S.A., a book he coauthored in 1994, advises restoration-minded CEOs to ask longtime employees, customers, and vendors for anything they might have saved. Advertising agencies, for example, might still have the art from early campaigns; a distributor might have kept some original packaging.
If a company's trail is just too faint to follow, building an industry museum may be a better option, says Edward O'Donnell, director of Heritedge Historical Enterprises, a contract historical consulting firm. "The idea is to place your company in the time line of the greater market," says O'Donnell. "Your company was founded in 1941. What else was going on in 1941, and why was it an important period?"
According to O'Donnell, there are at least 20 large image and photo archives that sell historical photos for $100 or so each. In addition, libraries frequently have vintage newspapers and other publications, and such material is also available on the Web. "You might even find early examples of products on eBay," O'Donnell says.
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