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The Plain Dealer
Here's a popular formula for the American Dream: Novel idea equals must-have new product equals untold riches. The old rubric about a better mousetrap certainly reinforces that notion. Develop a great product, protect it with a patent, then sit back and let buyers beat a path to the door. Isn't that how it worked for Henry Ford and his automobile, John Deere and his plow, George Eastman and his film? Such naive notions will bring an outright chuckle from those who know the odds of such miracles happening. Only about 10 percent of ideas succeed in the commercial marketplace, meaning that the resulting product brings in more money than it costs to produce, says Alan Tratner, president of the Inventors Workshop International Education Foundation, a California-based nonprofit program begun 32 years ago to provide advice and support to small inventors. Succeeding with an invention is as much about marketing as it is about patenting. The real work comes in convincing people to buy—and at the right price. "If you're going to invent something, be prepared to sell it," says local inventor Nelson Pitlor. "I think the danger is that people get so swept up in the idea, 'I'm going to be a millionaire.' " Tratner, in fact, recommends that would-be inventors do a little casual market research even before they get too deep into the development process. That doesn't mean asking family members and friends whether they like the idea. Instead, think about the potential market and ask consumers whether they would be willing to pay for the product - and how much. Even the best invention will fail in the marketplace if it costs more to produce than people are willing to pay, he notes. "Good ideas come along," says Wayne Zeman, vice president of commercialization at Enterprise Development Inc., which operates four business incubators in Northeast Ohio. "It's usually not the best idea that succeeds. It's usually the first that gets to market." Too often, small inventors focus so much on perfecting their idea and protecting it with a patent that they forget about promoting it. They don't think about demonstrations, cold sales calls, direct mailing, trade shows and advertisements. They don't anticipate red tape. Starting in the dark for inventor Pitlor, the light-bulb moment came when his father complained about needing to change a smoke detector on the 12-foot ceiling. Pitlor, a mechanical engineer by training but a salesman by profession, solved the dilemma with a steel plate, a magnet, a squeegee and a pole. His father dubbed the contraption the greatest thing he had ever seen. Thus was born Pitlor's Twinsburg-based Accessmount removable light fixture mounting system, which hit the market early this year and aims to keep maintenance workers off ladders. Pitlor says he, like many other inventors, probably spent too much time early on pursuing a patent and too little time positioning his product. Because he started completely in the dark about the lighting industry, he had to learn the jargon and the needs. He now considers himself an insider but says his lack of knowledge may have made the process twice as long. He has learned to balance his belief in his product against industry obstacles. With the original target for his product—smoke detectors—he ran into safety codes against retrofitting mounting systems. So he is negotiating with companies to license his system in future smoke alarms. The mount should add $2 or less to the cost of the detector, and people would never again need to use a chair to change the battery in their smoke alarm. Lighting industry officials sniffed at the cost associated with that product line, saying no one would pay $30 to retrofit a $7 fixture. Pitlor listened, but disagreed. He knew he was selling a convenience. Maintenance workers love his product, he says, because it keeps them off ladders in hard-to-reach spots, such as office stairwells. So far, he has focused on the commercial applications, although he plans to roll out a residential product for hard-to-reach outdoor fixtures. He is also exploring international markets. Hobbling to market for Wayne Urban, inspiration came from watching his stepson use a dog harness and a bungee cord to jury-rig a contraption to hold up a broken foot. Urban, a former chief financial officer, modified his stepson's invention and is now chief sling master for the Bedford-based LS Products LLC, which hobbled onto the market late last year. It is primarily a family enterprise, including Urban's wife, Carol, and her son and sling co-inventor, Robert Webb. Urban and his wife have logged countless hours demonstrating the contraption, which eases the pressure to hold up an injured foot, to podiatrists, emergency room doctors, physical therapists and medical suppliers. Their strategy is to get people to try the sling on. But Urban, who spent 23 years in the steel industry, admits to being on unfamiliar footing. "It's a whole new ballgame when you're dealing in the medical arena." First, he had to get approval from the FDA, but the agency had no "leg sling" classification. It came just in time for the Urbans to display their product at a big trade show last October. About 200 doctors tried it on. Then came the questions: Would insurance cover it? What was the flashpoint? (Urban had to get information from the manufacturer on how quickly the sling would burn and whether it would give off toxic chemicals.) Does it have a Medicare billing code? It took Urban a month just to figure out where to look for one. Then he discovered the paradox: A billing code requires a percentage of Medicare patients to be using the product, but without the code, doctors aren't likely to prescribe it and equipment suppliers won't stock it. He tapped a network of financial executives and thinks he finally may have found an agency that will help. They're hoping for an answer by next month. "We think that that's the last part of the bureaucracy we have to deal with," Urban says. Getting the patent Pitlor and Urban had an advantage over many small inventors: They both had some familiarity with the patent process. But they both logged hours of research during the two to three years they have sweated over their creations. Both found support from the Inventors Connection of Greater Cleveland. They researched their concepts, looked for similar patents, tweaked their designs and sought out manufacturers. Confidentiality agreements were a must. Carol Urban was surprised at how willing advisers and manufacturers were to sign, but the Urbans and Pitlor warned of disreputable companies waiting to take advantage of dreams. The process can be costly enough without falling prey to disreputable marketing companies. Don Bergquist, a registered patent agent and secretary for the Cleveland inventors group, estimated typical fees of $5,000 to $10,000 by the time the patent is issued, which can take more than two years. Would-be inventors can whittle that cost by doing some of the work themselves, but he cautioned that the consequences of making mistakes could jeopardize the patent and its effectiveness. Both Pitlor and Urban are awaiting their patents. The process has been frustrating, they admit, but also emotionally rewarding. They're hopeful that financial reward is also near. "It's been a lot of work," Urban says. "We think it's really ready to take off. We've got a good understanding now of what needs to be done." "I wish somebody would have told me it was going to take so long," Pitlor says. But "I wouldn't trade what I learned for anything."
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