The Citizen, 1995-08-23, Page 5International Scene
anon
THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 23, 1995. PAGE 5.
Cellular phones
Wotta crock
Pacific Bell has directed its 4,500
directory assistance operators to drop
the world "please" when greeting
callers. Susan Guevara, a Pacific Bell
operator manager, explained that the
revised greeting would save time, from
1.7 seconds for the old greeting ("what
city, please?") to only 1.2 seconds for
the new one ("what city?"). The time
saved allows operators to handle more
calls, which at 25 cents for most
directory calls, figures to earn the
phone company an extra $5 million
(U.S.) per year.
News Item
Just to keep myself humble, I try each year
to commit at least one truly bone-headed act.
It's not exhausting. I seem to have a
certain facility for the spontaneous bone-
headed act.
I realize that 1995 is far from finished, but
I'm pretty sure I've already filled this year's
quota.
I bought myself a cellular phone.
I'm not exactly sure why I did it. Perhaps it
was the knee-jerk response of a man
desperately trying to avoid becoming road
kill on the Information Highway. I don't
understand modems or E Mail. I wouldn't
attempt to dog paddle on the InterNet, much
Making wages
in the cola industry
It can honestly be said that, in the business
world, not too many Canadians gain
international prominence.
While some of our businesses are large
enough to compete effectively with those of
other countries, they tend to do so in
somewhat less than a flamboyant manner so
that both the company and its chief
executives are seldom noticed by prominent
observers of the global business world.
There is, however, one Canadian who is
making people sit up and take notice at the
international level and that is Dave Nichol.
I'm sure that a great many readers are
acquainted with his fame in Canada but, in
case there are some for whom the name does
not ring a bell, let me bring you up to date.
Nichol gained prominence in Canada for
his success in turning the President's Choice
label into a billion dollar business for his
company Loblaws. It seemed that
everywhere you looked, you saw the smiling
face of Dave pushing Decadent Cookies or
any number of other products under the P.C.
label and, if he tended to pass off some of
the discoveries as his own, rather than those
of his colleagues, this discrepancy was lost
in the jingle of the cash registers as people
went for the P.C. products in droves.
Not being content with just the Canadian
market and since Loblaws has American
connections, he then turned south of the
border and managed to sell a licence for P.C.
less surf it.
All that stuff is hopelessly over my head —
but telephones, by God, I know.
I could handle a cell phone, probably -
easy.
Besides, there were all those compelling
ads on TV. You know the ones. They
showed a guy bumping his head in
frustration on the trunk of his broken-down
car, while traffic whizzes by. Others depict a
woman stranded on a dark street at night
surrounded by darkened buildings and
dangerous looking alleys.
Wouldn't be a problem if those folks had
cell phones on their hips.
Maybe it was simple envy — seeing all
those lawyers and stockbrokers cruising by
me on the highway, nonchalantly steering
their BMW's and Porches one-handed as
they chatted into the cell phone clamped to
their ear holes.
Who were they talking-to? How much
money were they making as 1 tootled along
in my cellphoneless car, wasting valuable
networking time?
I panicked. I swerved into a Bell Mobility
outlet. I went inside and looked over the
various sexy smokey-grey plastic cell phone
modules you can choose from. I surrendered
myself to the crooning siren blandishments
of the Bell Mobility representative, who told
me how my life would be transformed into a
pulsating, dynamic, electronic web of
relevance, once I had my very own cell
phone.
I bought one.
products to several supermarket chains. All
along he proclaimed it to be a revolt against
a "Brand Tax" which, in Nichol's mind, was
considered to be the mark-up between the
price of manufacturer's brands, such as Coke
or Pepsi, and the retailers own-label products
which were of a similar quality. The price of
the former, argued Nichol, was swollen by
advertising costs and large profit margins.
Back in 1992 Nichol decided that he had
gone about as far as he could go; he left
Loblaws and jumped over to Cott, the
company that made the inexpensive cola for
Loblaws. Not only that, he became Con's
president and under his aegis has seen the
sales of the company triple to over $1
billion.
Cott sells colas to retailers in Europe,
including Britain and France, Japan and
America's Wal-Mart.
Not being content with just colas, he is
now branching out into other products
including fruit drinks for Wal-Mart.
What has caught the attention of the
international business community (especially
companies such as Pepsi and Coke) is the
fact that Nichol has made such inroads in the
U.S. in the supermarket cola sales. By the
end of March of this year Cott had over one-
quarter of all such sales south of the border
and Coke's share was cut from 44 to 32 per
cent.
In spite of all the blind tests and such,
consumers are not as loyal or as discerning
as the big bottlers would like to believe; they
are obviously ready to switch to a house
brand of similar quality.
The thing to remember in all this is that, if
Wotta crock.
I've owned this damned thing for going on
six months now. I have used it exactly twice.
And then, only out of guilt. Both times I
dialled my wife from my car on the way
home from work.
"Hi, honey...Just called to let you know
I'm on my way home".
"Yeah?" she said, sounding like she was
waiting for the punch line. "So where are
you?"
"I'm ah...at the stoplight by the high
school" I told her. "Should be there in,.
oh...a couple, three minutes."
"Yeah?" she said, still waiting for the
punchline. "Well, I guess we'll see you
in...two or three minutes."
"Ten-four" I barked.
It made it sound more...well, important.
I didn't carry the cell phone around with
me much after that, but I still have it. It sits
in its sleek, smokey-grey battery charger by
my front door.
I wonder how many other folks there are
out there, who spend their evenings looking
at their unused cell phones, wondering why
in hell they ever bought the thing?
Is there anybody anywhere who still thinks
they need one?
If you're looking for a cheap, mint-
condition cell phone to improve your life,
give me a call.
No. On second thought, why don't you
drop me a line.
You won't even have to say "Please".
You're welcome.
it can be done in cola, it can probably be
done in any number of other products. The
only way to fight back is by cutting prices
and that can be expensive.
Is Dave Nichol going to ride on to total
victory? That is a good question and the
answer to that at the present time lies as
much in the way Cott is run as it is his power
to sell.
For those readers who might be tempted to
rush out and buy some shares in Cott, let me
point out that the share price, after reaching
almost $50 in early 1993 is now just over
$10. It has since started to climb toward the
$20 mark but it is certainly not in the blue
chip category where the majority of
investors in Southwestern Ontario, I assume,
would like their stocks to be.
It would be interesting to watch the
fortunes of Cott in the next year or so. Dave
Nichol is not infallible, although some less
than kind observers suggest he likes to think
that he is, but he has succeeded in shaking
up marketing in the U.S. and for a Canadian
that is something of an accomplishment.
The
Short
of it
By Bonnie Gropp
Campy thoughts
Hello Mother, Hello Father,
Here I am at Camp Grenada 1
Summer camp.
It brings to mind a variety of
reminiscences for many of us, from the
savoury sting of newfound love to the less
pleasant, though not necessarily more
painful, black fly bites.
I think I was about 12 when either my
parents or myself felt I might enjoy a week
at Camp Edgewood. I certainly don't
remember it being my idea, but knowing the
whimsical nature of pre-adolescence it's hard
to say. Anyway, I'm sure Mom and Dad felt
that seven fun filled days of structured
recreation away from their watchful eyes,
would be a wonderful opportunity for me
(and them). Also, as it is a church camp I
would imagine they believed any wandering
astray I might do would mean getting lost in
the woods, rather than losing my morals.
I had a pretty good time from what I
recall, enjoying the many activities planned
to keep kids busy from sunrise to sunset. But
the memory which is most pronounced for
me is the long, long nights after lights out,
when homesickness would consume me. Oh,
I was a brave little soldier, never letting on
to my cabinmates that while they were
sleeping I suffered an agony that only
someone who's been there could understand.
Mealtimes were also torture for this
finicky eater. For the first time in my life,
not only did I have to eat what was being
served, but my timidity kept me from
leaving anything on my plate lest someone
notice and comment. Fear of being centred
out was a mealtime agony, particularly as
certain faux pas carried penalties. For
example, elbows on the table meant standing
on your chair and singing.
Good fun for some, veritable torture for
me.
So it was several years ago, when told that
Edgewood was to be part of my children's
confirmation curriculum that I had mixed
feelings. Angst that they would suffer the .
same insecurities I did, while knowing that it
was something from which I could not
protect them, troubled me no small amount.
Fortunately, I have discovered, they are
very different than their mother. Last year,
as our third child was preparing for her week
at camp I was surprised to hear her older
sister, who had little comment to make after
her stay there in the late 80s, say "You will
love it."
This actually proved to be an
understatement. Whereas she had shed no
tears going to camp, she and her many.
newfound friends wept buckets at the
prospect of coming home. A few of them
have kept in touch and one year later she still
fairly bubbles when she hears the word
Edgewood. There is little question that for
her it was an experience of a lifetime.
This week is her younger brother's turn.
Though he's a little concerned about some of
the camp practises, such as having to sing
and dance if you receive letters or a parcel in
the mail, her exuberance has been
contagious. He has talked of little else for
months and even the fact that he would miss
a ballgame didn't extinguish his excitement.
Being a gregarious youth, more inclined to
physical pursuits than passive ones, there
will, I'm sure, be aspects of life at
Edgewood, such as crafts, which will not be
as fascinating as others. But, I am confident
that like his siblings, rather than his mom,
(thank goodness) by week's end he will have
a cherished memory to last forever.
Arthur Black