My First Failed Invention
It's the reason Davison Design & Development exists today. Halfway through my senior year, I started to focus on what I was going to do once I graduated. I'd recently been to the dentist, who had casually instructed me to keep my toothbrush clean, telling me it was a prime place to spread illness and germs. And just like that an idea was planted in my head.
"That seems like an easy fix. Why hasn't someone done something about this?" I thought. It seemed like a business opportunity. And so I set off to research the problem. I really had no idea of the complexity of the task. I'd done my share of lab work at Allegheny College, so I started with a visit to the science labs at The University of Pittsburgh.
What began as a fairly simple research task morphed into an all-consuming and quite powerful business proposition. There simply was no solution to this problem on the market, and the ability to do something as simple as kill germs on a little toothbrush expanded into the need to create custom formulations, develop product prototypes, custom molds, find suppliers, develop relationships with manufacturers, retailers, and on and on.
Like many first time inventors, I thought that the path to success would be solely through me. I would do all the heavy lifting on my own.
I went through small mountains of Petri dishes. It turns out it's no small task to create something that will kill the germs on a toothbrush, and not have a negative affect on the very sensitive human mouth. Believe me, I know because I eventually tried the solutions on my own gums. It's a wonder I still have all my teeth.
As I worked, I consulted with a lifelong patent attorney, recently retired. All of this work would not be for naught. I would protect my invention, offer a quality product, and reap the rewards.
He was a kind old gentleman. He invited me to his house to discuss my invention. Perhaps freed from his obligations as a day-in-day-out patent attorney, he said something to me as we sat at his kitchen table that you will hear from few other patent attorneys, as it flies in the face of their very reason for existence.
"You know," he said, "I've worked my whole life and have never seen a product I patented on a shelf. Not one."
I told him he must be joking. My perception that was formed by the Patent Office and books from patent attorneys was that a patent was the "Willy Wonka" golden ticket, your passport into a magical world of product fame and fortune. Come on... the word patent is on so many products on the shelf, this can't be true.
"It just doesn't work the way people expect," he said. "Having an idea is not the same as having a product people care about."
Over a period of 18 months, I invested $35,000 of my own money, every single penny I could scrimp and save, every shovelful of hot asphalt, every night at home with leftovers, to get my invention to market. The George Davison toothbrush sanitizer was legitimate, it worked, there was a need, and I was going to fill it.
The folks at Hamilton Beach Corporation, who arguably had more resources than I did, suddenly introduced their own toothbrush sanitizer.
I opened a copy of Popular Science Magazine and saw it on the page. My vision blurred. The magazine seemed to spin away from me further and further like some spooky movie. I had never experienced that kind of dull, thumping gut pain before in my life. All the work I had done was essentially sitting there on the page.
I'd invested my entire life savings. I was broke, and I was out of luck.
I elaborate more in my book, but you get the picture.