Most of my early orders from Fred Claghorn at Versitex arrived by CompuServe mail or fax, so when he rang my mobile one afternoon I knew it was something bigger. He had a new contact for me: Ron Rigger, owner of R3 Baits in Northern Minnesota. Ron said there was a huge gap in the U.S. market for jig heads — lead-cast hooks dressed with a bit of feather or calf hair — and that South Africa’s labour costs made us the perfect supplier now that his Haitian operation was falling apart after the unrest and earthquakes.
Fred vouched for him and said he was happy to introduce us and didn't want a cut as the middle man. That was enough for me. After some back and forth via phone and fax I agreed to fly Ron out, pay him a consultancy fee, and buy the three spin-casting machines he specified from Italy. The bill was frightening, but the promise of “unlimited demand” he promised made it feel like a risk worth taking. All this without doing any proper analysis, I cringe at my naivety.
I ordered and payed for the Italian machines and when they arrived some weeks later Ron flew out. He stayed the night with us in Jukskei Park and the following day we flew down to Lydenburg. Fascinating guy — former U.S. submarine captain from the Cold War who’d reinvented himself in fishing lures. We stayed at Nooitgedacht Lodge, and spent a week commissioning the new machines. He placed his first order before he left. From then on it was all hands on deck at Fishy Pete’s: spin-casting lead “Lightning Bugs,” painting them with luminous coating, then tying dressing them with feathers and Krystal Flash. Tens of thousands went out the door. They were destined for tackle shope across the USA and the well known Blue Fox brand.
Looking back, the health-and-safety side makes me cringe. Molten lead everywhere, no proper extraction, and I hardly knew what a respirator was. Ron, meanwhile, turned out to be tighter than a whale's arse at fifty fathoms. For example he marvelled that the Nooitgedacht staff returned his laundry pressed and folded, yet never tipped them a cent.
The numbers soon told their own story. We had plenty of turnover but almost no margin — my spreadsheets bled red. Then Ron dangled a carrot: Rapala, a giant in the tackle world, wanted a trial batch of tied trebles. He sent hooks and materials by FedEx telling us the aim was to tie them up and ship the back as fast as possible; we cranked out ten thousand in two days at six cents apiece. He was thrilled. I wasn’t. After paying the tiers a living wage there was nothing left for Fishy Pete’s.
I finally called a halt. Told Ron we’d be at the Denver Tackle Show in September and would talk then, but not to send another order till we’d sorted the pricing. He faxed back, baffled: the operation in Haiti had managed on far less. That was the point — they’d been paying sweat-shop rates, and I wasn’t prepared to do the same.
It was an exciting time but the whole episode was a lesson in just how naïve I still was. Fred wasn’t to blame — he thought cutting out the middleman would help both sides. Ron, though, was my first real encounter with someone who negotiated in bad faith. What happened next with him is a story for another chapter, and it doesn’t end well for Ron.