Four Inventors in Lexington , Massachusetts Identify the Secret to Inventing: Cut all Emotional Ties, and Move On

One by one, inventors have started to take their seats: the monthly meeting of the Inventor's Association of New England is called to order. One mutters to another, "I've got a prototype, you know." Another tightly clutches his four-year labor of love--a decidedly unfinished-looking scooter. For your knees. As newcomers stand to introduce themselves and their inventions, the gentleman sitting next to me apologizes to the assembled, "This is a little more publicity than I'm used to, so I must beg off."

But beg off he must not if he wants to get anywhere in the world of invention. At least, that's what four inventors in Lexington , Massachusetts , would say. To the anxious man with the scooter they would advise a looser grip and a business plan to accompany his premature prototype. They would say all this and more, but they don't have the time. They're busy inventing.

Together, Richard Pavelle, Sol Aisenberg, Ze'ev Hed, and George Freedman form the six-year-old innovation powerhouse called Invent Resources. Long ago they left behind their frustrations as basement inventors and relinquished dreams of perfecting the invention of a lifetime. Today, their ideas are in constant demand. Their secret is simple: divorce yourself from your invention and start advertising.

It's half past ten , and I'm late to my first I.R. meeting. My hands are full, and my brain is floundering from lack of caffeine. (It's the wrong morning to pass on the latte.) I've just walked into a room teeming with the energy of four rapidly firing minds. The four inventors are seated around a large oval table, and at present, each faces me.

When I sit down I situate myself in a place least likely to disrupt the creative balance. The partner with his elbows propped on the table, hands clasped together, speaks first. Physicist Sol Aisenberg, the check that keeps the balance of power in place, is the skeptic of the group. During the meeting, his pose seldom changes. To date, he holds eighteen patents and, on the side, critiques the works of novice inventors.

"My approach is to look at the applications from the point of view of potential attack, and help make the patent bulletproof," Aisenberg says about the forays of invention.

After greeting me, he inquires about my college major. For most people, I have to say it twice--once for hearing, a second time for comprehension.

"Brain and cognitive sciences," I reply.

An exclamation erupts from the opposite end of the table. The bearded inventor with a hawk's nose leans forward. He is Ze'ev Hed, the firecracker of the group. To be sure, his motto is ironic: "I am too stupid to know it cannot be done." Among his thirty-six patents is a catheter originally designed for the heart, which will soon be fashioned into a cooling system for freshly opened bottles of wine.

After hearing my answer--once--Hed launches into a spirited monologue about the latest work on the origin of nerve firings. His words come in dizzying bursts of guttural, German-accented English, and his colleagues interject questions whenever he pauses to breathe. Then Aisenberg picks up the cognitive string, mentioning some work that he's involved in with dyslexia.

"There are many types of dyslexia, but the type that is related to differential color sensitivity is what I'm working on," said the physicist. Aisenberg is collaborating with other physicists and neuroscientists to determine whether different colors and wavelengths may actually influence the way people read.

"Do you know what portion of the dyslexic population is influenced?" asks George Freedman, leaning back in his chair, bushy brows furrowed. Freedman, an MIT-trained engineer, is the paternal figure of the group. He is also the author of the book In Pursuit of Innovation, and in his free time, advises other inventors on how to sell their products.

"Everyone thinks it's a wonderful thing to be an expert," said Freedman. "Actually, to be an expert in some ways is a bad thing, because that means you narrowly channel down your expertise."

Aisenberg jumps in, followed closely by Hed. "If you go to a carpenter with a problem, he'll use a hammer," said Aisenberg. "If you go to a surgeon, he'll use a knife. They use the tools they have. We have a multitude of tools."

"The one characteristic of the people in this group is that we get bored easily," said Hed. "And as a result, we never become an expert in a single field and know everything that is possible on a single iota. You can characterize us as people who know an iota about almost everything. And that's a big advantage." Consider these inventors jacks-of-all trades.

As the three volley off each other, the fourth member of the group sits back, feet crossed on the table, listening intently. Richard Pavelle is founder and president of this motley crew; aside from a brief introduction, he has yet to contribute to the deluge of ideas launching across the table. He is a mathematician and computer scientist, and is deemed the most "unflappable" of the group. Impressively, he's also the youngest. Among his most cherished patents are the credit card calculator and the concept for the expanded sweet spot of a golf club.

Though these inventions warrant a certain degree of pride and joy, the philosophy of Invent Resources is to surrender any unhealthy, Pygmalion attachment to your product. If anything, it's knowing when to let go. A discussion among the three elders about avoiding such obstinate attachment goes something like this:

Hed: Often you find that an inventor, he has a beautiful invention, it's his only invention, and he's dedicated his own life to get this invention to market.

Freedman: And he dies penniless.

Hed: And he dies penniless, because he was married to that one invention. And we finally cut the umbilical cord of loving our inventions. And we say, if nobody wants you, we are not going to love you either. Tough luck.

Aisenberg: Or we'll wait until somebody loves you.

Hed: Exactly, or we wait until somebody loves you. Because otherwise, it's a sure way to go broke.

Aisenberg: You go crazy.

As it so happens, case studies prove them right. Charles Miller, retired president of the Inventor's Association of New England, sees inventors emerge gingerly from their basements, inventions clasped stubbornly to their chests, only to find out that what they've worked on for two years is already on the shelf. But if the product is yet to be invented, it is very likely the inventor will sink another ten thousand dollars to market their work.

"Working in a vacuum, you spend all this time and all this money going down blind alleys because you don't know not to go down those blind alleys," said Miller.

This was just what his colleague Robert Hausselein tried to get across recently at a meeting of twenty-five independent inventors assembled in an MIT classroom. Hausselein was once a chemical engineer at Polaroid. "I too get enamored with what I'm working on," he told the group. "It really is a disease." Now retired, Hausselein is tinkering with a way to make coffee-- without the coffeemaker. He's also running a support group for ambitious up-and-comers, a group he's named The Inventors Clinic.

These hopefuls meet monthly at Hausselein's home, where every member, upon entry, is expected to sign a confidentiality agreement. The format goes like this: each inventor is given fifteen minutes to pitch their product. Afterwards, the others jump in to offer advice, suggestions, caveats, and in some cases, flat rejections. In the case of rejections, the hapless inventor would hopefully have just spent merely three weeks rather than three to four years working on a fruitless project. But Charles Miller has seen too many long-term investments go south. Part of the problem, he suggests, is the lack of secrecy among the coterie of innovators and marketers.

"Inventors face the same problems today as they did twenty, fifty years ago," said Miller. "You have to keep things secret." Otherwise, without a patent, an inventor could watch his life's invention snatched up and marketed by a faster, savvier entrepreneur."

"We are the most paranoid people in the world," said Michael Garjian, an inventor who turned his plexiglass neon technology into first a fledgling, then a flourishing, and finally, and perhaps expectedly, failing business. But for Garjian, experience bred wisdom. He is now in a successful partnership with an international company and certainly not without some degree of paranoia. Everywhere he goes, Garjian carries a carefully crafted black book--it's a special Inventor's Notebook.

This allusive Notebook , according to Garjian, is a must have for all serious inventors; it will serve as insurance, a crucial piece of evidence in a court of law, if such an unfortunate occasion should warrant. "There are those who say you should keep it in a safe deposit box," said Garjian. The Notebook would contain all past receipts, transactions, correspondences and related material having to do with the invention. This is true whether it is a letter to the vice president of marketing, or a receipt from the local hardware store for additional wiring. This way, if someone should steal your idea, you will have enough evidence, at the very least, to get a hefty settlement, and at most, well-deserved royalties.

Secrecy is both the rule and the roadblock for inventors; they hesitate to share their ideas with others and are suspicious of anyone who expresses too great an interest in the product. But their paranoia is understandable: according to the United Inventors Association, only about two to three percent of all inventions are ever marketed successfully.

In terms of these numbers, explains Miller, "most inventors, particularly new inventors, are unwilling to try to examine their ideas critically in this vacuum." And they're unwilling and unable to defend themselves against severe criticism because they don't know how to criticize their own brainchild.

The veterans at Invent Resources, however, don't have these problems. They not only brainstorm about what can work, but also about what can't work. In fact, they've honed their abilities so well that they are able to tailor their skills to a customer's needs. "We say we have these technologies," said Richard Pavelle. "If you don't like what we have, give us your wish list."

Often, Invent Resources is able to invent on demand; at this stage, I.R. is in the enviable position of being the pursued, rather than the pursuer. Companies come to them, either on their own, or through I.R.'s marketing agents, who are hired to campaign for the gang of four to line up prospective clients. (Some of the company's current contracts include a toaster that will do the job in thirty seconds, a ten-second hand dryer for the home, and a new type of sunscreen. The details about the latter invention, however, a commission for Victoria 's Secret, are carefully kept under wraps.)

Conversely, when I.R. must play the pursuer, Invent Resources is not always successful. Not at first. Sometimes manufacturers are so used to a product's limitations that they cannot see any reason to stretch or improve them. Such was the case with the first company they approached for the speedy toaster. In the face of rejection, the group took back their idea and knocked on a different door, this time with success.

"I've found the best prospect is the second company in the industry," said Sol Aisenberg." It has more to gain. A leading company doesn't want to change things. They don't want to rock the boat."

Another piece of advice I.R. offers to would-be inventors: invent for the market. One problem with many products is that their inventions are functional but not practical. "Sometimes you are not even solving an existing problem," said Hed. "From a marketing point of view that's not very good, that's what we call, 'Solutions looking for problems.'"

But there may be a problem with aiming too much for the market. To Pavelle, the array of massagers, remote controls, bric-a-brac and other gadgets designed for stores like Sharper Image and Brookstone are less products of invention and more the result of "tweaking," or making minor improvements to an existing product.

But what's the difference between "tweaking," as Pavelle calls it, and true invention, and where does one draw the line? To varying degrees, most inventions today are just improvements on past designs. And that may not be so bad, mentions Freedman: "You can make a lot of money on tweaking, After you do it, you say, 'Why the hell didn't they do that fifty years ago?' It's just your open mind that makes new combinations."

There is also what Hed terms "generic" inventions that are not so much combinations of existing technologies, but an entirely new technology, yielding multiple applications. Among their favorites is the laser. Its applications in CDs, fiber optics, and medical technology did not come about until thirty years after its invention. At the time of its conception, reminisces Hed, "it was a curiosity of physics." And as we know, today, laser technology is bankable.

In the end, the success of any inventor may depend on just letting go, the lamentable coup de grace for basement inventors.

"We are always reaching for the Holy Grail," said Garjian. "Sometimes it's better to stop inventing, sell what you have, and use that to finance your Holy Grail."