American Outlaw - Jesse James [70]
Fisk said nothing for a moment. Then he spoke. “What is it you want?”
“I want three things,” I said. “I want two-fifty per fender. I want a minimum initial order of one hundred pieces of each size. And the biggest thing, I want my name on each of my fenders: Jesse James, West Coast Choppers.”
He snorted. “Why would we do that?”
“Cause it’s no deal if you don’t,” I said. “I’m not stupid, Steve. These fenders are gonna sell like crazy for you—they’re gonna make both of us a lot of money. And if my product’s out there, I want it advertising my brand, not yours.”
We stared each other down for a few moments. “You’re a cocksucker,” Fisk said.
“Yup.”
He sighed, defeated. “I’ll call the legal department. We’ll get the papers drawn up.”
From that moment on, West Coast Choppers became a recognized entity. We never looked back. Our logo was part of it. Some people thought it was like a swastika, but it wasn’t, it was a Maltese cross, a symbol of valor and strength. Besides having been popular with hot rodders and motorcycle enthusiasts for many years, the symbol happens to be on every fire truck in the nation.
I didn’t mind the controversy, though. Whatever brought us more attention, I was for it. We were a new company, and we needed brand recognition. And after a very short amount of time, it began to happen for us. My fenders sold swiftly for Custom Chrome, and soon, other distributors began to knock on the door with increasing interest. I was able to take on my first employee, a welder-fabricator friend of mine named Rick Henry. He tried to help me shoulder the increasingly large load. But demand just kept on growing.
One morning, I received a phone call from a guy named Jay Sedlicek. Jay lived in Iowa. He’d gotten to know me a few years back when he’d bought some products from Performance Machine.
“I called Perry today and asked for you,” said Jay. “He said you’d gone into business for yourself.”
“True enough,” I said. “I’m doing custom fenders, mostly. Need some?”
“Actually,” Jay said, “I need a whole bike. Can you do that for me?”
“Man, that sounds like fun.”
It was precisely the challenge I’d been waiting for. I’d done paint work, exhaust pipes and wheels, and of course, by this time, I had fenders down pat. But Jay Sedlicek was the first guy who wanted a whole bike made to order.
“Great,” Jay said. “What’s the deposit you need?”
“How do you mean?”
He laughed. “How much money do you want in advance?”
I thought it over. “If you send me a check for twenty-five thousand we can get this thing popping right away.”
To my utter surprise, he did it. Jay Sedlicek was customer number one. He wanted a flat-track Sportster, a modern XR-750 with big brakes and cool wheels. Beyond that, all the design specs would be up to me.
Hmmm, I thought. Let’s see . . .
I bought a used bike and tore it down completely, right down to the bare frame. From there, I began to carefully build it up from the ground, constructing a gas tank, fashioning a dual stainless exhaust system, and forming custom wheels and fenders. I even designed a shaped aluminum exhaust cover, using old-school methods: hammer and mallet. It was the first time I’d tried to make an organic shape out of metal. In the end, it looked pretty gorgeous.
Of course, me being me, I wrecked the bike on its first test drive, trying to pop a wheelie at breakneck speed.
“You freakin’ idiot,” I mumbled, lying on the ground, dazed and bleeding.
So I had to start from square one and bust my ass again to rework it in time for the deadline. But in the end, the job got done. The check stayed cashed. Jay never knew.
The orders kept coming—at a pace that surprised even me.
“Shit, you think we can keep up?” I asked Rick.
“I don’t know, Jesse,” he said doubtfully. “If this keeps up, you gotta let me hire someone.”
Our turning point was the day we installed