Turn crank, pop into politics
Silicon Valley couple went big on novelty toy but got jacked by fickle fortune
SAN JOSE » Back there, in the yard, surrounded by a stockade fence in a suburban San Jose neighborhood, sat the dream.
It wasn’t hard to see. It was about the size of an SUV, covered in layers of rope and blue and brown tarp.
Entrepreneur Dave Manzo pulled aside a flap of tarp, revealing stacks of plastic-wrapped cardboard boxes. The boxes contain jack-in-the-box toys. Hillary Clinton pops out of some, Barack Obama out of others. Hundreds of toys.
Many years ago — before crowds chanted “Lock her up!” and amateur sleuths hunted for a Hawaiian birth certificate — the toys arrived with great anticipation on container ships from China.
They were the fruits of a quirky, DIY project by a creative couple, looking to put smiles on faces and turn a little profit.
“Am I proud of it?” Dave asked and paused. It was a tough question, given the proceeds of his retirement account were covered in tarp, burning a hole in his lawn. “Yes.”
Not every Silicon Valley startup dream is made of software and code. Sometimes, it’s politics and
a simple child’s toy. But even an innocent business plan can take unexpected and dark detours.
The startup journey for Dave and his wife, Heather Courtney, began about a decade ago in a two-bedroom apartment near downtown San Jose. A pair of cats rule the space, as well as their daughter, Twyla.
Heather, 44, is an artist and works part time. Dave, 52, is a videographer, specializing in legal work, and has also produced local documentaries.
She loved jack-in-theboxes and their visceral appeal: You crank, you flinch, and crank again until they explode. “I like funky things,” she said.
Heather and Dave started taking orders for handcrafted boxes. For $295 and a picture of a loved one, Heather sculpted a custom figure and fitted it inside a hand-painted box. She sold about a half-dozen.
One day in early 2006, she dreamed up a guerrilla marketing campaign — make a jack-in-the-box for Ellen DeGeneres and send it to the talk show host for her birthday.
“Just throwing a penny in the fountain,” Heather said.
A few days after she shipped the gift, a producer called. “Watch the show tomorrow,” he said. “Ellen’s going to give you a shoutout.”
During the show, Ellen pulled out her jack-in-thebox, thanked the creators and gushed through an improvised commercial for Pop Art Creations.
Phones started buzzing early in the morning. Hundreds of orders came in. The IT guy called about the sudden website traffic. Was something broken?
They woke the next morning with an extra $3,000 in their PayPal account.
Weeks later, the couple rented a 1,500-square-foot warehouse in San Jose, and enlisted help to build out a production line.
A group of friends, many artists and musicians, painted, assembled and shipped boxes. They were paid in cash, pizza and beer.
“It was a great idea,” said Kenny Schick, who pitched in. “Why not?”
In the beginning, the team made five or six custom boxes a week, for birthdays, retirements and other celebrations. But sculpting individual puppets offered low returns on intense labor.
“I got into this to enjoy what I do, not to be miserable,” Heather said.
They searched for new ideas. By early 2008, the presidential election was in full swing. Dave spotted a story about a man selling a Hillary Clinton nutcracker. “He made tons of money,” Dave said.
Most images of political figures are in the public domain, meaning Pop Art Creations could make a Clinton toy without paying royalties. Together with the music to “Hail to the Chief,” also copyrightfree, they had the seeds for a product.
Although the couple liked Hillary Clinton, they were not politically active. They simply bet on her to win and sell toys.
They needed to accelerate from their custom shop — where Heather sculpted puppets, baked them in the oven, then stitched fabric and hand-painted boxes — to mass production.
A toy company in Massachusetts agreed to contract the work out to a manufacturer in China — the world’s leading and perhaps only supplier of jack-in-the-box parts. They needed about $14,000 to start production.
Dave discovered a 401k account left over from his old job as an airline baggage handler. The $13,900 balance became their first major fundraising round.
“We were taking a risk,” Heather said, “on a dream.”
As Chinese workers stamped out and assembled thousands of Clinton jack-in-the-boxes, Obama, the underdog senator from Illinois, won primaries in state after state. The startup’s market seemed to shrink with every Clinton loss.
The couple begged their overseas supplier to expedite the order. After two months, the couple’s ship arrived. Their single container held about 1,200 Clinton boxes.
Heather immediately flew with several toys to Washington, D.C., looking for political intrigue and television cameras. Pop Art Creations needed more exposure.
She set up a stand outside a Democratic party meeting, where Clinton supporters, protesters and reporters milled about. The couple usually did publicity stunts together. “I hated doing this,” she said.
A conservative blogger spotted her and posted a video on social media. The video caught the attention of CNN. Pop Art Creations was nationwide. Hundreds sold at $29.95 each.
They gave a couple of boxes to Clinton staffers at a San Francisco fundraiser. Clinton signed one for the couple.
But Obama was rolling to victory. They needed capital for a pivot.
The venture capitalists on Sand Hill Road didn’t answer the call, but a former auto parts store owner did.
David Ames, a 62-yearold professor of auto technology at Evergreen Valley College, met Dave Manzo when he shot a video for his department. Ames liked the entrepreneur and his energy.
Ames risked about $20,000, he said, on the premise of “don’t invest anything you can’t afford to lose.” They sent a new Barack-in-a-Box design to the Chinese manufacturer.
The couple flew to Denver for the Democratic National Convention and settled in a friend’s house. They dressed up like Uncle Sam and a patriotic Raggedy Anne, sold toys and embraced swarms of national and international media fascinated by their boot-strapping story and camera-friendly toy.
The Obama shipment arrived just after the convention. A local television news story went viral. Pop Art Creations began shipping boxes all around the world.
With no advertising budget, they depended on word of mouth and free publicity. They drove and flew to rallies. They dressed in costume and carried toys on a portable display table like a hot dog vendor at a baseball game.
Thousands sold to online customers and a national retailer.
But after the inauguration, things cooled. They endured another hard lesson: People have little interest in political novelties outside campaign season.
By 2009, they had thousands of Clinton and Obama toys cluttering their office in downtown San Jose. They ended the lease and moved the boxes into their attic, storage and backyard.
Last year, Pop Art Creations had another shot. Clinton rolled through the primaries.
Dave flew to Philadelphia for the Democratic National Convention. He dressed up as Uncle Sam in the sweltering summer heat. The curious crowds and selfietakers at earlier Obama rallies were replaced by divided crowds and angry protesters in the final Clinton campaign. Hecklers shouted taunts and threatened Dave. Security grew tighter and police rushed vendors out of streets and parks.
“I was a freak show on the street,” he said. “At one point, a guy took a swing at me.”
They bought Facebook ads targeting people interested in Clinton. To their dismay, the ads posted to right-wing websites.
More than a few men offered to take the toys out for target practice. Others said Clinton should be kept locked in the box.
“We got threats. A lot of them. There was no mood in the country to support this,” Dave said. In a nation divided, even its toys had become a flashpoint.
Heather grew despondent. It was a just a toy, she said. Not a political statement. Just a toy.
Dave and Heather put the remaining 2,400 boxes up on eBay to sell as a lot. “It was my way of saying, I’m done with this,” she said. “I’m so done with this.” No takers.
Ames still waits for a return on his investment. If Dave and Heather never sell another jack-in-thebox, they’d have pocketed $4,000. Maybe the down payment on a second-hand Prius.
“I know, it’s sort of a crazy story,” Heather said. “I feel a sense of pride that we weren’t afraid to do something.”
A few months ago, Obama appeared at the Fairmont Hotel in downtown San Jose for a meeting with tech executives.
Dave stood for hours on a sidewalk cradling a pair of toys. Maybe he could get the former president to sign a box, he thought. The couple would have a matched set of signed boxes. Maybe they would display them on a shelf, or donate them to a museum.
Secret service agents scanned the horizon and kept a bead on the small guy with the crazy toys. Finally, a parade of SUVs roared from the basement garage. Obama popped up from the back seat of one of the SUVs, waved and zoomed away.
Missed again.