Sir Richard Branson is used to things not going to plan. On June 19, 1984, three days before the official launch of his airline, Virgin Atlantic, he looked up at the tail fin of the Boeing 747 that he had agreed to lease for a year – just to see how business went – and marvelled at the sheer size of the Virgin logo that covered it. It was the largest he’d ever seen.
Later that day, along with an entire cabin crew, 100 members of Virgin’s staff and a Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) official – who was there as part of the final processes to grant Virgin a licence – he sat at the rear of the Jumbo as it took off from Gatwick Airport. Because the CAA was still yet to grant that precious licence, the plane’s engines were, bizarrely, uninsured.
"We took off and the crew all burst out clapping and cheering. I could hardly stop myself from shedding a tear: I felt so proud of everyone," he reminisced in his autobiography, Losing My Virginity. "Then there was a loud bang from outside. The plane lurched to the left and a massive flash of flame, then a long trail of black smoke, poured out from one of the engines. In that horrible stunned silence, the CAA official put his arm around my shoulders. 'Don't worry, Richard,' he said. 'These things happen.'"
The 747 had flown into a flock of birds and one of the engines had sucked in some of them, causing it to explode. He needed a new engine, fast, because another CAA test flight would be required before the inaugural flight, which was due to take place two days later, when 250 journalists and photographers would be on board. The plane managed to land safely and, as Branson stood beside it on the runway, wondering how to overcome this almighty problem, a press photographer approached him and said he'd managed to get a great shot of the plane with flames pouring out of the engine – something that, had it been published, would undoubtedly have ruined Virgin Atlantic before it began. The photographer, sensing Branson's sheer misery, said: "Don't worry, though. I'm from the Financial Times; we're not that kind of paper," before opening his camera, removing the film and handing it to the dumbstruck entrepreneur.
The anecdotes are vintage Branson: flying by the seat of his pants, he has battered his way through seemingly insurmountable problems to become one of the most well-known, wealthy and universally adored business leaders of all time. Only this week, it would have taken more than a comforting hug from a CAA suit to calm his nerves – because another aircraft with the Virgin logo hit trouble, this time breaking up over America’s Mojave Desert before crashing to Earth, claiming the life of its 39-year-old co-pilot, Michael Alsbury, and seriously injuring the 43-year-old pilot, Peter Siebold.
On Sunday, many newspapers in the United Kingdom (the Financial Times still isn't "that kind of paper") screamed out incorrect headlines about exploding tanks of rocket fuel and ran cover photographs of fiery destruction, claiming in bold type that Branson's dream of commercial space flight was lying in ruins, along with those of Virgin Galactic's SpaceShipTwo.
There’s no denying it: quite apart from the tragic loss of life involved, this was a major setback for Branson, the Virgin brand, its investors and even, potentially, Abu Dhabi. The capital city’s sovereign wealth fund has, according to reports, invested US$380 million (Dh1.4 billion) in a 37.8 per cent stake in Virgin Galactic – and Abu Dhabi has, for some time now, been accepted as the location for the second of Virgin’s Spaceport facilities, after the current headquarters in New Mexico.
But despite all the negativity currently surrounding Virgin Galactic, few people are aiming their vitriol at the company’s founder, with most simply assuming that Branson will do what he’s always done when faced with staggeringly complex problems: put his head down and get on with finding a solution. Branson could be called many things, but a quitter isn’t one of them.
The story of his rise to fame and fortune has been well documented over the years, but it’s always good to go over the highlights, if only to inspire oneself to achieve greater things in one’s own life. Branson, if you believe the man himself, is no different from any of us – if he can do it, so can anyone.
He was born 64 years ago into a rather well-to-do family, the firstborn of three siblings. His father, Edward James Branson, was a barrister and his mother, Eve, is a former ballet dancer, cabin-crew member, real-estate agent and author, so materially he had little to worry about. He attended Stowe, a well-regarded boarding school, until he was 16, at which point it was obvious he would never be an academic because, he says, of his dyslexia and “distrust” of numbers. Upon leaving, he claims that his headmaster told him: “Congratulations, Branson. I predict you will either go to prison or become a millionaire.”
As a mischievous hippy, he could well have ended up in the former, but became the latter. Long before he left school, the young Branson was displaying an entrepreneurial spirit that was encouraged by his parents. His mother lent him £4, with which he set about launching a magazine called The Student when he was 15, and, shortly after leaving Stowe, he published it. Having spent many months feverishly writing to celebrities, politicians and anyone who was a "name" in 1960s Britain, he managed to bag interviews with famous actors, attract contributors such as David Hockney and Jean-Paul Sartre, and even convinced Peter Blake, the designer of The Beatles' Sgt Pepper album artwork, to produce an illustration for the cover of the launch issue.
The Student was a resounding success and he ploughed the profits into a business selling records (which, deftly, he advertised in his own magazine), undercutting the established high-street outlets significantly – that, too, became a success. By this stage, he was trading under the Virgin name (because he and his cohorts were new at business), and, in 1971, he opened his first record store in London's Oxford Street.
Money from that enterprise went into launching Virgin as a stand-alone record label a year later, with a new business partner, Nik Powell. A year later, Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells was released on Virgin, going on to become the biggest selling album of the 1970s.
The rest, as they say, is history, but Branson’s taste for high business has always coexisted with his passion for high adventure. From attempting to circumnavigate the globe in a hot-air balloon to almost drowning while trying to set a new record for the fastest crossing of the Atlantic Ocean, he has become as well known for his adrenaline-seeking thrills as his enormous business empire. And the one thing he has wanted to do more than any other, ever since watching Neil Armstrong bounce around on the surface of the Moon, is go to outer space.
When a replacement shuttle is inevitably built, it will need to reach a speed of 4,000kph to achieve the required 110 kilometres above the Earth’s surface (the 100km point is where outer space officially begins) – a terrifying prospect for most, but, as one might expect, Branson will be on its maiden flight. He might be the guy who fronts more than 400 different companies within the Virgin Group, the one who writes the cheques and comes under fire whenever there’s a major problem, but he’s also prepared to put his mouth where his money is.
He’s endured as many failures as successes, and that’s one of the many things that the world loves about him. You probably wouldn’t want to cross him in the boardroom, but he’s a taker of unspeakable risks in a risk-averse world – it’s what’s made him the man he is and what will spur him on to even greater heights. Is Branson’s dream of getting into space over and done with? Not a chance. It’s just another challenge to work around. He isn’t finished yet – not by a long shot.
khackett@thenational.ae
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