Dr Yoshiro NakaMats is a Japanese genius who holds the world record for inventions. Last weekend, he was in Hong Kong as a guest speaker at the International Invention Symposium which was organised by the Hong Kong Productivity Council. The HKPC's public relations department kindly suggested I might care to meet the man who invented the floppy disk, among approximately 3,000 other items, and faxed over a roll-call of his achievements. These included a list of cities in the US which had proclaimed 'Dr NakaMats Day', some published titles (How To Become A Superman Lying Down and Life Habit To Make Child's Head Better caught the eye) and the fact that he had appeared on Lifestyles Of The Rich And Famous.
On the appointed morning, therefore, I went to the HKPC and about an hour later, Dr NakaMats arrived, along with a lady carrying a bag of his inventions, who wasn't introduced, to whom he muttered occasional orders and who turned out to be Mrs NakaMats. Actually, she's Mrs Nakamatsu, that being her husband's original name. The peculiar notation was adopted because Dr NakaMats feels that having a capital M in his surname is memorable and commands attention (I do so agree) and, moreover, 'It's my own invention.' This is a phrase which trips frequently off the good doctor's tongue. Although he looks exactly like the sort of businessman one might encounter in any Tokyo street and, indeed, has made an industry out of both invention and self-promotion, his is not a life constrained by dull, salaried routine. He believes alcohol, coffee, jogging, salad, and sex before 24 stunt the flowering of genius. He spends an hour every night having his brainwaves stimulated by his Cerebrex chair. He photographs every meal he eats to check which foods help boost his brain power. What about last night? 'Yes, I did this at the New World Renaissance Hotel. I ask the manager what is the best Chinese restaurant and he said, 'Our hotel has the best.' ' It occurred to me even a non-genius might have predicted that answer, but Dr NakaMats continued, 'Of course, I'm keeping a record, checking, testing. I must wait at least three days for my reaction.' As a result of years of such observations, he has concocted the Yummi Nutri-Brain Snack. Mrs Nakamatsu rummaged around in the carrier bag and passed over a packet for inspection but not, alas, for consumption. It looked like those bags of shrimp crackers you can buy at Aji Ichiban and has roughly the same constituents - shrimp, seaweed, sesame seeds and various spices.
'To make you clever, or more clever,' remarked Dr NakaMats, politely. I confessed bafflement as to why the entire Japanese population, which, let's face it, is in crisis-mode, wasn't chomping these snacks, and he replied, 'Number one, not 100 per cent of people know about this, and second reason, some people are not interested in becoming smarter.' And he gave a philosophical sign. Or, to be strictly accurate, a Cosmic Philosophical sigh, that being the name of the religion he is planning to set up.
'Truth of everything,' he said when I asked for a brief outline of Cosmic Philosophy's tenets. 'Stanford, Harvard, MIT - these people want to teach my philosophy because of my long experience of inventing from age five to age 70. Because I have 3,059 patents and I am still continuing, compared with Thomas Edison, who had 1,093 for all his life, they say, 'Please construct theories' and I constructed my philosophy. This is not only for myself, it's very important for the future of the whole world.' I was curious about this patent business. Dr NakaMats, for instance, says he invented the floppy disk in 1952 and is paid royalties by IBM not only for his invention but for his discretion, which unfortunately means he can't discuss his relationship with the company. He claims to be the only individual to have 16 patents licensed to IBM, which may be true, but he claims he was selected by Newsweek as one of 12 men of great eminence in the world. I looked this up later and discovered the list was simply 12 examples of people who earn money on the lecture circuit and included Nancy Reagan, who is not a man, and Oliver North, whom one surely hesitates to call great.
Incidentally, Dr NakaMats' fee was quoted at US$10,000 (HK$77,400). I don't know whether the HKPC paid this but I did see a letter from his secretary which helpfully pointed out that other cost-cutting host cities 'have substituted it by honour, such as 'Dr NakaMats Day Proclamation' ' which could explain the proliferation of such occasions in North America.
Anyway, once he's thought up an invention, he, or one of his 110 employees, files the patent and waits to see if it's snapped up by an international company, or manufactures it himself. How many of the 3,059 so far have actually been made? 'Hmmm. I think maybe half. The average in the world is one per cent so this is very good.' What was the last one he filed? Dr NakaMats folded his arms, exerted all his Yummi-snack-fed brain power and after a while said, 'Okay, okay, last one is computer with no need of keyboard.' Voice-operated? 'Yes.' He may be on to something. He certainly was five years ago when he invented Love Jet, a potion to be applied to sensitive male areas, and the forerunner of Viagra. 'In Japan, Love Jet is better than Viagra, it has no side-effect. Viagra goes into the mouth, it's poison. Love Jet is outside, instant effect, after one second.' Did he feel such an invention might detract from his great eminence? 'Number one, I'm not inventing for sex, I'm inventing for society. In Japan, the number of children per [family] is 1.43, that means maybe after 20 years, the Japanese population becomes half of the present time. That means the economy will shrink. In order to overcome this problem, I invented Love Jet.' Naturally, I was torn between trying to catch, and trying to avoid, the eye of Mrs Nakamatsu as she sat demurely through a quick discussion concerning the scientific measurements of Love Jet's efficacy (on brain waves, in case you're wondering). As I was leaving, she dived into the bag once more, plucked out a video camera and handed it to her husband who began filming. 'Make a comment,' he commanded. I dredged up the only word in Japanese I know, Sayonara, and then Mrs Nakmatsu tried to take a photo. But no one could get the flash to work. By the time you read this, something tells me that patent number 3,060 - the flashless camera - will have been filed in Tokyo.