Bush Jr. was very happy. William White arrived on horseback, accompanied by a group of cowboys. Such a welcoming was quite traditional; ordinary friends would not receive such treatment.
"George, you've really put on some weight. Are you sure you can still ride?"
Bush Jr. elegantly raised his middle finger, laughing aloud, "I thought you had become more sophisticated, but you're still as crude as ever."
"Ha ha, are you talking about that novel? Just a little something I scribbled. Don't take it too seriously."
Bush Jr. wore a wry smile, "William, you really put me in a tough spot. My old man is forcing me to read books to improve my artistic taste."
"Oh, then you can read The Lady of the Camellias and give your old man a Texas version of it."
"Fuck off! I'm asking, was that book really written by you?"
"What's it to you? I've already started writing my second book. Life's tough, you know."
"Tough? Come on! One book could make you a millionaire! Are you crazy?"
"Let's go, let's head to the farm and chat."
Bush Jr.'s entourage didn't expect that this second-generation heir had such clout.
In truth, the two guys were close in age and shared similar personalities; if one were to put it harshly, they were just a couple of simpletons.
A rising simpleton is still a simpleton, so the world of simpletons is quite peculiar, and outsiders couldn't understand it at all.
As William White's fame soared, many wanted to forge good relations with him. Though out of courtesy they would entertain him, it was far from the true standard of hospitality.
A bestselling author might not raise eyebrows elsewhere, but in Texas, he was rather rare. There were many stories, but few were willing to write them down -- their personalities were just too rough. Being a writer wasn't quite fitting for them.
Bush Jr. stayed at the farm for two days, feeling hazy the entire time, with William White almost always by his side.
Although this guy was a simpleton, he wasn't dumb. He didn't treat Bush Jr. as an outsider; they were just as they always were -- still quite blunt.
His entourage was flabbergasted; they came with a pilgrim's mindset. Forrest Gump was hugely popular in Texas, and they certainly had read it.
But this writer was just so outrageous, not much better than their simpleton heir. The only real difference was maybe self-control; he could drink yet never got drunk.
All right, this guy was indeed well-versed; he rattled off literary references effortlessly. Without his entourage, Bush Jr. would've been completely lost.
After successfully completing his old man's task, Bush Jr. returned home happily. The stance was clear: "I don't want to deal with Elephant issues. If it's about your family, I'll support you fully."
This declaration was sufficient. To be honest, the Elephant wasn't even his; given the circumstances, it was quite reasonable.
William White was also straightforward, stating that he would shift his focus to California. It wouldn't be fitting to stick the Elephant label on him -- California was the hub for Donkeys.
A decision so significant was casually reached, leaving those around dumbfounded, muttering that they didn't understand the world of simpletons.
William thought to himself, "These two have been in their positions for over a decade. If I don't build a good relationship now, will I have to suck up to them later?"
...
"Sir, Motorola sent over the CPU you requested."
"Have the previous electronics engineer come back and hand over the work."
"Sure thing, sir."
Holding the CPU, William White felt quite reflective. Though it had many flaws, there was one thing that couldn't be overlooked: this CPU had a lifespan of forty years and seemed poised to last even longer.
One couldn't deny Motorola's knack for self-destruction; holding a bunch of ticking bombs and not knowing how to handle them ultimately crippled themselves.
William White had no intention of getting into computers. He was just a small fry; no matter how good the product, it would only bring him endless trouble.
During this era, there was another electronic product that was exceptionally profitable.
That's right, arcade games. Don't even get me started on large-scale games -- Pac-Man alone made a ton of money, and that was just a simple puzzle game. The profits from larger games were obvious.
The price of the 68000 was prohibitively expensive. Personal computers were not worth the effort; at least for the next few years, there wouldn't be any prospects -- around two hundred dollars each was downright terrifying.
Arcade games were not sensitive to hardware prices; a slight increase was acceptable. The U.S. arcade market was enormous, with market demands of at least a billion dollars. If that wouldn't generate profits, William might as well jump into the ocean.
The key point was that this could be OEM'd; manufacturers would surely flock to it. If they could develop puzzle games, they could just as easily create gambling games. Selling slot machines could lead to great wealth. Why bother with personal computers?
Games couldn't just be haphazardly thrown together. They needed to start with the simple ones first to avoid high R&D costs.
William White selected three games: Pac-Man, Texas Tetris, and Tank Battle. These three had one thing in common: they thrived on creativity, and the production difficulty was quite limited.
This was a meal worth having. The home console manufacturers would definitely show interest. If they wanted to use them, plenty of dollars would come flying in.
The gambling industry was even more lucrative. With such a novelty, everything else would be a dead-end.
Though making money in this field was easy, it was quite insular. This industry placed a strong emphasis on tradition. Jumping in rashly would surely lead to disaster.
Anyway, there was no need to rush. First, they would launch the three simple games to build the company's reputation, and then they could expand further.
Arcades weren't about intricacy; stability and durability were paramount. So, being tough and resilient was essential. Players generally had poor tempers. Hitting and banging were normal; if a player could break it with a light touch, they'd call it junk.
Yeah, they needed to apply for more patents. The competition in the arcade industry was quite cunning; if you weren't careful, they could easily overtake you.
Regarding competitors in the arcade game field, it was nearly an unsolvable problem. American manufacturing capabilities were just too weak or too costly. Without the help of arcade companies, selling a billion in a year was a distant dream; even making a hundred million would be a struggle.
Most importantly, you might not even make a profit. If the market were to experience any fluctuations, losses wouldn't be out of the question.
American workers were practically unmanageable. The longer a factory operated, the more the bosses suffered. The ultimate outcome was closure, and everyone would scatter.
*****
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