Sticking to It

Japan's Wall Walker goes far

Unlike the Pet Rock, which insulted the intelligence, and Rubik's Cube, which defied it, a big new hit on the toy scene tickles the imagination and captivates the eye. The Wacky WallWalker, as it is called, is a sticky, rubber, eight-legged object that exists to be thrown at a wall or window, on which it alights, shudders, flips, turns, wriggles and lurches downward, shimmying like a pixilated octopus.

Invented and manufactured in Japan, the WallWalker has a certain Nipponese unpredictability: it never follows the same pattern twice in its wayward descent, seemingly pausing at times to reflect on its fate, at others engaging in a manic bout of activity. Many WallWalker buffs buy several of them at a time and mount a mural ballet. It is also cheap. More than 10 million in green, blue, yellow, red and black have been sold in the U.S. at between $1.69 and $2.50 since its introduction to a few cities late last year, and there are seemingly thousands more miles of wall for it to walk before the novelty wears off.

For Japanese-born Ken Hakuta, 33, exclusive U.S. distributor for the toy, the WallWalker has other charms. It has already made him a millionaire several times over. The walk to riches began last November, when Hakuta's parents in Tokyo sent several of the widgets to his 3 1/2-year-old son Kenzo, in Washington. Entrepreneur Hakuta, who has an M.B.A. from Harvard and runs a Washington-based import-export firm called Tradex, was immediately smitten with the toy and arranged to have it shipped to the U.S. He says: "I figured it might be something that could put humor into this recession." (Tradex, which has its headquarters in Hakuta's house, had previously been engaged in the less-than-hilarious business of selling cat food to Japan and importing karate uniforms.)

Arriving at some U.S. toy counters in time for Christmas, WallWalker put fun into a lot of kids' stockings and profits into Hakuta's account. The toy, called Tako (for octopus) in Japan, costs about 20-c- to make. Hakuta buys them for 30-c- to 35-c- each, packages and airfreights them to the U.S., pays the import duty (12.3%) and sells to wholesalers or retail stores for between 70-c- and 80-c-. Thus he averages a 40-c- profit on each toy. So far, Hakuta has spent nothing on advertising or promotion. "It just goes to show you don't have to be a big company like Mattel," he says. Last week, however, a campaign of 30-sec. TV commercials in association with Wendy's hamburger restaurants was launched; it is running in prime time and between Saturday-morning cartoon shows in 466 markets.

Hakuta has been negotiating with a television network for a possible cartoon show featuring WallWalker characters; it could be comparable, he says, to the immensely successful show inspired by the Smurfs. A New York City publishing company is considering a WallWalkers children's book. Hakuta euphorically envisions a WallWalkers Olympics. His "dream," he says, is to have 5,000 WallWalkers take part in a race down Manhattan's World Trade Center. Or he could make a King Kong-size monster to descend the Empire State Building.

Inevitably, as with Rubik's Cube, Taiwanese manufacturers are pouring out cheap copies of the toy. More than 5 million pirated versions have been stopped by Customs from entering the U.S., but several million have made it into stores and street vendors' hands. The knockoffs sell for between 79-c- and $2.50. They are made of inferior rubber, according to Hakuta, "bleed out this gooey stuff," lose their stickiness and fall off the wall. When the Japanese-made crawler loses its adhesive, it needs only to be washed in soap and warm water to work again; the copies will not. Unhappiness is a rubber octopus that won't stick to it. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.