'I'm not claiming to be a celebrity'

I'm just an ordinary Kiwi bloke, says multi-millionaire Mike Pero. Photo / Simon Baker

Before last week Mike Pero was ... well, what exactly? I wasn't sure he really existed except as a brand. Perhaps he was a perky, slightly annoying jingle: Mike Pero ... Mort ... ga ... ges.

Now, of course, he's the bloke at the centre of the row with Air New Zealand over his proposal to organise a paid charter flight for the families of the Erebus disaster.

He got a very public whacking from Air New Zealand: "Commercial opportunism of the lowest kind." He can recite this. He has been on the news and the current affairs shows and the radio looking, or sounding, bruised and bewildered.

He said, this week, when I phoned him, that he was "feeling a bit better. I've had three jars of Prozac".

Then he said, of my proposal to fly to Christchurch to see him, and this was possibly a bit meowy: "Do make sure to fly Air New Zealand."

He said he flew with the airline last week and the crew gave him extra snacks: "They felt sorry for me."

He might have felt a bit sorry for himself. He says he may have had a "few cocktails that night, I must say". He's not used to feeling sorry for himself.

He doesn't do down. He once did an interview while he was on his treadmill, using a hands-free phone. I think this is peculiar and far too perky.

I said: "Who does that?" "Well, I don't know. Look, it was probably early in the morning ... and someone was trying to get hold of me and I guess I thought, 'oh, if I ... put my feet up and eat my breakfast ... I'm better off to go for a half hour walk.' Wouldn't you?" he said, looking, hopefully, at the photographer. Why was he looking at him? "I'm just looking for some support! I guess if you're looking for strange things about me, there's not much strange about me."

He thinks it's strange that I'd know this about him. Or this: he once had a big truck, with a $10,000 kitchen, for rambling about in. "Oh. How do you know about that?"

Perhaps the strangest thing about him is the mix of naivety and his ability to generate enough PR to become a brand. He's good at PR, isn't he? "Generally."

But he says things that can look show-offy in print. Like this: "People think, 'oh, you're lucky, you're famous, you're a celebrity'."

Is he famous? "Well, that's what people think. I guess when 96 per cent of people in New Zealand know your name then you're probably considered ... I'm not saying I'm famous! I haven't done anything other than run a business. And I'm not claiming to be a celebrity because I'm just Mike and it's not something I'd aim for if I had my time again."

That does sound too naive to be true because, surely, being Mike Pero must be good for business. "Well, look, it's the same as Richard Branson or Michael Hill. I've committed my name to the public."

See how bad it can sound? But I'm going to help him out a bit here, because I really don't think he means to compare himself to Richard Branson.

He is, though, interested in the idea of famous people - the people he most admires are, predictably, Michael Hill and the Mad Butcher, both self-made men, both brands. He always has a good look at "a famous person, or someone who's been on TV", in the supermarket.

"It's only natural because I remember once thinking, 'oh, that's what she wears outside of work', and, 'what's she got in her shopping basket'?"

He's a great observer of how people behave and prides himself on being able to "empathise with people". He's always noting the other ideas of other companies and ripping pages out of magazines. He used to scribble down marketing ideas on airline sick bags for something to do on planes.

He is hopeless at doing nothing. When I said he was a magpie, which is another way of saying he's good at pinching bright shiny things, he took it as a compliment. "Yeah, I collect ideas. I'm very good at collecting ideas. Why reinvent the wheel?"

I was still laughing at the idea of him peering in famous people's shopping baskets when his wife, Rachel, put her head in.

She said, to him, "are you behaving? Are you saying good things?" Does he tend to get himself in trouble? She said, "well, you noticed last week ... No, I think Mike has got a very big heart and he just goes out spontaneously and ends up in trouble sometimes, don't you?"

He does a bit. If she'd come in 10 minutes earlier, she'd have heard me saying, "Mike, Mike, Mike," while holding my head in my hands.

He'd just used an analogy, between Rob Fyfe's handling of the proposed charter flight and another organisation, that is unpublishable. He said, "I don't mean to publish that," but he did, until I'd made it clear that I couldn't. He later likened his proposal to being "like pulling up to help someone on the side of the road and getting shot".

He said he doesn't bear a grudge, doesn't feel "ugly towards Air New Zealand", which I found a bit hard to believe. "No, no, no, no. Absolutely, on the death of my children! I have nothing against Air New Zealand and I'm going to fly on them again tomorrow."

I asked him whether he thought three marriages (Rachel is his third wife) was a lot and he said "yes", then proceeded to give me a detailed breakdown of his marriage breakdowns. He could have told me to mind my own business. "I could, and you don't have to print any of that, but it's up to you. I've got nothing to hide."

So he's given to hyperbole, and to talking too much, but still somehow doesn't appear to be particularly outgoing. You wouldn't call him a flamboyant or flashy character. I asked about charm, which good salespeople depend on.

He struck a charming pose, angled his neck, and said, "Look: six degrees, with the head leaning forward." I admire him for not wasting any on me. He said he'd give me some lunch, then forgot.

At the end, he said, "you will finish it nice, won't you?" And started winking, energetically and gauchely. There's something provincial about him, despite being a brand, and that's not a criticism.

There's nothing slick about him, although, magpie that he is, he no doubt knows how to mimic those who are.

I thought, before going to see him, that all that rags-to-riches (he had an autobiography ghost written), "I'm just a mechanic from the wrong side of tracks" stuff was so much bunkum. It's his shtick, and he knows how to use it, but it doesn't make it any less true. It does mean he knows the value of selling his life story.

He's used to being well thought of. His brand depends on it. He might have damaged his brand.

"Why would I want to change that? I don't think I made any mistake; I think they made the mistake." I wasn't sure exactly what his brand was. "I position myself as a good, honest Kiwi bloke who came from the Eastern side of town, which is the opposite from in Auckland. With average intelligence, works hard and does well ..."

He's says he's not bright. "I think I'm a C+ to B-." He's too bright to admit to any bearing of grudges. He says he'd like to have a meeting with Rob Fyfe and I think he believes this, almost.

He can say, in one breath, "I'll get over it," and in the next, "... some of the personal comments he's hit me with. Stuff that hasn't been printed, thank God." It doesn't take much to get him to tell you. "Just real sarcastic comments like: 'You want the people to love Mike Pero'."

He is telling me this because it has, obviously, got under his skin. But, proof of that naivety perhaps, it's not the smartest point to raise. Because there might be a perception that his gesture was at least partly about wanting to be seen to be a good guy, which would be good for the brand.

He said, of good works, "yeah, they are good for a brand, but also very satisfying." Does he mean they make him feel like a better person? "Well, I think giving is probably more rewarding than receiving."

Nobody can say that that without it sounding pious, but that's the tricky thing about charity. He's not silly. He says he'll "think very carefully" before doing any charity work, publicly, in the near future. "I've got to think, 'well, someone could construe this in the wrong way. This is Mike trying to come good after Erebus'."

Why didn't he offer to pay for the charter flight? Surely he could afford it? "Ha, ha. Right. Absolutely not. The perception is greater than the reality. I don't have the money that people think I've got." He wouldn't tell me how much he has got, but "I can tell you that it's single digits in millions. But not tens or hundreds of millions. I'm not like the big guys out there."

He likes racing Holden utes, which is an Alpha male hobby, but not, he says, about showing off.

"No, it's the cheapest class out there. I like a chance to keep my feet on the ground and meet the mechanics and the fans and average Kiwis. I'm a mechanic by trade. Contrary to what you're thinking. I have a cheap watch, well, relatively cheap." I had asked. It's a Tissot and cost $900. He said, "I don't need a Rolex to assure myself I've made it. I can afford a Rolex, of course."

I asked why he'd tell a journalist that he's never opened any of the leather-bound encyclopedias in his office, that they were "just for show". He said, "I can't read." Now that is nonsense. "Oh, I'm not a good reader." He can read, of course, and he reads management books and autobiographies and Googles madly. He has a book in his office called How to Lose Friends and Alienate People.

If I was Mike Pero I'd send Rob Fyfe a copy for Christmas. But that wouldn't be good PR for the brand, now would it?