By Alex Berger
A salesman is got to dream, boy. It comes with the territory. — Arthur Miller
Many children want to become doctors or dentists, others lawyers, accountants or teachers. Me? I always wanted to become a salesman.
As a youngster living in poverty on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, I would watch my father work three jobs seven days a week, supporting his eight children and our cat, Superman, during the Depression years.
[Salespeople are out there] on a smile and a shoe shine. — Arthur Miller
Then I would look at my Uncle Meyer and Uncle Herman. They used salesmanship to amass enough money to open jewelry (Meyer) and ladies’ coat (Herman) stores. I knew I was destined to be a salesman.
There were memorable days in the early history of our country:
• Nathan Hale: “I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country.”
• Patrick Henry: “Give me Liberty, or give me Death!”
• John Hancock: “Have I got a policy for you!”
At 14, I landed my first summer job stringing badminton rackets for the Sportscraft Co. in Manhattan. They placed me at a workstation along with 12 other young boys. My job was to stand at my vise for eight hours, threading catgut through and around empty wooden rackets and listening to ribald stories from the 16−year−olds.
A good salesman can convince his wife “polyester” is the generic name for “mink.”
At day’s end, my legs ached, fingers stiffened and hands bled pulling the catgut as tight as I could. What kept me going was not the countless risquÉ stories — although they helped. Instead, it was watching the salespeople receive their generous commissions in the next room. The sight of so much money passing hands reinforced my desire to become a salesman when I got older.
One salesman said he had gotten three orders that week: get out, stay out and do not come back.
Ben Stein emphasized the drama of selling and the ballet that is sales: “… When done right … it is an art. [It is] making the customer feel better about spending money … than he would have felt by keeping his wallet zipped.” He said a good salesman is one who could sell oil to the Saudis.
Could I? Would I? Should I?
A salesman applied for a job and was asked about his work experience. He said, “From time to time, I was a door−to−door salesman selling wall−to−wall carpeting on a day−to−day basis with a 50−50 commission in Walla Walla, Wash.” “How was business?” “So−so,” he answered.
I was certain I would make a good salesman. I got a summer job at a local pharmacy, but I could not sell a cold remedy to a sniffling man nor a laxative to a constipated woman. I was dismissed before I could begin my shpiel about weight supplements to an anemic gentleman.
One salesman to another: “I had a fabulous day today and made a lot of friends for the company.” “I didn’t sell anything either.”
Still, I was certain I would make a good salesman. I next tried selling vacation timeshares by telephone. I called people in Maine to buy timeshares in Florida. I called people in Florida to buy timeshares in Maine. I called people in east Texas to buy timeshares in west Texas. I was shown the door.
An aged salesman died and went to heaven. He pointed to a special cloud and asked if it could be his. St. Peter said, “Sorry, that one is sold, but we have one just as good.”
I will not tell you about my tries at selling. No regrets, however, because I still have the greatest job in the world: being your columnist.
The greatest salesman was the one who sold two milking machines to a farmer with one cow and then took the cow as a down payment.
I have learned, however, that every field of endeavor involves the art of selling. We all sell something every day and time we meet someone — even me. To prove I am a good salesman, and despite a few setbacks, didn’t I display exquisite skill in completing the most important sale of my life the moment Gloria said, “Yes”?
The greatest salesman in the world has to be the agent I recently dreamed about. In the dream, he sold me an insurance policy. To be eligible for compensation, I would have to be run down by a herd of wild polar bears on Bell Boulevard. Then I would collect $18.75 a week. If I lose my hair, they will help me look for it. They will also take care of Gloria’s maternity costs … after age 87.
He is definitely my hero.
Contact Alex Berger at news@timesledger.com.
