TALES OF THE ROAD

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 5, 4 February 1905, Page 6

TALES OF THE ROAD

Some of Hue Ways io Get Hue Bmsmess —and Keep It

By

Charles N. Crewdson

Salesmanship is the business of the world; it is about all there is to the world of business. Enter the door of a successful wholesale or manufacturing house and you stand on the threshold of an establishment represented by first-class salesmen. They are the steam- and a big part of the engine, too—that makes business move. 1 saw in print, the other day, the statement that salesmanship is the ‘‘fourth profession.” It is not; it is the first. The salesman, when he starts out to ‘‘get there,” must turn more sharp corners, “duck” through more alleys and face more cold, still winds than any other worker 1 know of. He must think quickly, yet use judgment; he must work hard and often long. He must coax one minute and “stand out” the next. He must persuade—persuade the man he approaches that he needs his goods, and make him buy them — yes, make him. He is messenger boy, train despatcher, department buyer, credit man, actor, lawyer and politician —all under one hat! By “salesman” I do not mean the man who stands behind the counter and lets the customer who comes to him and wants to buy a necktie slip away because the spots on the silk are blue instead of green; nor do I mean the man who wraps up a collar, size IG, and calls “cash.’’ I mean the man who takes his grip or sample trunks and goes to hunt his customer—the travelling salesman. To the position of travelling salesman attach independence, dignity, opportunity. substantial reward. Many of the tribe do not appreciate this; those do so best who in time try the “professional life.” When they do they usually go back to the road, happy to get there again. Yet were they permanently' to adopt a profession, say the law. they would make better lawyers because they had been travelling men. Were many professional men to try the road they would go back to their first occupation because forced to. The travelling man can tell you why. I bought, a few day ago, a plaything for my small boy. What do you suppose it was? A toy train. 1 wish him to get used to it. for when he grows up I am going to put him on the road hustling trunks. THE TRAINING SCHOOLS FOR BUSINESS SUCCESS. My boy will have a better chance for success at this than at anything else. If he has the right sort of stull’ in him he will soon lay the foundation for a life success; if he hasn’t I'll soon find it out. As a travelling salesman he will succeed quickly or not at all. In the latter event I shall set him to studying a profession. When he goes on the road hr may save a great part of his salary, for the firm he will represent will pay his living expenses while travelling for them. He will also have many leisure hours, and even months, in which t<> study for a profession, if he chooses—or if he will he may spend his “out of season” months in foreign travel or any phase of intellectual culture- -and he will have the money of his own earning to do it with. Three to six or eight months i< as much time as most Unveiling men can profitably give to selling gO"ds on the road: the rest is theirs to use as they please. Every man who goes on the road does not succeed not by any means! The road is no place for drones; there are a great manv drops of the honey’' of commerce waiting in the apple blossoms along the road. but. it takes the busy “worker” bee to get it. The capable

salesman may achieve great success not only on the road but. in any kind of activity. “The road” is a great training school. Aiderman Milton Foreman, chairman of the transportation committee in the Chicago City Council, only a few years ago was a drummer. He studied law daily and went into politics while he yet drew the largest salary of any man in his house. Marshall Field was once a travelling man; John W. Gates sold barbed wire before he became a steel king. These three men are merely types of successful travelling men. Nineteen years ago. a boy of 15, 1 quit picking worms off tobacco plants and began to work in a wholesale house, in St. Louis, at five dollars a week—and I had an even start with nearly every man ever connected with the firm. Pile president of the firm to-day, now also a bank president, and worth a million dollars, was formerly a travelling man; the old vice-president of the house, who is now the head of another firm in the same line, used to be a travelling man; the present vice-presi-dent and the president’s son-in-law was a travelling man when I went with the firm; one of the directors, who went with the house since I did, was a travelling man. Another who travelled for this firm is to day vice-president of a large wholesale dry-goods house. One more saved enough recently to go into the wholesale business for himself. Out of the whole lot of us six married daughters of wealthy parents, and 30 or more, who keep on travelling, earn by six months or less of road work from 1-200 dollars to fiOOO dollars each year. One of the lot has done, during his period of rest, what every one of his fellow-salesmen had the chance to do—taken a degree from a great university, obtained a license (which he cannot afford to use) to practise law. learned to read, write and speak with ease two foreign languages, and got a smattering of three others, and has travelled over a large part of the world. Of all men in the office and stock departments of this firm only two of them have got beyond 25 dollars a week; and both of them have been drudges. One of them has moved up from slave-book-keeper to credit-man-slave and partner. The other has become a buyer. And even he. as well as being a stock man. wns a city salesman. Just last night, on leaving the street ear. an old schoolboy friend told me that

he was soon going to try his hand on the road selling bonds. He asked me if 1 could give him any pointers. I said: “Work and be square—never come down on a price; make the price right in the beginning.” “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said he. I slapped him on the breast and answered: “I do!” ON THE BIAS AND ON THE SQUARE. I would give every travelling man, every business man, every man, this same advice. Say what you will, a square deal is the only thing to give your customer. You can do a little scaly work and win out at it for a while, but when you get into the stretch, unless you have played fair, the short horses will beat you under the wire. The best customer on my order-book came to me because I once had a chance to do a little crooked work—and didn’t. I had a customer who had been a loyal one for many years. He would not even look at another salesman’s goods—and you know that it is a whole lot of satisfaction to get into a town and walk into a door where you know you are “solid.” The man on the road who doesn’t appreciate and care for a faithful customer isn’t much. My old customer, Herman, had a little trouble with his head clerk. The clerk. Fred, got it into his head that the business belonged to him, and he tried to run it. But Herman wouldn’t stand this sort of work and “called him down.” Tht clerk became “toppy,” and Herman discharged him. But still, Fred had a fairly good standing in the town, and interested an old bachelor, a banker, who had a nephew that he wanted to start in business. He furnished Fred and his nephew with 10.000 dollars cash capital; the three formed a partnership to open a new store and “buck” Herman. Well, you know, it is not a bad thing to “stand in” with the head clerk when you wish to do business in an establishment. So I had always treated Fred right, and he liked me and had confidence in me. Tn fact, it’s a poor rule to fail to treat one well. T believe that the “boys” on the road are the most tolerant, patient human beings on earth. To succeed at their business they must be patient, and after a while it becomes a habit, and a good one, too. You know how it goes! A merchant gets to handling a certain brand of goods

no better than many others in the same line. He gets it into his head that he cannot do without that particular line. This is what enables a man on the road to get an established trade. The clerks in the store also get interested in some special brand because they have customers who come in and ask for that particular thing a few times. They do not stop to think that the man who comes in and asks for a Leopard brand hat or a Knock-’em-out shoe does not have any confidence in this special shoe or hat, but that he has confidence in the establishment where he buys it. So, when I was in Herman’s town to sell him his usual bill his' clerk hailed me from across the street and came over to where I stood. He told me that he had quit his old job and that he was going to put in a new stock. I, of course, had to tell him that I must stay with Herman, but that out of appreciation of his past kindness to me 1 would do the best I could to steer him right in my line of goods. I gave him a personal letter to another firm that I had been with before, and who, I knew, would deal with him fairly. Fred went in to market. When in the city he tried to buy some goods of my firm. He intended to take these same goods and sell them for a lower price than Herman had been getting, and thus cut hard into Herman’s trade. But the big manufacturers, you know, are awake to all of these tricks, and a first-class establishment will always protect its customers. My house told Fred that before they could sell to him they would have to get my sanction. They wired me about it, and I, of course, had to be square with my faithful old friend. Herman. As I was near by I wrote him by special delivery, and laid the case before him. He, for self-protection, wired my house that he would prefer that they should not sell to his old clerk who was now going to become his competitor. Tn fact he said he would not stand for it. A LITTLE COLOUR IN THE PAN. The very next season things came around so that Herman went out of business, and then I knew that I “was up against it” in his town—my old customer gone out of business; Fred not wanting, then, of course, to buy of me. But I took my medicine and consoled myself with the thought that a few grains of gold would pan out in the wash. Up in a large town above Herman’s I had a customer, named Sam. who had moved out from Colorado. Sam was well fixed, but he had not secured the right location. Say what you will, location has a whole lot to do with business. Of course a poor man would not prosper in the busy streets of Cairo, but the best sort of a hustler would starve to death doing business on the Sahara. A big store in Sam’s new town failed. Sam had a chance to sell out the stock at 75 cents on the dollar. He wished to do so; but. although he was well-to-do, he didn’t have the ready cash. One night I called on Sam and he laid the case before me. He told me how sorry he was not to get hold of the “snap.” I put my wits together quickly. and I said to him: “Sam. I believe I can do you some good.” The next morning I went down to see a banker, who was a brother-in-law of Herman’s, and who had made enough money merchandising and out of wheat, down in Herman’s old town, to move up to the city and go into the banking business. The banker knew all about the way that T had treated his brotherin law', and T felt that because I had been square with Herman he would have con-

tidence in anything 1 said to him. I put the case before the banker. 1 told him £ knew Sam to be well fixed, to have good credit, to be a good rustler and strictly straight. In a little while 1 brought Sam up to meet the banker. The banker, immediately, upon my recommendation, told Sam that he could have all the money he needed—lo,ooo dollars. The banker also wired to the peopie who owned the stock—he was well acquainted with them —and told them he would vouch for Sam. The deal went through all right, and Sam now buys every cent’s worth he uses in my line from me. He is the nest customer 1 have. 1 got him by being square. One of my old friends, who was a leading hat salesman of St. Louis, once told me the following experience:— “Several years ago 1 was out in Western Texas on a team trip. It was a flush year; cattle were high. I had been having a good time; you know how it goes—the more one sells the more he wants to sell and can sell. 1 heard of a big cattleman who was also running a crossroads grocery store. He wanted to put in dry-goods, shoes and hats. His stole was only a few miles out of my way, so 1 thought that £ would drive over and see him. “How 1 kicked myself when 1 drove up to his shanty, hardly larger, it seemed to me, than my straw-goods trunk! But. being there, £ thought I would pick up a small bill, anyway. £ made it a rule never to overlook even a small order, for enough of them amount to as much as one big one. AV hen 1 went in the old gentleman was tickled to see me and told me to open up—that he wanted a ‘right smart’ bill. I thought that meant about seventy-five dollars. ••£ had to leave my trunks outside —the store was so small —so £ brought in at first only a couple of stacks of samples. 1 pulled out a cheap hat and handed it to him. “ ‘That’s a good one for the money.' said I; ‘a dollar apiece-' I used always to show' cheap goods first, but £ have learned better. “He looked at my sample in contempt, and pulling a fine nutria hat off his head he said, ‘Haven’t you got some hats like this one?’ “‘Yes, but they will cost you eightyfour dollars a dozen,' T answered, at the same time handing him a fine beaver quality. ‘“The more they cost the better they suit us cattlemen; we are not paupers, suh! How many come in a case?' “‘Three dozen come in a ease. Colonel.' “ ‘Well, give me a case.’ “I had never sold a case of these fine goods in my life, so £ said to him: ‘That’s more. Colonel, than I usually sell of that kind, And T don’t want to overload you; hadn’t we better make it a dozen?’ “ ‘Dozen? No, suh. no. You must think that there’s nobody in this country, that they haven’t any money, and that I haven’t any money. Did you see that big bunch of cattle as you eame in? They're all mine—mine, suh; and f don’t owe the bank a cent on them. suh. No. suh. not a eent. suh. I want a case of these hats, suh—-not a little bundle that you can carry under yo’ arm.’ “I was afraid that I had made the old gentleman mad. and. knowing him by reputation to be worth several thousand dollars, I thought it best to let him have his way. I went through the two stacks with him and then brought in the rest of my samples. He bought a case of a kind right through—fine hats, medium hats, and cheap hats for Greasers. He bought blacks, browns, and light colours. £ was ashamed to figure up the bill before his face- But just as soon as I got out of sight 1 added up the items, and it amounted to 2100 dollars—the best bill 1 took on that trip. “I sent the order in. but £ thought that £ should not have to call there again for a long time. The house ship ped the bill, and the old gentleman discounted it. “Next trip 1 was intending to give that point the go-by. I really felt that the old gentleman not only needed no more goods, but that lie would shoot me if I called on him. But when 1 got to the town next to his my customer there, who was a friend of the Colonel’s, told me that the old gentleman had sent him word that ho wished to buy some

more goods, and for me to be sure and come to see him.

“When 1 came driving up to the Colonel’s store the back end oi it looked peculiar to me. He had got so many goods from me that he had been obliged to take the wooden cases they were shipped in and make out of these boxes an addition to his store. Lumber was scarce in that country. The Colonel came out and shook hands witli me before 1 was out of my waggon. 1 was never greeted more warmly in my life. “ ‘Look heah,’ he began, ’1 owe you an apology, suh; and I want to make it to you befo' you pass my threshol', suh. When you were heah befo’ 1 feah that I allowed my indignation to arise. 1 am sorry for it, suh, sorry! Give me yo" hand and tell me that yo’ will palidon me. 1 can't look you square in the face until yo' do.’ "•Why Colonel, that's all right, said 1; ’1 didn’t want to abuse your confidence, but 1 fear that 1 myself was impertinent in trying to show you that I knew more qbout your business than you did. 1 want to beg your pardon.’ “ 'No palidon to grant, suh; and I want you to accept my apology. Tile truth is the cowboys in this country have been deviling me to death, nearly—• ever since I started this store —to get them some good hats—good ones, suh. They told me that they couldn't get a decent hat in this whole country. 1 [promised them that I would buy some oi the best that 1 could find. When yo's came some of the boys saw the waggon bound foil my store ten miles out oi town. They fo'med a sort of procession, suh, and marched in with the team. Every one of those boys bought one of those finest hats you sold me. 'they spread the news that I had a big stock and a fine stock, all over this country; and, do you know, people have come two hundred miles to buy hats of me. Some of my friends laughed at me, they say. because I bought so many that 1 had jto use the eases they came in to make an addition to my sto'. But the more they laughed, suh, the more necessary they made the addition. If you can only get people to talking about yo' yo’ will thrive. Believe me in this, sub. If they say something good about yo' that is good; if they say something bad about yo’ that is better —it spreads fasterThose fool merchants did not know, suh. that they were helping my business every time that they told about how many hats I had bought until one day a fellow, when they were laughing about me, said: “Well, if that’s the case I'll buy my hat from him; I like, anyway, to patronise the man who carries a good stock.’’ Now you just come back ami see how empty my addition is.’’ “I went back into the addition and found that the Colonel's hats were nearly all gone. He had actually sold—and out of his little shanty—more of my goods than any other customer I had. When 1 started to have my trunks unloaded the Colonel said to me: ‘Now just ho!' on there; that's entirely unnecessary. The last ones sold so well, you just duplicate my last bill except that you leave out the poah hats. Come, let's go up to my house and have a julep and rest a while.’ ” THE WILD IRISHMAN OE CHINOOK. Although a man's friends will not buy from him if he does not carry the goods, he will yet get their patronage over tinother fellow if he has the right stock. Here’s where a man’s personality and adaptability are his stock-in-trade when he is on the road. One of my musician road friends once told me hovs 7 he had sold a bill to a wellknown old crank, now dead, in the State of Montana. “When I used to work at the bench, years ago,” said he, as we sat in the smoker, “evenings when I was free 1 studied music for relaxation. Our shop boys organised a brass band. I played the trombone, and learned to do fairly well. I never thought then that my music would fatten my pocketbook; but since I have been on the road it has served me a good turn more than onee—it has sold me many a bill. “You've heard of the ‘Wild Irishman of Chinook,’ haven’t you” “Old Larry, the erank?” said 1. “Yes. old Larry, the great. Well. sir. the first evening I ever went into Larry's store I hadn’t been in a minute until he said to me: ‘Oi’m all full up: Oi've got plinty iv it. I don't give a dom phwat ye’re silling.’

“I paid no attention to him, as 1 had heard of him; instead of going out 1 bought a cigar and sat down by the stove. Although a man may not want to buy anything from you, you knowhe is always willing to sell you some thing, even if it’s only a cigar. I've caught many a merchant's ear by buy ing something of him. Aly specialty is bone collar-buttons—they come cheap. I’ll bet that I bought a peck of them tinfirst time 1 made a trip through this country. “I had not been sitting by the stovelong until 1 noticed, in a show case, a trombone. 1 asked Larry please to let me see it. ‘Oi’ll lit ye say the insthrumint,’ said he, ‘but phawt’s the good of it? Ye can't play the thromboon, can ye? Oi’m the only mon in this berg that ean bloo that bairn. Oi’m a miniber of the brass band.’ “I took the horn, and, as 1 ran the scale a few times, Larry's eyes began to dance. He wouldn't wait on the customer who came in. The instrument was a good one- 1 made ‘Praties and fishes are very foine dishes for Saint Pathrick in the maiming’ fairly ring. A big crowd came in. Larry let business drop entirely and danced a jig. He kept me playing for an hour, always some filing ‘by special rayquist’—‘Molly Dairlint,’ ‘Aloggie Moorphy's I loom,' and Everything he could think of. Finally he asked me for “Hairt Booed Doon.’ “As I played the ‘Heart Bowed Down' tears came to the old Irishman's eyes. When I saw these I played yet better: (this piece was one of my own favourites. 1 felt a little peculiar myself. This airhad made a bond between us. When I finished the old man said to me: ‘Thank ye, thank ye, sor. with all my hairt' That's enoof. Let me put the bairn away. Go hoom now. But coom around in the maimin’ and Oi’ll buy a bill of ye! 1 doon’t give a dom phawt’s you're sill ing. If Oi’ve got your loine in my sthore Oi’ll boy a bill; if I haven’t Oi'll boy a bill anyway anil stairt a new department- Good-noight; give me yer band, sor.’ “Not only did Larry give me a good order, but he went to two more merchants in the town and made them buy from me. He bought every dollar’s worth of his goods in my line from me as long as he lived.