Saturday, September 13, 2008

Why I am not a magazine salesman...

Shortly after my father's death, we found a certificate in his papers from the Curtis Publishing Company. It acknowledged my father as a "young hustler", yes those were the exact words. In 1929 the term was probably not reserved for the pool halls, though it is likely that my dad knew the then current pool hall term from first hand experience, either losing his money or earning it. The certificate has a very nice gold seal on parchment so it must have been important. His name was nicely written below the statement of what a young hustler was. It told the world that he was a successful magazine salesman. He was 13 at the time and sold magazines door to door. I think he was still selling magazines when he died 68 years later or if not selling them, he was probably figuring out new ways to sell them.

As kids, my brother and sisters and I all had opportunities to work for dad, selling magazines. My career started when I was about 11 or perhaps a bit younger. I pulled my wagon of Redbooks and Good Housekeeping magazines down the streets of the neighborhoods near old town in Albuquerque. I guess my neighborhood was not quite up-scale enough or perhaps I had worked it already. I sold them for 50 cents each and earned more than I could ever earn doing anything else, though at 11 I did not have a lot of options.

I avoided selling magazines as much as I could during High School. It was a bit silly since I could make two or three times selling magazines as I could washing dishes at Glenwood Manor. But occasionally I would need a bit extra and try my hand at selling over the phone. "Hi this is... with ... periodical. We are calling some of the ... (auto shops, hair dressers, etc.) in the area. " That was not really too bad, I had been in the auto shops and barber shops and seen the piles of magazines in the waiting rooms. The goal was to make the calls, the orders would come. I learned a lot about selling that would come in handy 30 years later. But I was a lousy salesman.

But then one summer, I found myself in need of a job and dishwashing did not fit the profile of a junior college student. My dad had moved back to California and I was in Kansas. He wanted me to close orders that one of his saleswomen sold. I finally caved into the financial reality, selling magazines is more profitable than lots of other occupations for a 19 year old college student. So that summer I became a closer. A closer is the one who gets the contract signed, 5 magazines for 5 years. "So in addition to Life, Look, and Newseek would you prefer Field and Stream or Popular Electronics", became my refrain. I travelled the back roads of Kansas and Missouri getting contracts signed. In Abeline Kansas my Toyota died, teaching me that water and oil really are important. In Oklahoma City I learned that Greyhound bus stations are probably not the best places to get advice on where to stay when the last bus has left. And in Tulsa I learned about rose gardens.

But it was in Derby, Kansas, that my career changed forever. I did not mind working the auto shops and beauty salons. But I did not like selling to residences. One day somewhere near Derby I pulled up to a house, a bit worn, but a fairly typical farm house. Knocking on the screen door eventually brought the woman of the house out, dressed in a moomoo and looking out of place, even for rural Kansas. I proceeded with my pitch, conscious of the aura of sloth that surrounded me on this farm. The decision was a big decision for the woman, Woman's Day or Motor Trend. But I left successful, contract signed and first payment received. I think the deal was actually for more than 5 magazines. That night in a motel named something like Derby Inn or Maint Street Motel, I reflected on the day. I do not remember the scene but I remember the revulsion. I had just sold 6 or 7 magazines a month to a woman whom I was convinced was never going to read any of them. Was it me, perhaps my charm or my scrawniness, that made her want to write me the check? In my heart of hearts I knew it was over. I could never walk up to a farm house and sell them four or five hundred dollars of magazines. Maybe I could do it in Kansas City, but not in Derby or Junction City. It might have helped if I was actually a good sales person. Thus my career in magazine sales ended, and that without ever earning the coveted, Young Hustler certificate.

I did actually become a verifier a couple of years later but that was just a momentary diversion. A verifier is similar to a closer but it was all done on the phone and there was a bit less sales involved. But it was the farm house in Derby that sealed my fate.

Such was my first career...