little about the damphool things the Chicago office writes you about
and the asininity of some of their requests and plans. It seems they've
insulted your intelligence by questioning some of your moves and that
they certainly have had enough experience with you to know that you
wouldn't do anything but one way, which, of course, is the right way,
and you're getting tired of being bothered with so many bunglers and
policies.
Now, Red, if you think that your otherwise good letter is going to
kindle a single spark of sympathy in the Old Man, you're just as
mistaken as if you'd torn your shirt.
The first thing I wonder about is, just how do you get that way? I
suppose you've been working pretty hard, your digestion is bad, or else
you've quit smoking or something else has turned up to change the even
alto of your way, because the symptoms you are displaying are not at
all new to me, or anyone else who has gotten over the college yell days
of business life. No--we've all gone thru it, Boy, we've all gone thru
it, and the only question in my mind in your case is, will it turn out
to be only baby rash, or a genuine case of the measles?
You know, ever since Hector was a pup, pretty nearly every
five-fingered snoozer has sometime or other in his life arrived at a
place where he thought everything he did was one hundred per cent right
and he formed a hundred and five proof pity for the poor unfortunate
numskulls who didn't agree with him. It's a sort of childhood disease
that has to be gone thru, like mumps, chicken-pox or hog cholera. The
majority of the victims recover after a very brief illness and there
have been but few cases where it actually killed the victim. However,
there are numerous cases on record where it has necessitated an
operation to remove the ego and quite a few instances where it has left
the victim in such shape that they had to seek out-door employment
like ringing up fares on the back platform of a street car, or riding
on top of a hansom cab.
Now Mother and I are not very much concerned in your case, because we
know you have a rugged constitution that will pull you thru the crisis,
but we're wondering if it wouldn't do you a little good to sort of hold
up the mirror and let you see just how ludicrous you look to the rest
of the world while you're suffering from this malady. Remember how
funny you looked when you had the mumps and when you were all broken
out with Liberty measles? Well, Boy, if that brought the smiles of the
onlookers, your present indisposition makes 'em burst out laughing.
Now listen, Red, your entire trouble can be diagnosed as just a
perverted point of view and every time I use that expression I am
reminded of a call I once made at a hospital when the nurse and the
doctor called me in to get my first peep at a little squirming mite of
humanity that afterwards learned to call me Dad. In my enthusiasm and
paternal pride, I exclaimed “Some girl” but the doctor just shook his
head and said, “No, you're mistaken--a boy.” Now Red, I wasn't exactly
an idiot. I knew more or less about babies and all that, but the reason
the doctor and I didn't agree was purely point of view. He knew,
whereas I was only jumping at conclusions.
But to go back to your symptoms. Of course, I know you're going to tell
me where you can point out where you were asked by Chicago to furnish
information, or do something that you knew wasn't what they wanted--was
nonsensical, etc., and I'll agree with you--now--think a minute!
Chicago don't claim to be above errors, mistakes and cases of bad
judgment. Of course not, and do you know why they make no such claims?
Well, I'll tell you. It's because they've gone thru and gotten over the
same illness you have. They know as long as they are dealing with the
human equation, errors will creep in, but haven't you noticed, now be
honest Red, that they don't jump at conclusions like you do and doesn't
it occur to you that if they have found clairvoyance impractical as
compared to cold fact, that they will naturally ask more questions,
demand clearer explanations and expect you to conduct your end in a
more self-explanatory fashion than otherwise?
The trouble with you, Old Top, is that when you get a letter from
Chicago requesting a little, simple thing and especially if they don't
go to the trouble to explain every reason why they want it, which they
shouldn't have to do, you immediately begin to hunt for holes in it.
Instead of thinking along the lines of how quick you can comply, you
begin to wonder if there's a hidden meaning in it; if they couldn't get
the same thing some other place, etc., and you burn up ten times as
much energy and write more letters trying not to do what is wanted than
you would if you'd just go about and do it.
You know, Red, when you were a little fellow you had the same symptoms,
but I thought you'd outgrow 'em. When you were about nine years old
and would do something that I thought you should be disciplined for
slightly, I would frequently order you to go over and sit down in a
certain chair. After so much hesitation you'd start, but you'd take
a circuitous route, knock over the piano bench, kick the cat and
eventually, if I kept after you, you'd arrive at the chair designated,
but afterward, when in lower mathematics you learned the axiom that
the shortest distance between two given points was a straight line, I
thought you had gotten over it, but I guess not--eh, what?
Now to make you feel a little better, I'll admit that men higher up
than you often get the wrong point of view and I'll illustrate. One
time information came to the home office that a certain competitor
was putting a special pack on the market in a certain large city, but
not letting it be known that it was special by packing it under the
same label that they were using all over the country. Naturally, this
was important and needed quick investigation. Chicago wired their
manager in that city to pick up some samples of that brand and send in
immediately.
Chicago didn't go to the trouble to explain their reasons--it wasn't
necessary and long telegrams cost money. A few days later they received
a letter from this manager which read something like this: “I received
your wire asking me to send you samples of Blank's Beans. I cannot
understand why you should bother me with a request of this kind when
all you'd have to do would be to go into any store in Chicago and buy
the same thing, therefore, I am not complying with your request.”
He even went so far as to send a copy to the Boss expiating on the
asininity of the dumb-bell making such a request and, of course,
expecting quite a pat on the back for his forethought.
I guess I don't need to finish the story; you can imagine the Golden
Text that the Boss thought of after reading the letter, particularly
considering that it was his suggestion in the first place.
Now Red, this means only one thing--if you're loyal (and you are)
don't look for the holes in every proposition that's put up to you
until you arrive at a position where your chief duties are to look for
those holes. As long as you're working under someone else, give your
superior the benefit of the doubt. He may make some mistakes, but don't
be trying to read his mind. Don't get cynical--give the other fellow
credit for having a reason for asking what he does. Get out your old
yellow copy of Elbert Hubbard's preachment “The Message to Garcia” and
note how that fellow, when given a task, didn't look for the holes in
it, or question the motive, but went ahead and did it.
There's a lesson in it for you, Boy--get it!
Your loving,
“DAD.”
_Dad Warns of the Evil Spirit That Whispers “You Haven't Time”_
Dear Hal:
Mother and I arrived home without mishap and she said I should write
you at once and let you know that we arrived safely and to tell you
again how much we appreciated the good time that you showed us on our
visit.
Am mighty glad I went to the office with you Saturday and attended your
meeting with your salesmen. You were so busy just about the time I had
to run away to make my train that I didn't get to tell you several
little points that I picked up, but I guess I can tell you just as well
in this letter.
You probably noticed that I made it my business to sort of “mill”
around with your various men and engage them in conversation. I want to
congratulate you on the class of men you have gotten together. They're
a credit to you, Boy, and with that bunch of enthusiastic live-wires, I
don't think you need to worry a bit about your results just as long as
you direct them properly.
There was one thing that struck me very forcibly as I talked to your
various salesmen. Every one of them had a great big territory and they
freely admitted that they weren't calling on all their prospects; said
they didn't have time and they admitted that they picked out the best
and biggest prospects where they were pretty sure to land an order and
then rushed on to another town and went through the same performance.
Now, Red, I don't blame your men for that condition--I think they are
sincere in thinking they are doing just right, particularly because you
have so routed them. Neither do I blame you, so all-fired much, because
you just haven't given it enough thought so far, but listen--
Years ago, where I was raised, it was a great country for raspberries.
As you know, the berry season is a pretty short one and the farmers
raising them had to depend to no small extent on hiring a gang of boys
just out of school to pick them. All us fellows were pretty anxious
about that time of the year to earn a little pocket money and we
descended on those berry patches like a swarm of bees. Usually, the
days were pretty hot and when night came, we were a pretty tired bunch
of Indians and although we worked pretty hard we hadn't earned a great
deal for we were paid so much per quart.
One of the boys used to turn in about twice as many berries every day
as the rest of us and the farmer used to tell us every night the reason
he did so was because he put more berries in the pail than he did in
his mouth. Of course, that line of talk was pretty good berry patch
repartee, but it set me thinking because I knew I was just as quick as
the other fellow; that I worked as hard and I didn't like raspberries
anyway, so I knew I wasn't wasting any on the consumer's pack method,
so, one night I caught up with the star picker on his way home and
asked him for the secret. He looked at me and chuckled and said, “Come
on home with me and get my Dad to tell you.” This aroused my thirteen
year old curiosity, so I went along with him. When we got home we found
his father on the back porch and he said, “Dad, tell my pal here what
you told me about picking berries.”
It happened that this boy's Dad was one of those fellows who knew all
about boys, so he didn't answer the question right off, but first began
by talking regular boy's lore--all about swimmin' holes, how the fish
were bitin', where we'd be liable to find an eagle's nest and a lot of
the kind of things boys like us were interested in--you know Red, the
kind of a Dad who just had you hanging on to every little thing he said
and just making you wish you could go tramping with a Dad like that and
the first thing I knew--before I realized it--he had me telling him
what success I was having at berry picking.
After I'd described my methods and told him how hard I worked, he said,
“Son, now listen to me, for this applies to berry picking as well as
lots of other things--when you go into a berry patch, you'll find lots
of boys running here and there looking for bushes where the berries
grow the thickest. After picking a few minutes they get the idea that
a bush a little farther down offers greater possibilities and they run
over to it and keep on repeating the performance all day long. When
night comes, they are tired out from their exertions and strange to
say, they haven't many berries in their pails either. Now the way to
do--when you go into a berry patch, stop at the first bush you come to
and don't leave it until you've picked every berry--don't run aimlessly
from one bush to another, but do as I say and when night comes you'll
find you not only will have a full pail many times over, but you will
not be so tired, because you haven't expended that energy of yours
running around so much. In other words, “stick to your bush, son, stick
to your bush.”
That's all there is to the story, Red. Suffice to say I took the old
boy's advice and sure enough it paid dividends. Now the same thing
applies to selling goods. It's human nature for youth especially, to
chase rainbows and follow what seems to be the easiest way. When you
get out of the bus in a small town, which has four big prospects that
you know you can sell right along in a row on Main Street, it's quite
natural to go sell 'em and then go to the depot and catch the first
train out, but, Red--how about those three little stores way down the
other side of the feather factory, about four blocks from the round
house? Who is going to sell them? Their credit is good and they'll
buy your goods if they get a chance. Of course, I know the argument
that the little red devil who sits on your shoulder whispers in your
ear--it goes something like this, “I just haven't time; I'd miss that
train out; I'll pick the good ones and leave the little ones for my
competitor--he has to live, etc.” and a thousand such logical (?)
arguments, but listen Boy--you know and I know that the fellow who
listens to those arguments is only kidding himself.
Did you ever sit down Red and analyze a day's work with one of your
salesmen? Figure out just how many hours each day he actually spends
face to face with a buyer? If you never have, it will surprise you
both. Of course, I realize some time must be spent going from store to
store, and from town to town, but regardless of that Red, the time you
spend facing the buyer is, after all, the only time in the day that
is really “productive time”--the balance is “non-productive” and in
addition, it's expensive because you cannot make it up--it's gone.
The thinking Sales Manager and Salesman today cannot fail to recognize
this, because the man who spends the most hours actually picking
berries, gets paid more than the fellow who spends half his time
between bushes.
Give my very best to 'em the next time you have them in for a meeting
and tell them for me that in selling goods this year, I'd rather be a
setter pup that stalks the game, than a humming bird that just dips its
nose into what appears to be the sweetest roses.
Your loving,
“DAD.”
_The Boy Is Given an Unfailing Formula for Landing a Bigger Job_
Dear Hal:
I just put down the evening paper and came very nearly dropping off to
sleep when your mother reminded me that I'd better answer your last
letter tonight while I had the time and there was no company around.
I think I enjoyed your last letter more than any you've written
recently, largely because it breathed a better spirit of optimism over
general business conditions and your job in particular and I must say
that it was the first letter you have sent me lately in which you were
not “crabbing” about something or other.
I'm glad to see those symptoms. For the life of me I cannot see why a
big, red-headed galoot like you, with a good job, a superior line of
merchandise and a world of possibilities before you would find time
to do anything else but figure out ways and means of capitalizing
your opportunities to the fullest extent and I really believe you are
“rounding to” and if so--if the signs don't fail me--you're just now
putting yourself into a correct mental attitude to commence to really
grow.
You know, Red, the only real place in life for a “crab” is in the
bottom of the restless ocean. Of course, I know they occasionally get
out of that sphere, but when they do they generally get gobbled up by
some quicker thinking member of either the fish or the human family,
so there's really no credit to be gained by trying to pattern after an
imitation devil-fish.
I've done a good deal of thinking about that snappy looking bunch of
salesmen you've gathered around you, as I mentioned in my last letter,
and I've been wondering if you're going to turn out to be a good
“picker” of men, or if you just happened to bump up against a kind
Providence. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe
that you selected them carefully, with an eye to the future, but your
responsibility has only begun now that you've separated the wheat from
the chaff.
Next to trying to build a Ziegfeld chorus with a bunch of knock-kneed
runners-up in a cafeteria, I don't know any harder job than trying to
make business men and executives out of a bunch of potential baseball
fans, pool sharks and dance hounds, but someone has to do it and it's
not a colossal task, Boy, if you approach it with the proper amount of
tolerance and patience.
Not so long ago, it was my privilege to accidentally meet the directing
head of one of the largest industries in this country. As we chatted
over our cigars, I inquired to what single thing he attributed the
success of his company. He replied quickly, “The exceptional personnel
of our organization.” Being in an inquisitive mood and finding him a
willing--yes--an enthusiastic talker regarding his company, I further
inquired the method in training men for higher and more responsible
positions in his company. He replied, “Our organization some years back
got away from the prehistoric idea that the secrets of each job should
be locked in the heart of the man holding it.
“You know, in olden times, men were afraid to teach subordinates for
fear they would become so proficient that they would crowd out the
one holding the good job. The constant and ever-increasing demand for
men qualified to hold the highest positions has generated a feverish
anxiety and ambition to train men to take the place of his immediate
superior, so that practically every man, from the office boy to the
president, is competing with each other to turn out the most and
highest caliber experts and executives.”
Waxing reminiscent, this great man related how one man in their
organization, whose hair was now silvered by many winters, was the
“daddy” over a hundred of the bigger men of the company--the man who
chose and had trained over a hundred men to be capable of assuming
the greater responsibilities of a great industry! Naturally enough
our smoking-car conversation carried us to the discussion of just
what was the measure of success in the business world and I think
you can appreciate that I was not at all surprised to hear this
man--this great captain of industry, whose very name in the business
world was synonymous with great accomplishments--say with no little
show of feeling, “If, when I pass out of active business life, it
can truthfully be said of me that I was a builder of men, I crave no
greater epitaph.”
Red, that man spake a sermon in one sentence! Boy, the pyramids of
Egypt have already been built; man in his wisdom has built skyscrapers,
bridged rivers and spanned plains, yet the greatest work of the
artisan, the noblest piece of sculpture and the most magnificent
monument of the ages is in your hands for fashioning. The organization
that you have the honor to be a part of is a breathing, living thing.
If the men who serve under your direction, Red, are not allowed to
grow--if their ambition is not aroused to a point where they fit
themselves with your help to take your job, or jobs like it, you
cannot hope to gain promotion. Leaving out the personal side of it, if
yourself and men in similar positions accept your present positions
with smug satisfaction and take no part in an effort to be constantly
building, the foundation of your house will surely crumble as dry rot
and decay sets in and your temple will some day fall upon your head.
And Red, don't be selfish to the point of being afraid of personal
handicaps that you might impose on yourself. Your company needs trained
branch house managers, district managers, sales managers and other
executives. If they choose your right-hand man and leave a hole in your
organization, don't grouch about it--don't complain about their having
broken up your organization--Good Lord, Boy, what higher compliment
could they pay you than to thus acknowledge that they consider you
a builder of men? Just start in and train another, for the day you
can honestly walk in and tell the Boss that you've trained a man who
can fill your place better than you can, he will not waste much time
finding a bigger and better job for you, Red.
While I think you're too young to really appreciate the pride one feels
in the successes of their own children, you can take it from me it's
some feeling and I don't know anything in this world that's so closely
akin to it as the satisfaction and genuine pleasure one derives in
watching the successes of those men whom you have personally coached in
their earlier successes.
Think it over Boy! The duty you owe to your company, or the world at
large, isn't at all performed when you have merely achieved personal
success--why bless your heart, one graduate from Red's school is worth
more to the company than a single sale of the entire output of their
largest cannery.
Fate has entrusted to your keeping as likely looking a bunch of
youngsters as I've seen in many a day. What are YOU going to do with
'em old Red Top? Are you going to be satisfied with just making good
salesmen out of them--are you short-sighted enough to think that's all
that's expected of you?
Mother and I were discussing these things the other night and she
gradually led me out over my head in the argument. She always goes way
back before my time and she did when she said that God made the first
man out of a bunch of clay. The only comeback I could think of was,
“Gee, what an inspiration that ought to be to Red, considering how much
better material he has to work with.”
Your loving,
“DAD.”
_Hal Is District Manager Now--His Problem Is Winning the Respect of Men_
Dear Hal:
Jim Baker came by the house a few minutes ago and showed me a copy of
last week's bulletin in which was the announcement of your promotion to
the position of District Manager. Your letter of a few days ago didn't
say anything about it, although you must have known at the time. Guess
you wanted to surprise your old Dad, eh--what? But you didn't surprise
me much after all, for I've been expecting something like that to
happen to you for a long time.
Well--Boy--Howdy! I know you're proud of the promotion and I'm sure
proud too, but I'm not going to do much back slapping for two reasons.
In the first place, it makes your arm tired and the second place, it
will not help you a bit to fill a District Manager's shoes. The very
fact that you didn't wire me right after the job was given you is a
good sign. I'm giving you credit at least for inherited modesty and if
I am right in my diagnosis, I'm more proud still for I never knew a big
man in my life who wasn't personally modest and I'm happier than I can
tell you to think that at the outset you are exhibiting the ear marks
of the man I'm hoping you are.
No doubt you are full of plans of what you are going to do in the new
work and probably don't need any advice from me, but I know that by
this time you realize that it's the old man's prerogative to make a few
comments in each letter, so I'm not worrying a bit about whether you
want them or not.
The position of District Manager is a big one--a whole lot bigger
than some think. It's one of those jobs that a fellow can make just
about as big as he wants to and, on the other hand, it furnishes an
opportunity for a fellow to make about as big a jackass of himself as
the proverbial Missouri mule, if you don't watch your step.
In the first place, I hope you haven't acquired the idea that the place
was given you because you were the best branch house manager on the
force; the seventh son of a seventh son or because they thought you
were too big for a branch house manager. Of course, I don't know how
they arrived at their conclusion, but if I were you I think I'd figure
that probably they were pretty short of District Manager material and
just decided to try you out on the job for a few months to see how
you'd work out.
Don't get the idea that I'm trying to make light of your ability--far
from it. The only reason I'm advising you that way is, I believe
that thought on your part would make for a more healthy condition
and provide more of an incentive. At any rate, the officials of your
company, to all practical purposes, are “from Missouri” and you'll
do well not to kid yourself into thinking you have been especially
ordained a modern Moses to lead the children of Israel out of the
wilderness.