CHICAGO, September 1, 189-

_Dear Pierrepont:_ I judge from yours of the twenty-ninth that you must

have the black bass in those parts pretty well terrorized. I never could

quite figure it out, but there seems to be something about a fish that

makes even a cold-water deacon see double. I reckon it must be that

while Eve was learning the first principles of dressmaking from the

snake, Adam was off bass fishing and keeping his end up by learning how

to lie.

Don't overstock yourself with those four-pound fish yarns, though,

because the boys have been bringing them back from their vacations till

we've got enough to last us for a year of Fridays. And if you're sending

them to keep in practice, you might as well quit, because we've decided

to take you off the road when you come back, and make you assistant

manager of the lard department. The salary will be fifty dollars a

week, and the duties of the position to do your work so well that the

manager can't run the department without you, and that you can run the

department without the manager.

To do this you will have to know lard; to know yourself; and to know

those under you. To some fellows lard is just hog fat, and not always

that, if they would rather make a dollar to-day than five to-morrow. But

it was a good deal more to Jack Summers, who held your new job until we

had to promote him to canned goods.

Jack knew lard from the hog to the frying pan; was up on lard in history

and religion; originated what he called the "Ham and" theory, proving

that Moses' injunction against pork must have been dissolved by the

Circuit Court, because Noah included a couple of shoats in his cargo,

and called one of his sons Ham, out of gratitude, probably, after

tasting a slice broiled for the first time; argued that all the great

nations lived on fried food, and that America was the greatest of them

all, owing to the energy-producing qualities of pie, liberally shortened

with lard.

It almost broke Jack's heart when we decided to manufacture our new

cottonseed oil product, Seedoiline. But on reflection he saw that it

just gave him an extra hold on the heathen that he couldn't convert to

lard, and he started right out for the Hebrew and vegetarian vote. Jack

had enthusiasm, and enthusiasm is the best shortening for any job; it

makes heavy work light.

A good many young fellows envy their boss because they think he makes the

rules and can do as he pleases. As a matter of fact, he's the only man in

the shop who can't. He's like the fellow on the tight-rope--there's plenty

of scenery under him and lots of room around him, but he's got to keep his

feet on the wire all the time and travel straight ahead.

A clerk has just one boss to answer to--the manager. But the manager has

just as many bosses as he has clerks under him. He can make rules, but

he's the only man who can't afford to break them now and then. A fellow

is a boss simply because he's a better man than those under him, and

there's a heap of responsibility in being better than the next fellow.

No man can ask more than he gives. A fellow who can't take orders can't

give them. If his rules are too hard for him to mind, you can bet they

are too hard for the clerks who don't get half so much for minding them

as he does. There's no alarm clock for the sleepy man like an early

rising manager; and there's nothing breeds work in an office like a busy

boss.

Of course, setting a good example is just a small part of a manager's

duties. It's not enough to settle yourself firm on the box seat--you

must have every man under you hitched up right and well in hand. You

can't work individuals by general rules. Every man is a special case and

needs a special pill.

When you fix up a snug little nest for a Plymouth Rock hen and encourage

her with a nice porcelain egg, it doesn't always follow that she has

reached the fricassee age because she doesn't lay right off. Sometimes

she will respond to a little red pepper in her food.

I don't mean by this that you ever want to drive your men, because the

lash always leaves its worst soreness under the skin. A hundred men will

forgive a blow in the face where one will a blow to his self-esteem.

Tell a man the truth about himself and shame the devil if you want to,

but you won't shame the man you're trying to reach, because he won't

believe you. But if you can start him on the road that will lead him to

the truth he's mighty apt to try to reform himself before any one else

finds him out.

Consider carefully before you say a hard word to a man, but never let a

chance to say a good one go by. Praise judiciously bestowed is money

invested.

Never learn anything about your men except from themselves. A good

manager needs no detectives, and the fellow who can't read human nature

can't manage it. The phonograph records of a fellow's character are

lined in his face, and a man's days tell the secrets of his nights.

Be slow to hire and quick to fire. The time to discover incompatibility

of temper and curl-papers is before the marriage ceremony. But when you

find that you've hired the wrong man, you can't get rid of him too

quick. Pay him an extra month, but don't let him stay another day. A

discharged clerk in the office is like a splinter in the thumb--a centre

of soreness. There are no exceptions to this rule, because there are no

exceptions to human nature.

Never threaten, because a threat is a promise to pay that it isn't

always convenient to meet, but if you don't make it good it hurts your

credit. Save a threat till you're ready to act, and then you won't need

it. In all your dealings, remember that to-day is your opportunity;

to-morrow some other fellow's.

Keep close to your men. When a fellow's sitting on top of a mountain

he's in a mighty dignified and exalted position, but if he's gazing at

the clouds, he's missing a heap of interesting and important doings down

in the valley. Never lose your dignity, of course, but tie it up in all

the red tape you can find around the office, and tuck it away in the

safe. It's easy for a boss to awe his clerks, but a man who is feared to

his face is hated behind his back. A competent boss can move among his

men without having to draw an imaginary line between them, because they

will see the real one if it exists.

Besides keeping in touch with your office men, you want to feel your

salesmen all the time. Send each of them a letter every day so that

they won't forget that we are making goods for which we need orders; and

insist on their sending you a line every day, whether they have anything

to say or not. When a fellow has to write in six times a week to the

house, he uses up his explanations mighty fast, and he's pretty apt to

hustle for business to make his seventh letter interesting.

Right here I want to repeat that in keeping track of others and their

faults it's very, very important that you shouldn't lose sight of your

own. Authority swells up some fellows so that they can't see their

corns; but a wise man tries to cure his own while remembering not to

tread on his neighbors'.

[Illustration: "_A good many salesmen have an idea that buyers are only

interested in funny stories._"]

In this connection, the story of Lemuel Hostitter, who kept the corner

grocery in my old town, naturally comes to mind. Lem was probably the

meanest white man in the State of Missouri, and it wasn't any walk-over

to hold the belt in those days. Most grocers were satisfied to adulterate

their coffee with ground peas, but Lem was so blamed mean that he

adulterated the peas first. Bought skin-bruised hams and claimed that

the bruise was his private and particular brand, stamped in the skin,

showing that they were a fancy article, packed expressly for his fancy

family trade. Ran a soda-water fountain in the front of his store with

home-made syrups that ate the lining out of the children's stomachs, and

a blind tiger in the back room with moonshine whiskey that pickled their

daddies' insides. Take it by and large, Lem's character smelled about as

various as his store, and that wasn't perfumed with lily-of-the-valley,

you bet.

One time and another most men dropped into Lem's store of an evening,

because there wasn't any other place to go and swap lies about the crops

and any of the neighbors who didn't happen to be there. As Lem was

always around, in the end he was the only man in town whose meanness

hadn't been talked over in that grocery. Naturally, he began to think

that he was the only decent white man in the county. Got to shaking his

head and reckoning that the town was plum rotten. Said that such goings

on would make a pessimist of a goat. Wanted to know if public opinion

couldn't be aroused so that decency would have a show in the village.

Most men get information when they ask for it, and in the end Lem

fetched public opinion all right. One night the local chapter of the

W.C.T.U. borrowed all the loose hatchets in town and made a good, clean,

workmanlike job of the back part of his store, though his whiskey was so

mean that even the ground couldn't soak it up. The noise brought out the

men, and they sort of caught the spirit of the happy occasion. When they

were through, Lem's stock and fixtures looked mighty sick, and they had

Lem on a rail headed for the county line.

I don't know when I've seen a more surprised man than Lem. He couldn't

cuss even. But as he never came back, to ask for any explanation, I

reckon he figured it out that they wanted to get rid of him because he

was too good for the town.

I simply mention Lem in passing as an example of the fact that when

you're through sizing up the other fellow, it's a good thing to step

back from yourself and see how you look. Then add fifty per cent. to

your estimate of your neighbor for virtues that you can't see, and

deduct fifty per cent. from yourself for faults that you've missed in

your inventory, and you'll have a pretty accurate result.

Your affectionate father,

JOHN GRAHAM.

+-----------------------------+

| No. 16 |

+-----------------------------+

| From John Graham, at the |

| Schweitzerkasenhof, |

| Karlsbad, Austria, to his |

| son, Pierrepont, at the |

| Union Stock Yards, |

| Chicago. Mr. Pierrepont |

| has shown mild symptoms |

| of an attack of society |

| fever, and his father is |

| administering some simple |

| remedies. |

+-----------------------------+

Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son Being the Letters written by John Graham, Head of the House of Graham & Company, Pork-Packers in Chicago, familiarly known on 'Change as "Old Gorgon Graham," to his Son, Pierrepont, facetiously known to his intimates as "Piggy." · 第 31 / 63 题