lbtcadmin
11-25-2006, 02:06 PM
Selling The Old Fashioned Way
A True Story About A Self-Made Multimillionaire
By Phil Nilsson, Green Industry Consultant
This is a true story about selling. One that I came upon years ago when I was in the Air Force stationed in Texas. It's out of the past - old-fashioned to some - but the wisdom is just as effective and useful now as it was then. It has nothing to do with e-mail, web sites or electronic gadgetry of any kind. PCs weren't even around then, and telemarketing would have been considered an invasion of privacy. Instead, this story, which is true in every detail, is based on people skills and the hidden power behind the sales deal.
Every time I think about this experience - meeting this self-made millionaire - my belief in the principles at work are reconfirmed. The "down home" approach I discovered smacks of common sense and, above all else, the power of personal selling. That's the kind of selling that is made to someone you know, or are about to meet. It's based on the principle that business is about people, not merely about the thing you're selling, and that you'll do business with people you establish a mutual liking for. The following story will show you how an air conditioning salesman in Little Rock, Arkansas, made it to the top of the heap and went on to be a multimillionaire.
THE INVITATION
It all started with me being invited to a wedding. The bride, who I had known since high school, invited me to attend a house wedding in Little Rock. It was a distance, but being stationed in Texas, it was doable. I made the long drive from Amarillo in an old broken down car - smoke trailing from an oil-burning engine and me praying to God the w**** way it would make it. It did, and when I finally arrived at the "house" where the wedding was to take place, I discovered it wasn't a house at all. It was a mansion with big white columns and acres of fine turf. It was the kind of "palace" you'd find in Newport, Rhode Island.
I was overwhelmed with the place as I drove my old junker up past the main gate, which was electronically controlled - I had to get out, press a button and get clearance to be admitted. "Okay, you're on the list," I heard, and the gate opened. So my car and I made it that far and now further past an eight-foot brick wall that bordered the drive for at least 500 feet. "Wow, man. I'm on the list," I kept thinking to myself on the way up. I drove further past a circular drive, decked with a large fountain. There were flowers everywhere.
My reaction was one of disbelief, mainly because the bride was from such a poor family. What was she doing here? What in the world was I doing here? She hit the jackpot, I thought, and is about to be the wife of a wealthy bridegroom. I double-checked the address from my directions. It was right. So there I was parking my old car right along side Mercedes, Cadillacs and Porsches. I have to tell you that I felt like a beggar as I parked my car right behind a big Lincoln. I looked around before opening my door to make sure nobody would see me get out of my junker.
THE MANSION
The place reeked with money. I made it up to the main entrance, rang the bell, and - you guessed it - a butler answered the door. "May I help you sir?" he said. There he was "sirrin" me. I managed to say, "Yes, I'm invited by the bride, do I have the right place?" "You certainly do young man," said the butler. "Right this way if you don't mind, sir." He lead me through a foyer with a six-foot wide marble staircase to an even larger room. Here one hundred, perhaps two hundred, people were standing around sipping champagne. It was chitchat amongst the wealthy with black ties, tuxedos, gowns, diamonds and emeralds - stuff that glittered when the light caught it.
I felt totally out of place with a borrowed sports jacket and tie and my wrinkled appearance after having driven so far. To think that some people actually lived like this sent me into a defensive mode. A numbness set in - part envy, part nervousness - until I finally spotted the bride to be. She saw me and motioned with a wave of her hand to come over to her side of the room. If first impressions mean anything, I didn't make a good one. When the cocktails were over, we were all summoned to take our places in the main dining room. The wedding party, a few selected guests and, oddly enough, me. The scene was incredibly rich - silver service, servants running about, crystal glasses set on pure white linen table cloths, one glass for wine, another for water and a third glass that I figured wasn't for beer and later found out was for cordials.
THE "HEAD MAN"
Dinner concluded with more chitchat, cigars and cordials. Money was right here in this room. The "head man," the father-in-law to be, was seated at the head of the table, a dominant, overpowering personality whom you pay attention to. Everybody was focused on him.
I sat there in a daze, thinking to myself, "What was he all about? How did he get his money? He didn't look like a statesmen, politician or movie actor. He didn't look rich." When it came my turn to say something as we went around the table introducing ourselves, I leaned forward and said to the man, "How did you get so rich?" Everybody laughed, and the head man did, too. He narrowed his eyebrows, looked me straight in the eye, and without saying a word, took a black book from his coat pocket and passed it down to my end of the table. I had the feeling he always had it with him.
"Open it," he said. "See what's in there. Open it up, and I'll answer your question." I did. It was an alphabetical index book filled to the brim with hundreds of names, addresses and other info. The black leather was curled on the edges from being carried for so many years. A silence came over the room as I turned the pages. It was a who's who with addresses, ring sizes, birth dates, likes, dislikes and more all set there in meticulous detail - everybody he ever met, everybody he did business with, and every person, rich and poor, he met along the way. "Why," I asked myself and then him?
"People," he said. "Business is about people, not about things. Ignore the people, pay them no mind, and as a businessman I'd soon be forgotten - history, son. Get it? To my people, friends, customers, I'm their main man. I'm their friend. Ya gotta listen to your people. Treat ‘em like your own sons and daughters. Make ‘em feel special. You do that son, then you're in business because they remember you, and they don't give a damn what yur sellin’."
That's what he understood to be the main reason for his success. I pressed him further on the issue. "People, I mean my friends and customers, want recognition - somebody to pay attention and listen to their problems. Customers don't buy yur stuff because of that stuff; they buy yur stuff because they take a liking to ya - because you made them feel good about themselves. Hell man, it's just good psychology." He continued, "Every Tom, Dick and Harry, is sellin’ what your sellin’, so why buy from you? Ya, gotta give ‘em a reason, a good reason. Understand it now, do ya?"
I nodded that I did, but still had trouble fathoming it all. I mean this guy made it real big. He sold air conditioners in the southwest where in the summer it's hotter than hell. As I listened to his story, I looked around the room. Hmmmm … sell air conditioners? Get rich? I liked the idea. I even began to feel a little richer just being around this guy. Yet, the head man wasn't highly educated, had no inheritance and started with no money, but he ended up here. The customers could have bought air conditioners from anyone. Why him? They liked him. It’s as simple as that. He was the kind of person who lights up a room with charm and charisma. He took good care of his family of customers by remembering birthdays with a gift, sending flowers on anniversaries, paying a personal visit to his customers when they were hospitalized, sending tickets to ball games, buying graduation gifts, sending follow-up thank yous, telling good jokes, paying compliments, and boosting egos. "Don't remind somebody of their faults," he said. "You remind them how good they are, and it doesn't matter who yur lookin’ at."
THE SECRET
The secret to the black book is that it goes "inside" people where the emotions live. He went on to explain that if all you’re selling is a product or service, you're going to have a tough time. "Sell yourself first. Sell yur customers on themselves," he said. "What yur sellin’ doesn't mean swat, diddly bop, zilch. Ya get it? Now you listen up real good, son. It's you and it's them that matter, not what yur selling. Forget what yur sellin’ because everybody has it. You sell you to them first. After that, the order goes down like crap through a goose. You dig what I mean now, boy? It should be crystal clear." "Yes," I said. "It's crystal now, sir. Thank you for sharing with me the secret to your success, sir. It's been a privilege and a honor to have made your acquaintance. I shall remember this day always, mostly due to the fine advice that you've given me." "Now your talkin’ and sayin’ stuff that I like," he said. "Give that man a cigar. I like his style! If yur sellin’ somethin’, I'll buy it from ya. Whatayagot?"
As I drove back to the base that night, half drunk not just from the liquor, but from gaining an important lesson. I thought a lot about the mansion, the wedding and the "head man." The guy was right. I thought about movie stars like Elvis and other rich people who came up from nothing to make a name for themselves. The "King" would throw scarves from around his neck to an attentive, adoring audience. That's real. That's people taking those scarves. Why? What is the golden key that turns things around for people? How do you make an easy sale? People. Pay the people some mind. Business is not about things, it's about people. Maybe that's what they mean when they say "people skills." Looking back at that experience like it was yesterday and thinking about the business the head man built all because of the way he treated his people, I think I understand.
Thank you for making your way through this long but true story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it all down here for you.
A True Story About A Self-Made Multimillionaire
By Phil Nilsson, Green Industry Consultant
This is a true story about selling. One that I came upon years ago when I was in the Air Force stationed in Texas. It's out of the past - old-fashioned to some - but the wisdom is just as effective and useful now as it was then. It has nothing to do with e-mail, web sites or electronic gadgetry of any kind. PCs weren't even around then, and telemarketing would have been considered an invasion of privacy. Instead, this story, which is true in every detail, is based on people skills and the hidden power behind the sales deal.
Every time I think about this experience - meeting this self-made millionaire - my belief in the principles at work are reconfirmed. The "down home" approach I discovered smacks of common sense and, above all else, the power of personal selling. That's the kind of selling that is made to someone you know, or are about to meet. It's based on the principle that business is about people, not merely about the thing you're selling, and that you'll do business with people you establish a mutual liking for. The following story will show you how an air conditioning salesman in Little Rock, Arkansas, made it to the top of the heap and went on to be a multimillionaire.
THE INVITATION
It all started with me being invited to a wedding. The bride, who I had known since high school, invited me to attend a house wedding in Little Rock. It was a distance, but being stationed in Texas, it was doable. I made the long drive from Amarillo in an old broken down car - smoke trailing from an oil-burning engine and me praying to God the w**** way it would make it. It did, and when I finally arrived at the "house" where the wedding was to take place, I discovered it wasn't a house at all. It was a mansion with big white columns and acres of fine turf. It was the kind of "palace" you'd find in Newport, Rhode Island.
I was overwhelmed with the place as I drove my old junker up past the main gate, which was electronically controlled - I had to get out, press a button and get clearance to be admitted. "Okay, you're on the list," I heard, and the gate opened. So my car and I made it that far and now further past an eight-foot brick wall that bordered the drive for at least 500 feet. "Wow, man. I'm on the list," I kept thinking to myself on the way up. I drove further past a circular drive, decked with a large fountain. There were flowers everywhere.
My reaction was one of disbelief, mainly because the bride was from such a poor family. What was she doing here? What in the world was I doing here? She hit the jackpot, I thought, and is about to be the wife of a wealthy bridegroom. I double-checked the address from my directions. It was right. So there I was parking my old car right along side Mercedes, Cadillacs and Porsches. I have to tell you that I felt like a beggar as I parked my car right behind a big Lincoln. I looked around before opening my door to make sure nobody would see me get out of my junker.
THE MANSION
The place reeked with money. I made it up to the main entrance, rang the bell, and - you guessed it - a butler answered the door. "May I help you sir?" he said. There he was "sirrin" me. I managed to say, "Yes, I'm invited by the bride, do I have the right place?" "You certainly do young man," said the butler. "Right this way if you don't mind, sir." He lead me through a foyer with a six-foot wide marble staircase to an even larger room. Here one hundred, perhaps two hundred, people were standing around sipping champagne. It was chitchat amongst the wealthy with black ties, tuxedos, gowns, diamonds and emeralds - stuff that glittered when the light caught it.
I felt totally out of place with a borrowed sports jacket and tie and my wrinkled appearance after having driven so far. To think that some people actually lived like this sent me into a defensive mode. A numbness set in - part envy, part nervousness - until I finally spotted the bride to be. She saw me and motioned with a wave of her hand to come over to her side of the room. If first impressions mean anything, I didn't make a good one. When the cocktails were over, we were all summoned to take our places in the main dining room. The wedding party, a few selected guests and, oddly enough, me. The scene was incredibly rich - silver service, servants running about, crystal glasses set on pure white linen table cloths, one glass for wine, another for water and a third glass that I figured wasn't for beer and later found out was for cordials.
THE "HEAD MAN"
Dinner concluded with more chitchat, cigars and cordials. Money was right here in this room. The "head man," the father-in-law to be, was seated at the head of the table, a dominant, overpowering personality whom you pay attention to. Everybody was focused on him.
I sat there in a daze, thinking to myself, "What was he all about? How did he get his money? He didn't look like a statesmen, politician or movie actor. He didn't look rich." When it came my turn to say something as we went around the table introducing ourselves, I leaned forward and said to the man, "How did you get so rich?" Everybody laughed, and the head man did, too. He narrowed his eyebrows, looked me straight in the eye, and without saying a word, took a black book from his coat pocket and passed it down to my end of the table. I had the feeling he always had it with him.
"Open it," he said. "See what's in there. Open it up, and I'll answer your question." I did. It was an alphabetical index book filled to the brim with hundreds of names, addresses and other info. The black leather was curled on the edges from being carried for so many years. A silence came over the room as I turned the pages. It was a who's who with addresses, ring sizes, birth dates, likes, dislikes and more all set there in meticulous detail - everybody he ever met, everybody he did business with, and every person, rich and poor, he met along the way. "Why," I asked myself and then him?
"People," he said. "Business is about people, not about things. Ignore the people, pay them no mind, and as a businessman I'd soon be forgotten - history, son. Get it? To my people, friends, customers, I'm their main man. I'm their friend. Ya gotta listen to your people. Treat ‘em like your own sons and daughters. Make ‘em feel special. You do that son, then you're in business because they remember you, and they don't give a damn what yur sellin’."
That's what he understood to be the main reason for his success. I pressed him further on the issue. "People, I mean my friends and customers, want recognition - somebody to pay attention and listen to their problems. Customers don't buy yur stuff because of that stuff; they buy yur stuff because they take a liking to ya - because you made them feel good about themselves. Hell man, it's just good psychology." He continued, "Every Tom, Dick and Harry, is sellin’ what your sellin’, so why buy from you? Ya, gotta give ‘em a reason, a good reason. Understand it now, do ya?"
I nodded that I did, but still had trouble fathoming it all. I mean this guy made it real big. He sold air conditioners in the southwest where in the summer it's hotter than hell. As I listened to his story, I looked around the room. Hmmmm … sell air conditioners? Get rich? I liked the idea. I even began to feel a little richer just being around this guy. Yet, the head man wasn't highly educated, had no inheritance and started with no money, but he ended up here. The customers could have bought air conditioners from anyone. Why him? They liked him. It’s as simple as that. He was the kind of person who lights up a room with charm and charisma. He took good care of his family of customers by remembering birthdays with a gift, sending flowers on anniversaries, paying a personal visit to his customers when they were hospitalized, sending tickets to ball games, buying graduation gifts, sending follow-up thank yous, telling good jokes, paying compliments, and boosting egos. "Don't remind somebody of their faults," he said. "You remind them how good they are, and it doesn't matter who yur lookin’ at."
THE SECRET
The secret to the black book is that it goes "inside" people where the emotions live. He went on to explain that if all you’re selling is a product or service, you're going to have a tough time. "Sell yourself first. Sell yur customers on themselves," he said. "What yur sellin’ doesn't mean swat, diddly bop, zilch. Ya get it? Now you listen up real good, son. It's you and it's them that matter, not what yur selling. Forget what yur sellin’ because everybody has it. You sell you to them first. After that, the order goes down like crap through a goose. You dig what I mean now, boy? It should be crystal clear." "Yes," I said. "It's crystal now, sir. Thank you for sharing with me the secret to your success, sir. It's been a privilege and a honor to have made your acquaintance. I shall remember this day always, mostly due to the fine advice that you've given me." "Now your talkin’ and sayin’ stuff that I like," he said. "Give that man a cigar. I like his style! If yur sellin’ somethin’, I'll buy it from ya. Whatayagot?"
As I drove back to the base that night, half drunk not just from the liquor, but from gaining an important lesson. I thought a lot about the mansion, the wedding and the "head man." The guy was right. I thought about movie stars like Elvis and other rich people who came up from nothing to make a name for themselves. The "King" would throw scarves from around his neck to an attentive, adoring audience. That's real. That's people taking those scarves. Why? What is the golden key that turns things around for people? How do you make an easy sale? People. Pay the people some mind. Business is not about things, it's about people. Maybe that's what they mean when they say "people skills." Looking back at that experience like it was yesterday and thinking about the business the head man built all because of the way he treated his people, I think I understand.
Thank you for making your way through this long but true story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it all down here for you.