Letters From an Old Time Salesman to His Son

Dear Hal:

Mother and I have been sitting out in the porch swing all evening watching the neighborhood youngsters play ball in the street. In the bunch was one red-headed boy, who, of course, reminded me a little of you when you were his age and it was only natural that I got to musing a little over your experiences and problems and I couldn’t help wondering just what kind of ball you were now playing.

After the last youngster had heeded the paternal whistle and laid aside his ball and glove for the night, the shouts died down, the street became quiet and Mother and I sat out there in the twilight talking of you—your good points and bad points—your fads, fancies and pet peeves. We fell to discussing your qualifications for this job of district manager that you have had now for some time and wondering if you were finding it possible to control that bombastic, nitro glycerin, TNT disposition of yours, in the face of trying circumstances that I know you have to face daily.

I don’t know that I ever told you, but I have had the privilege of knowing and studying different district managers—not in your concern, but in other lines where the problems are somewhat similar. I was telling Mother about some of the species I had met up with in my time and durned if she didn’t spring a couple of quotations from the Scriptures (just like Mother, isn’t it?) that seemed to fit my line of musing so well that I just thought I’d use ’em for a basis—a sort of Golden Text as ’twere and come in and write you a letter before I forgot what I wanted to say.

The particular district manager I was telling her about at the time, was a fellow whom I was pretty well acquainted with in the old days. He was a bright fellow, one who knew his game about as well as any I ever met and those in power in his company had every reason to expect him to make a big success. He was a good salesman—had more than ordinary knowledge of the fine points of the manufacturing end, had had a broad experience and was a keen analyst.

This man was a likeable chap and had taken more than a correspondence course in diplomacy and tact, so there wasn’t anything on the surface that would indicate other than smooth sailing in his job, but the boys on the road who ran onto him frequently, soon began to intimate to their confidants that he wasn’t making such a success as it was thought he would.

One day I got hung up on a big deal where I had to wait over a couple of days before I could get the signature on the dotted line and I accidentally met this chap in the dining room of the hotel one morning. After he found out I had a little time to kill he asked me if I wouldn’t like to go with him to call on one of the branches under his jurisdiction. I guess it was curiosity more than anything else that prompted my acceptance of his invitation, but anyway, we went over to the branch in that city and all I had to do was to sit over in a corner of the private office, read a newspaper—or rather pretend to—and watch the wheels go ’round.

The first thing I noticed was a sort of new dignity that he assumed the minute we walked into the office—pleasant enough and smiling as he saluted the manager and clerks, but you know Red, one of those “holier-than-thou” atmospheres seemed to creep into the room like a Lake Michigan fog in late October. Not being familiar with the fine points of the business I wasn’t able to get much from the various conversations that I overheard during the day, but I particularly noticed that every once in a while the manager would relate some particularly good thing that had come to pass and invariably the district manager would lean back and say, “Sure, I’m responsible for that!” or “Didn’t I tell you how to do that?” or some such comment. Whenever those remarks were made I noticed particularly that the manager’s face would sort of lengthen and he apparently bit his lip a time or two, as I surmised, to keep from telling the D. M. that he too should share in the glory.

Several times during the day while the district manager and manager were discussing some problem, various clerks and stenographers would come in for a decision, or deliver some verbal message and it was noticeable beyond mistake that the district manager always answered the question, or handed down the decision, regardless of the fact that the manager was the one usually addressed. Later on in the day in discussing some situations they did not always agree on all points and mild, but healthy, argument arose. In such cases, the district manager invariably raised his voice to a high pitch, to all appearances lost his temper and in effect, brow-beat and bulldozed the poor little manager into an eventual agreement on the point in question.

When we got ready to leave, I know it was more than imagination when I noticed the look of tired relief that came into the eyes of the manager and I couldn’t help but feel a deep sympathy for him, because instead of receiving helpful suggestions and counsel, encouragement and intelligent, collaborated analysis, he had only been subjected to ill-concealed egotism and arrogance, had been belittled in the eyes of his subordinates and shouted at like a coolie-laborer on a steamship dock.

When I came to this place in my narrative, Mother just gazed out over the chimney tops of the homes across the street into the canopy of stars that twinkle over you tonight, the same as they twinkle over us and said, “Well, Red will never be that kind of district manager, because he’ll remember that part of the Scriptures that says, “He that exalteth himself shall be abased, but he that humbleth himself shall be exalted” and again in Proverbs where it says, “A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger.”

I didn’t have any comeback, Red; I hope Mother’s right (she usually is) and I’m not laying any odds on whether you remember the Biblical quotations, but I am willing to vote with her on your being smart enough to keep from assuming that cheap variety of dignity that only looks good on an undertaker; that faculty of self-effacement when it means the strengthening of another’s position in the eyes of his subordinates and having the breeding to speak with firmness, but in a low voice, that can only make for respect and withal, a love—if you please—in the hearts of your fellow-workers that is more priceless than empty-sounding titles, fame, or five figures on the salary check.

Your loving,

“DAD.”