Part 11

In talking with the manager he got to explaining the different routes of his salesmen and I noticed on the map that there were several large towns that his salesmen didn't touch. When I asked him specifically about them, he told me he worked them himself and he gave me to understand that he wasn't one of those chair-warming “directors of sales” but a real, red-blooded, hard-hitting he-manager--one who sent in orders in the same mail with his expense account. It was very apparent that in addition to working the trade he also found time to direct his salesmen, answer his correspondence and be all that a branch manager should be.

Red, I walked out of that branch and down the street and do you know what I was thinking of? Well, I'll tell you--do you remember that grand old patriotic picture of the drummer, the fifer and the color bearer, tattered, wounded and bandaged, but with set jaws, courage and determination fairly bristling from them--that picture's called, “The Spirit of '76”? Well, Boy, I couldn't help but think of the similarity of the spirit portrayed in the picture and that evidenced by that two-fisted, working manager with his two combination office-men, stenographer, shipping clerk, and warehouseman.

Now, of course, I suppose you've got men working for you who would say, if you told them about this occurrence, that they thought it was beneath a man's dignity to do the things those fellows did and perhaps they're right in it too, as applied to some places and some conditions. I know all of your managers cannot spend seventy-five per cent of their time out getting orders; I know that office managers, clerks and stenographers cannot be shipping clerks and warehousemen in addition to their other duties, but the big thought I want to get across to you Red, is that here was a place where it not only could be done, but necessary that it should be done if that baby-branch was to get a foot-hold and live, and the beautiful part about it all was, it was done, cheerfully, happily and with a determination to win just like the spirit that was in the minds and hearts of those grand old boys at Valley Forge.

You know, one of the chief duties of a district manager is to be continually on the lookout for good timber--a sort of a scout for the Big League as 'twere. All I have to say is--keep your eye on that combination.

Your loving, “DAD.”

P. S.--I'll bet you a new brown derby that red-headed kid will not be pushing pencils and juggling pickle barrels all his life.

The Boy Gets a Chance to See Himself as Others See Him

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.”

Dad Tips Off the Boy to a New Job

Dear Hal:

I got a letter the other day from an optimistic friend of mine out in the short grass country, where the principal industry is cattle raising. He admitted that, like all other business his particular line had gone through its depression, but I couldn't help but be impressed with his cheerfulness. Among other things, he told me that they had experienced an awful dry spell out his way, but that the cattle business wasn't so bad after all. He seemed to be full of pity for the poor hog raiser, for he said that it had been so dry that the natives had to soak up their hogs by turning water on them before they could get them to hold slop.

Somehow this set me to thinking about your business and having a little spare time on my hands I thought I'd drop down to the main office of your company to renew old acquaintances and to listen to the gossip. When I got down there, the first thing that impressed me was the pruning that had been going on in the office force. I didn't see any strange faces to speak of on my visit, but I noticed the absence of a good many whose duties during the war period were no doubt dignified by the title of First and Second Pencil Sharpener and Envoy Extraordinary to His Flipness, the Office Boy, and other strange and sundry nonessentials that crept into all offices during the period of commercial hysteria that we have been recovering from in the last year.

Everybody had their coats off and were working under high pressure and I had considerable difficulty getting anyone to talk to me. I suppose it was out of respect for the fact that I have a red-headed son on the payroll, that finally got an audience for me with the Boss and we had a very pleasant chat. He told me that business was much better than it had been and took me down past the order desk where the old time activity was beginning to show again. He always takes me into his confidence in illustrating his points and I was particularly impressed by some of the letters from salesman managers that were coming in.

It was really amusing to a fellow like me, Red, who has been out of touch with the present situation to quite an extent, particularly his illustrations of the mental attitude of different managers. The majority of letters he showed me were written in an enthusiastic, optimistic tone and recited the strengthening of the market on certain items and were accompanied by contracts for futures, as well as a spot business, while some few were evidently written by managers who didn't know that the wholesale grocers had taken their last fall sugar losses and were still devoting their time to thinking up fancy alibis for poor business.

After so long a time, we got to talking about you Red, and I suppose he just wanted to tickle an old man's parental pride, but anyway he said some nice things about the way you were getting along. He told me something in confidence that I'm going to tip off to you, although he said you didn't know yet, but am sure he will not mind my telling you. He said that the first of next month you were to be brought into the Chicago office as one of his product sales managers. Just about that time he was called into a meeting and had to tell me good-bye hurriedly and as a result, I didn't get to find out just what job it was, or whether it was permanent, or just a tryout for you, but anyway, I went home walking on air for, regardless of what it is or whether or not it is a promotion, it certainly will be a change of base for you and will add to your already diversified experience.

Now Red, I've spent a lot of time in my life watching the antics (yes--I say that advisedly) of some of these product sales managers and there are several things I want to warn you of before you tackle the job. In the first place, the biggest mistake you could make would be to get the impression that all you had to do was to “direct” the efforts of the organization on the particular items you were following. Of course, you'll have some of that, but if you think you will only have to dictate to a good looking stenographer, you're as mistaken as a republican candidate for alderman in the first ward. And again, if on account of your army experience you imagine you're going to be top sergeant for the general sales manager and let him carry the responsibility you'd better stick pins in your chair and come out of it.