Part 8

Here, then, is the protection against organised European economic aggression, the armour for the inevitable trade conflict. Unless we gird it on, we shall be onlookers instead of participants.

III--American Business in France

Two Americans met by chance one day last summer at a little table in front of the Cafe de la Paix in Paris. One had arrived only a month before; the other was an old resident in France. After the fashion of their kind they became acquainted and began to talk. Before them passed a picturesque parade, brilliant with the uniforms of half a dozen nations, and streaked with the symbols of mourning that attested to the ravage of war.

"There is something wrong with these Frenchmen," said the first American.

"How is that?" asked his companion.

"It's like this," was the reply. "I have sold goods from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and yet I can get nowhere over here. I give these fellows the swiftest line of selling talk in the world and it makes no impression."

"How well do you speak French?" queried his new-found acquaintance.

"Not at all."

"Have you studied the ways and needs of the Frenchman?"

"Of course not. I've got something they want and they ought to take it."

The man who had long lived in France was silent for a moment. Then he said:

"The fault is not with the Frenchman, my friend. Think it over." He did, and with reflection he changed his method. He put a curb on strenuosity; started to study the French temperament; he began to see why he had not succeeded.

This incident illumines one of the strangest and most inconsistent situations in our foreign trade. By a curious irony we have failed to realise our commercial destiny in the one Allied Nation where real respect and affection for us remain. France--a sister Republic--is bound to us by sentimental ties and the kinship of a common struggle for liberty. Her people are warm-hearted and generous and want to do business with us.

Yet, as long and costly experience shows, we have almost gone out of our way to clash with their customs and misunderstand their motives. In short, we have neglected a great opportunity to develop a permanent and worth-while export business with them. It was bad enough before the war. Events since the outbreak of the monster conflict have emphasised it more keenly.

* * * * *

Why have Americans failed so signally in France? There are many reasons. First of all, their whole system of selling has been wrong.

For years many of our manufacturers were represented in Paris and elsewhere in France by German agents, who also represented producers in their own country. The energetic Teuton did not hesitate to install an American machine or a line of American goods. But what happened? When the machine part wore out or the stock of goods was exhausted, there was seldom any American product on hand to meet the swift and sometime impatient demand for replacement or renewal. By a strange "coincidence" there was always an abundant supply of German material available. The German salesman always saw to that. Necessity knows no nationality. The result invariably was that German output supplanted the American. The Frenchman did not want to be caught the second time.

This prompt renewal created an immense goodwill for German goods. Right here is one of the first big lessons for the American exporter to learn, no matter what country he expects to sell in. It lies in keeping goods "on the shelf," and being able to meet emergency demand.

The Frenchman in trade is a sort of Missourian. He must be "shown." He shies at samples; distrusts drawings. He likes to go into a warehouse and look over stocks; it gives him satisfaction to pick and choose. He is the most fastidious buyer in the world and he likes to do things his own way. Any attempt to ram foreign methods--either in buying or selling--down his sensitive throat is bound to react.

Here is a case in point: The General Representative in France of a large American manufacturing concern decided to engage some French salesmen. He was a shark on business system; he fairly oozed with "scientific salesmanship"; he decided to gird his Gallic emissaries with the most improved American selling methods. So he prepared an elaborate "What I did" schedule for them. Into it was to be written every evening the complete record of the business day.

When he handed one of these blanks to his leading French salesman, that gentleman shrugged his shoulders and said:

"It eez imposseeble."

When the American became insistent all the French salesmen resigned in a body. This objection was purely temperamental. If there is one thing above all others that puts a Frenchman into panic it is publicity of his personal affairs. He believes that the greatest crime in the world is to be found out, whether in business or in love. There was nothing perhaps to hide in a biography of his daily work, but it was the wrong tack to take.

In the same way militant and masterful salesmanship also fails. A man may be a crack seller in Kansas City, Denver, and all points West, but he finds to his sorrow that his dynamic process goes straight over the head of a Frenchman. He refuses to be driven; he wants time for mature reflection and an opportunity to talk the thing over with his wife.

This irritating attempt to force uncongenial methods on French buyers is duplicated in a corresponding lack of plain everyday intelligence in meeting the simplest French requirements.

Indeed, the omissions of Americans are wellnigh incredible. Take the matter of postage to France. The head of a great French concern made this statement to me in sober earnestness: "Won't you be good enough to beg American manufacturers to put their office boys through a course of instruction in postal rates between Europe and the United States?"

When I asked him the reason he said: "We sometimes get twenty letters from America in one mail and each comes under a two cent stamp. This has been going on for years despite our repeated protest about it. Some months my firm was required to pay from ten to fifteen dollars in excess postage."

Now the amount of money involved in this transaction is the slightest feature: it is the chronic laxity and carelessness of the American business man that gets on the Frenchman's nerve.