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.