Letters From an Old Time Salesman to His Son

by Roy Lester James

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.

The only excuse for having a product sales manager is that the particular product in question will have a “daddy” in the main office, instead of having to be nurtured a la incubator and grow up like Topsy. Don’t think for a minute that the general sales manager is going to do the thinking for you, or lay down a set of instructions for you to follow out. I take it that you’re getting more than twelve dollars a week now and if so, they expect you to be “creative” and use that torch-thatched swelling on top of your shoulders for something else beside a hat-rack.

Now get this clear to start with—everything the company manufactures in your line is YOUR product. Yours to sell—it doesn’t belong to the factory, the branch house, the jobber, the retailer or the consumer. It’s YOURS—the weight of responsibility is on your shoulders from the time it comes out of the retort until the can is peacefully reposing on the breeze-swept side of the hillock in the city dumping-ground. If you think you can sit down and dictate a “pep” letter to managers and salesmen, wave your arms and plant Old Glory rhetorically in the azure blue of the heavens until some temperamental manager becomes so moved by your chin music that he orders a carload—if you think you have then accomplished something worth crowing over, you better go back to calling on the retail trade. Those goods are yours, Red—you’ve only then started them in the channel of distribution and the REAL WORK for your think-tank has only commenced. You must think up schemes—selling plans—watch stocks and keep them moving—give advice and counsel to your managers—in a word, you must be the dynamo that generates the sell-juice and believe me, it’s your job to see there are no broken connections.

There are a lot of things about a product sales manager’s job that can be well or poorly done, but I cannot begin to comment on all of them in this letter. Am sorry I didn’t get to talk just a few minutes longer to your Boss, for I’m curious to know whether they thought you were so all-fired good at your other job that they gave you this, or whether somebody just left the gate open and you sneaked in.

I haven’t told your mother about this yet, so I suggest that you write her a letter and just mention it casual-like. After I get her comments I’ll write you some more of my observations, which I imagine you relish about as much as salt in your ice cream.

Your loving,