DeWese--An Interview at Poor Richard's Place

Attila the editor sent me an e-mail that ordered me to his office at 8 a.m. the following morning. "Ordered" me, the Mañana Man, in his office at 8 a.m.! I was indignant! I considered deleting his electronic mandate, but I decided he must have some big assignment for me.

I knew if he actually wanted to see me, it had to be important. Ordinarily, Attila never calls, writes, faxes or e-mails me. I haven't heard from him in about three years, since we cleared up that little multimillion-dollar, character-assassination lawsuit problem. Nowadays, he has his bloodsucking Associate Attilas call and harass me about my deadline timeliness and my column content (or lack thereof). He's too hotsy-totsy to call himself.

I arrived at the North American Publishing building about 10:15 the following morning. After all, I am the Mañana Man, and I couldn't let the Mighty Editor think I was intimidated by his e-mail. Rosie, the receptionist, greeted me enthusiastically, "Hey Man, they're all waiting for you in the main conference room—and they are surly." Rosie has been greeting visitors at least as long as the 14 years I've been writing this column, and we're old friends.

When I entered the conference room, Attila was turned away from the table staring out the window at the Philadelphia Inquirer building across the street. The associate editors were in various stages of bored malevolence.

Attila wheeled in his big leather chair and said, "Well, you're more than two hours late. This is consistent with the fact that you've been late with every column for more than 14 years. But my disdain for your timeliness and writing skill is for another day."

He continued: "We've got bigger fish to fry today. In fact, we've code-named this project 'BF' for 'Big Fish.' Here's the deal: America's top print salesperson is down on his luck. Womanizing and drinking have gotten the best of him. He's on his last legs, and we've decided you're the one to interview him before he croaks, and we lose all his wisdom."

I mustered, "Why me, boss?"

Big Shot Editor pursed his lips, as if he was actually thinking, and responded, "He spends his days in a crummy tavern in North Philly, and none of the other writers will risk visiting that part of town." He then looked me up and down and added, "Besides, you won't look out of place in that part of town."

I tried to protest this lousy assignment, but Attila raised his hand with finality and said, "Look Man, do this and I may put you on the cover and nominate you for one of those Pulitzer awards."

Well, I have to admit he'd struck two chords on my Banjo strings: the cover and a Pulitzer!

I asked meekly: "What's the name of the dive, and how do I recognize the salesman? The editor told me the tavern was named "Poor Richard's Place" and that the salesman was overweight, had long scraggly gray hair and wore those little half-lens reading glasses.

Attila's overly dramatic parting words were, "In the name of good...no, great...journalism, get your lameness over there now and get this interview!"

Poor Richard's Place hadn't been painted in years, and the exterior walls were covered with graffiti. Above the front door, a neon Pabst Blue Ribbon sign was feebly blinking and making periodic sizzling sounds. It was dark inside, and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. There was an old Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner.

When I arrived, Conway Twitty was singing "Don't Call Him a Cowboy ('til you've seen him ride)." I decided this might not be such a bad way to spend the afternoon after all.

The Super Salesman was easy to spot. He sat at a table amusing a pair of neighborhood floozies. I approached him with my business, and he invited me to join the party.

"An occasion like this calls for a few rounds of drinks," he declared, adding quickly, "You're buying, right?" When I nodded "yes," he called to the barkeep for our drinks.

Here's the interview:

Mañana Man: "I'm told you are America's top print salesman? What can you tell rookie salespeople about good sales behavior?"

Super Salesman: "I was America's top print salesman. Lately, the rum and my lady friends have gotten the best of me. Nevertheless, when I was on top of my game, I always tried to keep my ego in check. I knew that if I fell in love with myself, I would have no rivals. I knew the importance of observing my customers carefully, but observing myself even more carefully. There is no substitute for self-criticism.

"I also taught myself that he who is wise learns from everyone, especially his customers. He who is powerful governs his passions. Finally, he who is rich is content. Moreover, I don't mean that money is contentment. I mean that real wealth is a state of self-contentment. I also learned that well-done is better than well-said. Lastly, there is a great difference between imitating a great person and counterfeiting him."

Mañana Man: "To have reached the pinnacle in print sales, you must have had a powerful work ethic. Tell me about yours."

Super Salesman (slugging down another drink): "As a lad, I observed a farmer clearing a field of large oak trees. It occurred to me then that it takes many little strokes to fell a mighty oak. This, applied to print sales, gave me diligence and tenacity. I never delayed, until tomorrow, things that should be done today. I started my work days early because I liked to plow deep, while my sluggard competitors slept."

Mañana Man: "How were you trained to sell printing?"

Super Salesman: "I believe that you should empty your wallet into your head. No man can take that away. An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest. Or, I'll say it another way: If you think sales knowledge is expensive, try sales ignorance."

Mañana Man: "So you were self-trained? How did you persuade your customers to buy from you?"

Super Salesman: "I discovered that if you want to sell, you must appeal to interest rather than intellect. You cannot appeal to interest unless you discover it in a customer by listening to the customer. Listening to clients was the way I learned the brutal facts. One of the greatest tragedies in selling is the murder of a beautiful idea by a gang of brutal facts. Too many print salespeople chase a beautiful customer without having the brutal facts."

Mañana Man: "What are your parting words for America's print salespeople?"

Super Salesman (studying this question and sipping his drink): "Tell them two things for me. Each year, root out one vicious habit. In time, it will make the worst salesperson good. As you can see, I've allowed two of my worst habits to be my undoing. These two devils have led to my poverty. Next, let them learn from my poverty. Tell them I said poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue; it is hard for an empty bag to stand upright."

I thanked him, nodded to the floozies and put two twenties on the table. Super Salesman thanked me, and I turned to leave.

He called to me, and I turned to hear him laughingly roar: "And, tell all those good folks to get out there and sell something!"

—Harris DeWese

About the Author
Harris DeWese is the author of Now Get Out There and Sell Something! published by Nonpareil Books. DeWese is a principal at Compass Capital Partners Ltd. DeWese specializes in investment banking, mergers and acquisitions, sales, marketing, planning and management services to printing companies. He is one of the authors of the annual Compass Report, the definitive source of information regarding printing industry merger and acquisition activity.

Advice From America's Top Print Salesman

"If you want to sell, you must appeal to interest rather than intellect. You cannot appeal to interest unless you discover it in a customer from listening to the customer."

"Each year, root out one vicious habit. In time, it will make the worst salesperson good."

"He who is wise learns from everyone, especially his customers. He who is powerful governs his passions. Finally, he who is rich is content. Moreover, I don't mean that money is contentment. I mean that real wealth is a state of self-contentment."

"Well-done is better than well-said."

"There is a great difference between imitating a great person and counterfeiting him."

"You should empty your wallet into your head. No man can take that away. An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest. Or, I'll say it another way: If you think sales knowledge is expensive, try sales ignorance."