Life of a Salesman: Advice and Diversions

Copyright © 2013 Marvin Rubinstein.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-0327-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0326-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0325-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013914587

iUniverse rev. date: 08/30/2013

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Dad

Salesman/Saleswoman

In the Beginning

The Big Apple

Political Sales

Back to Knocking on Doors

What is a Salesman Selling?

New York Interlude

A Salesman Explores New York

Museums, Restaurants, Bars, Etc.

Grand Finale NYC

The Power of Positive Publications

Promotion on a Piggy-Bank Budget

Publicity Releases

Magazine Articles

Papers for Societies and Associations

Maintaining a Speakers Bureau

Trade Shows—Large and Small

Mini Trade Shows

A Few Legal Pitfalls

Going International

At Home in the Skies

Which Airline?

Choosing a Seat

Class Consciousness

Fare Choice

Jet Lag

Intriguing People

Fun with Foreign Languages

Laughter and Language

Continuing on the Lighter Side

Sites

American Cities

Cities Overseas

Sights

A Few Precautions

The Resurrection of a Salesman

Curriculum Vitae of Marv Rubinstein

DEDICATION

I have run out of family and friends to whom I would normally dedicate this book. My wife Chie; my children Jonathan, Jay and Sari; my grandchildren David, Joanne and Clementine are all solidly in my heart but have already received book dedications. My wife suggests that I dedicate the book to our dog Chibi, but to me, that is too whimsical.

So, let me make a sentimental choice. I dedicate this book to Arthur Miller, who departed this life in 2005, but whose play Death of a Salesman pulled (and still pulls) the emotional heartstrings of millions of Americans, and particularly those of salesmen all over the world.

EPIGRAPH

You don’t understand: Willy was a salesman and for a salesman, there is no rock bottom to the life. He don’t put a bolt to a nut, he don’t tell you the law or give you medicine. He’s a man out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine. And when they start not smiling back, that’s an earthquake. And then you get yourself a couple of spots on your hat, and you’re finished. Nobody dast blame this man. A salesman has got to dream boy. *

PROLOGUE

The scene. A private room in a restaurant in Bangkok, Thailand. The time: quite a few years ago. This is not an ordinary restaurant. It was called the Siam No-Hands Restaurant, and what makes it distinctive is that you are not allowed to use your hands in eating or drinking whiIe you are there. Proper Thai matrons call it the Disabled Man’s Restaurant.

The cast of characters: an American international salesman and two Thai business associates who are his hosts for the evening. Also present are three attractive Thai ladies, whom each of the guests had selected from a lineup at the entrance. The young ladies are native Thais, with thick black hair and dark eyes. Though young, each has been thoroughly schooled in the ways of keeping a man happy.

A waiter brings in the menus, which feature Chinese food, and the pretty ladies assist in suggesting the tastiest dishes. Just how does one dine without the use of one’s hands? Very simple. Each of the young ladies is assigned the task of feeding her particular customer. She feeds you using fork or chopsticks and tilting your glass upwards so you can drink water or wine or whatever. You can still use your hands, but not for eating. Hugging is OK. Or patting an attractive shoulder or a well-rounded derriere, but don’t you dare touch a fork or spoon, the traditional culinary tools in Thailand. [Strange to say, in Thailand, chopsticks are only standard in Chinese restaurants.] Of course, conversation, teasing, flirtation and laughter are not only allowed but encouraged. As ordered by the hosts, once the main course had been consumed, another young lady enters the private dining room, proceeding slowly to divest herself of clothes and dancing seductively in the nude. She then sits herself down on the lap of the American guest and insists on feeding him his dessert.

The rules of the game clearly forbid any intense sexual activity. This is intended to be a restaurant with entertainment, not a brothel. If so desired, some of the young ladies may be available after hours by private arrangement, but that is strictly up to them and not part of the restaurant scene.

For one who has not previously spent much time in the Far East and does not know Bangkok, all of this is new and exciting and titillating. Definitely something to write home to one’s friends about. Needless to say, such entertainment is s.o.p. for many cities in the Far East. And it is one of the possible fringe benefits in the Life of a Salesman.

DAD

My father was a salesman. One of the old kind who went from door to door. When he was young, he followed the carnival trail, hawking balloons and pennants and stuffed dolls. In the 1920s, he sold sewing machines for Mr. Singer, when they were the newest and hottest sales item in town. He sold life insurance when people were not used to the idea, when they superstitiously feared that having a life insurance policy was a sure way to tempt the fates and bring on an early death. For most of the later years of his life, when I was in my teens, he sold blankets, sheets, pillowcases and household furnishings from door to door. Everything was sold on a dollar-down-and-a-dollar-whenever-they-catch-you basis.

Dad was a familiar figure in the poorer parts of town, pulling his bundle of samples out of his Model T Ford and spreading them out for the ladies to see. He mimicked an Irish brogue for the shanty or lace curtain Irish ladies, and he offered a simple English mixed with the soul talk of the time in the local black (now called African American) neighborhoods. Incidentally, his talent for mimicry seems to have skipped a generation. Neither I nor my siblings are good at it, but my daughter Sari is a whiz. Dad worked from early morning to early evening in summer sweat and in the blustery winter cold of Rochester, New York. He worked his ass off.

He labored hard and long to ensure his family a livelihood, but mostly he worked to see that his two sons received a college education and became professionals—not peddlers like him. Both my brother and I became professionals. He earned a Bachelor of Arts, wanting to become a teacher. But the 1929 depression decided otherwise, and he ended up working for New York State, heading up an Unemployment Insurance Office. I hold two degrees—a B.S. in Chemistry and a J.Dr. in Law. You may call me Dr. Rubinstein. But blood is thicker than water. Twenty years back, I retired as Chairman of the Board and owner of a small but prosperous engineering firm with worldwide offices and representation. When we first developed our products, I used my skills in chemistry. From time to time, when we needed a business contract or a dunning letter, I used my skills in law. However, the success of the company depended, not on building a better mousetrap, but on selling it.

It wasn’t long before my partner found himself in charge of the factory, while I was out beating the bushes to market our products, first in the Northeast, then in the entire United States and eventually overseas. I had my two degrees, but the financial success of the company depended upon my sales ability, so I became a salesman. Of course, I call myself a sales engineer. But basically, I’m a peddler. The doors I knock on are a lot fancier than those my father knocked on, but we both knocked on doors. And I make a hell of a lot more money and live more lavishly than Dad could ever have imagined. But I’m still a peddler. If that sounds self-deprecating, it is not so intended. Isaac Stern proudly calls himself a fiddler. I am proud to be a peddler.

Some time back, I sold my business for millions of dollars. My father never lived to see the great financial success his son achieved, and I’m not sure if he would have been pleased or disappointed in how I turned out—rich but not a professional. As for me, I am a salesman and have never regretted it.

This book is about the life of a salesman. In truth, it will not deal with salesmen in candy stores or boutiques or Macy’s. Nor will it deal with the salesman in a showroom, be it clothing or automobiles. These salesmen will have shared some of the experiences I shall discuss, but not most. This book is about the life of a salesman in the great outdoors, the one who goes from door to door or office to office or factory to factory. Much of my experience has been in selling overseas, practically all over the world, so I will write about that in some detail. However, I also spent years selling throughout the United States and Canada, and that will not be neglected.

This will not be an instruction book about the art of selling. It is instead an anecdotal reminiscence of one man who spent more than 50 years in national and international sales—the places he has been, the people he has met, the pleasures and perils of travel and the trials and tribulations of his chosen profession.

Without making any specific promises as to order or degree of importance, I would also like to convey some idea as to what the balance of this book will be about. There will be chapters or sections dealing with the following subjects: building a sales business, publicity and promotion on a piggy-bank budget. some observations on major U.S. cities, further observations on the major cities of the world, making the best of airline travel—some tips and suggestions, sightseeing on a fly-by-night schedule, local flora—wining and dining around the world, local fauna—meeting some lovely ladies internationally, doing business overseas, some so-called national characteristics and how to deal with them.

The above are provided to give the reader some idea as to where this book is going. To some degree, it will be a sales manual, but to a much larger degree it will be an adventure story about the funny and serious things that happened to me while living the Life of a Salesman.

Of course, there will be information on what the salesman must know and do in order to succeed. For those readers who themselves are salesmen, these gems of sales wisdom will be highlighted in bold type. But the sales approaches will be peripheral to the main outline of the story (or stories) I have to tell (and sell).

SALESMAN/SALESWOMAN

Perhaps one point should be made early in this book. Whenever I use the term salesman, I do not intend to exclude the ladies. There are many wonderful and energetic young women out in the field. And they don’t sell cosmetics only. My firm had very successfully used saleswomen to sell engineering products. I know of one international saleswoman who sold oil-drilling and oil-processing equipment, and spent time competing with males