Franklin D. Roosevelt knew that one of the simplest,
most obvious and most important ways of gaining good
will was by remembering names and making people feel
important – yet how many of us do it?
Half the time we are introduced to a stranger, we chat
a few minutes and can’t even remember his or her name
by the time we say goodbye.
One of the first lessons a politician learns is this: “To
recall a voter’s name is statesmanship. To forget it is
oblivion.”
And the ability to remember names is almost as important
in business and social contacts as it is in politics.
Napoleon the Third, Emperor of France and nephew
of the great Napoleon, boasted that in spite of all his
royal duties he could remember the name of every person
he met.
His technique? Simple. If he didn’t hear the name
distinctly, he said, “So sorry. I didn’t get the name
clearly.” Then, if it was an unusual name, he would say,
“How is it spelled?”
During the conversation, he took the trouble to repeat
the name several times, and tried to associate it in his
mind with the person’s features, expression and general
appearance.
If the person was someone of importance, Napoleon
went to even further pains. As soon as His Royal Highness
was alone, he wrote the name down on a piece of
paper, looked at it, concentrated on it, fixed it securely
in his mind, and then tore up the paper. In this way, he
gained an eye impression of the name as well as an ear
impression.
All this takes time, but “Good manners,” said Emerson,
“are made up of petty sacrifices.”
The importance of remembering and using names is
not just the prerogative of kings and corporate executives.
It works for all of us. Ken Nottingham, an employee
of General Motors in Indiana, usually had lunch
at the company cafeteria. He noticed that the woman
who worked behind the counter always had a scowl on
her face. “She had been making sandwiches for about
two hours and I was just another sandwich to her. I told
her what I wanted. She weighed out the ham on a little
scale, then she gave me one leaf of lettuce, a few potato
chips and handed them to me.
“The next day I went through the same line. Same
woman, same scowl. The only difference was I noticed
her name tag. I smiled and said, ‘Hello, Eunice,’ and
then told her what I wanted. Well, she forgot the scale,
piled on the ham, gave me three leaves of lettuce and
heaped on the potato chips until they fell off the plate.”
We should be aware of the magic contained in a name
and realize that this single item is wholly and completely
owned by the person with whom we are dealing
and nobody else. The name sets the individual apart;
it makes him or her unique among all others. The information
we are imparting or the request we are making
takes on a special importance when we approach the
situation with the name of the individual. From the waitress
to the senior executive, the name will work magic
as we deal with others.
PRINCIPLE 3
Remember that a person’s name is to that
person the sweetest and most important
sound in any language.
4
AN EASY WAY TO BECOME A
GOOD CONVERSATIONALIST
Some time ago, I attended a bridge party. I don’t play
bridge – and there was a woman there who didn’t play
bridge either. She had discovered that I had once been
Lowell Thomas’ manager before he went on the radio
and that I had traveled in Europe a great deal while
helping him prepare the illustrated travel talks he was
then delivering. So she said: “Oh, Mr. Carnegie, I do
want you to tell me about all the wonderful places you
have visited and the sights you have seen.”
As we sat down on the sofa, she remarked that she and
her husband had recently returned from a trip to Africa.
“Africa!” I exclaimed. “How interesting! I’ve always
wanted to see Africa, but I never got there except for a
twenty-four-hour stay once in Algiers. Tell me, did you
visit the big-game country? Yes? How fortunate. I envy
you. Do tell me about Africa.”
That kept her talking for forty-five minutes. She never
again asked me where I had been or what I had seen.
She didn’t want to hear me talk about my travels. All she
wanted was an interested listener, so she could expand
her ego and tell about where she had been.
Was she unusual? No. Many people are like that.
For example, I met a distinguished botanist at a dinner
party given by a New York book publisher. I had never
talked with a botanist before, and I found him fascinating.
I literally sat on the edge of my chair and listened
while he spoke of exotic plants and experiments in
developing new forms of plant life and indoor gardens (and
even told me astonishing facts about the humble potato).
I had a small indoor garden of my own – and he was
good enough to tell me how to solve some of my problems.
As I said, we were at a dinner party. There must have
been a dozen other guests, but I violated all the canons
of courtesy, ignored everyone else, and talked for hours
to the botanist.
Midnight came, I said good night to everyone and
departed. The botanist then turned to our host and
paid me several flattering compliments. I was “most
stimulating.” I was this and I was that, and he ended by
saying I was a “most interesting conversationalist.”
An interesting conversationalist? Why, I had said
hardly anything at all. I couldn’t have said anything if I
had wanted to without changing the subject, for I didn’t
know any more about botany than I knew about the anatomy
of a penguin. But I had done this: I had listened
intently. I had listened because I was genuinely interested.
And he felt it. Naturally that pleased him. That
kind of listening is one of the highest compliments we
can pay anyone. “Few human beings,” wrote Jack
Woodford in Strangers in Love, “few human beings are
proof against the implied flattery of rapt attention.” I
went even further than giving him rapt attention. I was
“hearty in my approbation and lavish in my praise.”
I told him that I had been immensely entertained and
instructed – and I had. I told him I wished I had his
knoledge – and I did. I told him that I should love to
wander the fields with him – and I have. I told him I
must see him again – and I did.
And so I had him thinking of me as a good conversationalist
when, in reality, I had been merely a good listener
and had encouraged him to talk.
What is the secret, the mystery, of a successful business
interview? Well, according to former Harvard president
Charles W. Eliot, “There is no mystery about
successful business intercourse. . . . Exclusive attention
to the person who is speaking to you is very important.
Nothing else is so flattering as that.”
Eliot himself was a past master of the art of listening,
Henry James, one of America’s first great novelists, recalled:
“Dr. Eliot’s listening was not mere silence, but a
form of activity. Sitting very erect on the end of his spine
with hands joined in his lap, making no movement except
that he revolved his thumbs around each other
faster or slower, he faced his interlocutor and seemed to
be hearing with his eyes as well as his ears. He listened
with his mind and attentively considered what you had
to say while you said it. . . . At the end of an interview
the person who had talked to him felt that he had had
his say.”
Self-evident, isn’t it? You don’t have to study for four
years in Harvard to discover that. Yet I know and you
know department store owners who will rent expensive
space, buy their goods economically, dress their windows
appealingly, spend thousands of dollars in advertising
and then hire clerks who haven’t the sense to be
good listeners – clerks who interrupt customers, contradict
them, irritate them, and all but drive them from the
store.
A department store in Chicago almost lost a regular
customer who spent several thousand dollars each year
in that store because a sales clerk wouldn’t listen. Mrs.
Henrietta Douglas, who took our course in Chicago, had
purchased a coat at a special sale. After she had brought
it home she noticed that there was a tear in the lining.
She came back the next day and asked the sales clerk to
exchange it. The clerk refused even to listen to her complaint.
“You bought this at a special sale,” she said. She
pointed to a sign on the wall. “Read that,” she exclaimed.
” ‘All sales are final.’ Once you bought it, you
have to keep it. Sew up the lining yourself.”
“But this was damaged merchandise,” Mrs. Douglas
complained.
“Makes no difference,” the clerk interrupted. “Final’s
final ”
Mrs. Douglas was about to walk out indignantly,
swearing never to return to that store ever, when she
was greeted by the department manager, who knew her
from her many years of patronage. Mrs. Douglas told her
what had happened.
The manager listened attentively to the whole story,
examined the coat and then said: “Special sales are
‘final’ so we can dispose of merchandise at the end of
the season. But this ‘no return’ policy does not apply to
damaged goods. We will certainly repair or replace the
lining, or if you prefer, give you your money back.”
What a difference in treatment! If that manager had
not come along and listened to the Customer, a long-term
patron of that store could have been lost forever.
Listening is just as important in one’s home life as in
the world of business. Millie Esposito of Croton-on-Hudson,
New York, made it her business to listen carefully
when one of her children wanted to speak with her.
One evening she was sitting in the kitchen with her son,
Robert, and after a brief discussion of something that
was on his mind, Robert said: “Mom, I know that you
love me very much.”
Mrs. Esposito was touched and said: “Of course I love
you very much. Did you doubt it?”
Robert responded: “No, but I really know you love me
because whenever I want to talk to you about something
you stop whatever you are doing and listen to me.”
The chronic kicker, even the most violent critic, will
frequently soften and be subdued in the presence of a
patient, sympathetic listener – a listener who will he silent
while the irate fault-finder dilates like a king cobra
and spews the poison out of his system. To illustrate:
The New York Telephone Company discovered a few
years ago that it had to deal with one of the most vicious
customers who ever cursed a customer service representative.
And he did curse. He raved. He threatened to tear
the phone out by its roots. He refused to pay certain
charges that he declared were false. He wrote letters to
the newspapers. He filed innumerable complaints with
the Public Service Commission, and he started several
suits against the telephone company.
At last, one of the company’s most skillful “trouble-shooters”
was sent to interview this stormy petrel. This
“troubleshooter” listened and let the cantankerous customer
enjoy himself pouring out his tirade. The telephone
representative listened and said “yes” and
sympathized with his grievance.