“Fortunately, just before I went to see this man, I
heard that he had drawn a check for a million dollars,
and that after it was canceled, he had had it framed.
“So the first thing I did when I entered his office was
to ask to see the check. A check for a million dollars! I
told him I never knew that anybody had ever written
such a check, and that I wanted to tell my boys that I had
actually seen a check for a million dollars. He gladly
showed it to me; I admired it and asked him to tell me
all about how it happened to be drawn.”
You notice, don’t you, that Mr. Chalif didn’t begin by
talking about the Boy Scouts, or the jamboree in Europe,
or what it was he wanted? He talked in terms of what
interested the other man. Here’s the result:
“Presently, the man I was interviewing said: ‘Oh, by
the way, what was it you wanted to see me about?’ So I
told him.
“To my vast surprise,” Mr. Chalif continues, “he not
only granted immediately what I asked for, but much
more. I had asked him to send only one boy to Europe,
but he sent five boys and myself, gave me a letter of
credit for a thousand dollars and told us to stay in Europe
for seven weeks. He also gave me letters of introduction
to his branch presidents, putting them at our service,
and he himself met us in Paris and showed us the town.
Since then, he has given jobs to some of the boys whose
parents were in want, and he is still active in our group.
“Yet I know if I hadn’t found out what he was interested
in, and got him warmed up first, I wouldn’t have
found him one-tenth as easy to approach.”
Is this a valuable technique to use in business? Is it?
Let’s see, Take Henry G. Duvernoy of Duvemoy and
Sons, a wholesale baking firm in New York.
Mr. Duvernoy had been trying to sell bread to a certain
New York hotel. He had called on the manager
every week for four years. He went to the same social
affairs the manager attended. He even took rooms in the
hotel and lived there in order to get the business. But he
failed.
“Then,” said Mr. Duvernoy, “after studying human
relations, I resolved to change my tactics. I decided to
find out what interested this man – what caught his enthusiasm.
“I discovered he belonged to a society of hotel executives
called the Hotel Greeters of America. He not only
belonged, but his bubbling enthusiasm had made him
president of the organization, and president of the International
Greeters. No matter where its conventions were
held, he would be there.
“So when I saw him the next day, I began talking
about the Greeters. What a response I got. What a response!
He talked to me for half an hour about the
Greeters, his tones vibrant with enthusiasm. I could
plainly see that this society was not only his hobby, it
was the passion of his life. Before I left his office, he had
‘sold’ me a membership in his organization.
“In the meantime, I had said nothing about bread. But
a few days later, the steward of his hotel phoned me to
come over with samples and prices.
” ‘I don’t know what you did to the old boy,’ the steward
greeted me, ‘but he sure is sold on you!’
“Think of it! I had been drumming at that man for four
years – trying to get his business – and I’d still be drumming
at him if I hadn’t finally taken the trouble to find
out what he was interested in, and what he enjoyed talking
about.”
Edward E. Harriman of Hagerstown, Maryland, chose
to live in the beautiful Cumberland Valley of Maryland
after he completed his military service. Unfortunately,
at that time there were few jobs available in the area. A
little research uncovered the fact that a number of companies
in the area were either owned or controlled by an
unusual business maverick, R. J. Funkhouser, whose
rise from poverty to riches intrigued Mr. Harriman.
However, he was known for being inaccessible to job
seekers. Mr. Harriman wrote:
“I interviewed a number of people and found that his
major interest was anchored in his drive for power and
money. Since he protected himself from people like me
by use of a dedicated and stern secretary, I studied her
interests and goals and only then I paid an unannounced
visit at her office. She had been Mr. Funkhouser’s orbiting
satellite for about fifteen years. When I told her I
had a proposition for him which might translate itself
into financial and political success for him, she became
enthused. I also conversed with her about her constructive
participation in his success. After this conversation
she arranged for me to meet Mr. Funkhouser.
“I entered his huge and impressive office determined
not to ask directly for a job. He was seated behind a large
carved desk and thundered at me, ‘How about it, young
man?’ I said, ‘Mr. Funkhouser, I believe I can make
money for you.’ He immediately rose and invited me to
sit in one of the large upholstered chairs. I enumerated
my ideas and the qualifications I had to realize these
ideas, as well as how they would contribute to his personal
success and that of his businesses.
” ‘R. J.,’ as he became known to me, hired me at once
and for over twenty years I have grown in his enterprises
and we both have prospered.”
Talking in terms of the other person’s interests pays
off for both parties. Howard Z. Herzig, a leader in the
field of employee communications, has always followed
this principle. When asked what reward he got from it,
Mr. Herzig responded that he not only received a different
reward from each person but that in general the reward
had been an enlargement of his life each time he
spoke to someone.
PRINCIPLE 5
Talk in terms of the other person’s interests.
6
HOW TO MAKE PEOPLE LIKE YOU
INSTANTLY
I was waiting in line to register a letter in the post office
at Thirty-third Street and Eighth Avenue in New York. I
noticed that the clerk appeared to be bored with the job
-weighing envelopes, handing out stamps, making
change, issuing receipts – the same monotonous grind
year after year. So I said to myself: “I am going to try to
make that clerk like me. Obviously, to make him like
me, I must say something nice, not about myself, but
about him. So I asked myself, ‘What is there about him
that I can honestly admire?’ ” That is sometimes a hard
question to answer, especially with strangers; but, in
this case, it happened to be easy. I instantly saw something
I admired no end.
So while he was weighing my envelope, I remarked
with enthusiasm: “I certainly wish I had your head of
hair.”
He looked up, half-startled, his face beaming with
smiles. “Well, it isn’t as good as it used to be,” he said
modestly. I assured him that although it might have lost
some of its pristine glory, nevertheless it was still magnificent.
He was immensely pleased. We carried on a
pleasant little conversation and the last thing he said to
me was: “Many people have admired my hair.”
I’ll bet that person went out to lunch that day walking
on air. I’ll bet he went home that night and told his wife
about it. I’ll bet he looked in the mirror and said: “It is a
beautiful head of hair.”
I told this story once in public and a man asked me
afterwards: “‘What did you want to get out of him?”
What was I trying to get out of him!!! What was I trying
to get out of him!!!
If we are so contemptibly selfish that we can’t radiate
a little happiness and pass on a bit of honest appreciation
without trying to get something out of the other person
in return – if our souls are no bigger than sour crab apples,
we shall meet with the failure we so richly deserve.
Oh yes, I did want something out of that chap. I
wanted something priceless. And I got it. I got the feeling
that I had done something for him without his being
able to do anything whatever in return for me. That is a
feeling that flows and sings in your memory lung after
the incident is past.
There is one all-important law of human conduct. If
we obey that law, we shall almost never get into trouble.
In fact, that law, if obeyed, will bring us countless
friends and constant happiness. But the very instant we
break the law, we shall get into endless trouble. The law
is this: Always make the other person feel important.
John Dewey, as we have already noted, said that the
desire to be important is the deepest urge in human
nature; and William James said: “The deepest principle
in human nature is the craving to be appreciated.” As I
have already pointed out, it is this urge that differentiates
us from the animals. It is this urge that has been
responsible for civilization itself.
Philosophers have been speculating on the rules of
human relationships for thousands of years, and out of
all that speculation, there has evolved only one important
precept. It is not new. It is as old as history. Zoroaster
taught it to his followers in Persia twenty-five
hundred years ago. Confucius preached it in China
twenty-four centuries ago. Lao-tse, the founder of
Taoism, taught it to his disciples in the Valley of the
Han. Buddha preached it on the bank of the Holy
Ganges five hundred years before Christ. The sacred
books of Hinduism taught it a thousand years before
that. Jesus taught it among the stony hills of Judea nineteen
centuries ago. Jesus summed it up in one thought
-probably the most important rule in the world: “Do
unto others as you would have others do unto you.”
You want the approval of those with whom you come
in contact. You want recognition of your true worth. You
want a feeling that you are important in your little world.
You don’t want to listen to cheap, insincere flattery, but
you do crave sincere appreciation. You want your friends
and associates to be, as Charles Schwab put it, “hearty
in their approbation and lavish in their praise.” All of us
want that.
So let’s obey the Golden Rule, and give unto others
what we would have others give unto us,
How? When? Where? The answer is: All the time,
everywhere.
David G. Smith of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, told one of
our classes how he handled a delicate situation when he
was asked to take charge of the refreshment booth at a
charity concert,
“The night of the concert I arrived at the park and
found two elderly ladies in a very bad humor standing
next to the refreshment stand. Apparently each thought
that she was in charge of this project. As I stood there
pondering what to do, me of the members of the sponsoring
committee appeared and handed me a cash
box and thanked me for taking over the project. She
introduced Rose and Jane as my helpers and then ran
off.
“A great silence ensued. Realizing that the cash box
was a symbol of authority (of sorts), I gave the box to
Rose and explained that I might not be able to keep the
money straight and that if she took care of it I would feel
better. I then suggested to Jane that she show two teenagers
who had been assigned to refreshments how to
operate the soda machine, and I asked her to be responsible
for that part of the project.
“The evening was very enjoyable with Rose happily
counting the money, Jane supervising the teenagers, and
me enjoying the concert.”
You don’t have to wait until you are ambassador to
France or chairman of the Clambake Committee of your
lodge before you use this philosophy of appreciation.
You can work magic with it almost every day.
If, for example, the waitress brings us mashed potatoes
when we have ordered French fried, let’s say: “I’m sorry
to trouble you, but I prefer French fried.” She’ll probably
reply, “No trouble at all” and will be glad to change
the potatoes, because we have shown respect for her.
Little phrases such as “I’m sorry to trouble you,”
“Would you be so kind as to —-? ” “Won’t you
please?” ” Would you mind?” “Thank you” – little courtesies
like these oil the cogs of the monotonous grind of
everyday life- and, incidentally, they are the hallmark
of good breeding.
Let’s take another illustration. Hall Caine’s novels-The
Christian, The Deemster, The Manxman, among
them – were all best-sellers in the early part of this century.
Millions of people read his novels, countless millions.
He was the son of a blacksmith. He never had
more than eight years’ schooling in his life; yet when he
died he was the richest literary man of his time.
The story goes like this: Hall Caine loved sonnets and
ballads; so he devoured all of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s
poetry. He even wrote a lecture chanting the praises of
Rossetti’s artistic achievement-and sent a copy to Rossetti
himself. Rossetti was delighted. “Any young man
who has such an exalted opinion of my ability,” Rossetti
probably said to himself, “must be brilliant,” So Rossetti
invited this blacksmith’s son to come to London and act
as his secretary. That was the turning point in Hall
Caine’s life; for, in his new position, he met the literary