I’ve learned a lot from people over the years. Some lessons were more direct than others. This is a story of courage and persistence. When I went to work for “Sam”: I was a young, newly married 20-something. My husband and I were classic D.I.N.K.’s, (Double Income No Kids) couple living the Rocky Mountain high life that many dream about
 |
| That's him. The million-dollar man |
My job at Sam’s firm quickly evolved – I quickly rose through the ranks becoming a department head responsible for the company’s major accounts throughout the U.S. With the responsibility, came the pressure to sell. You see, Sam believed that I was a natural salesperson – cut from the same cloth he was.
As a wildly successful CEO, Sam was a former Special Forces Officer in Vietnam who was always “packing.” In the industry that our company dominated, he was revered and said to “have a silver tongue.” He lived the life of a cowboy in the rural mountainous range of Colorado, raising horses amidst sacred Indian burial grounds. At the time, Sam was 60-something and each morning he sauntered into the office, decked out in hip hugging Wranglers that were flattering in a Cowboy Up kind of way. He had silver hair, a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, and more pairs of custom cowboy boots and hats than I could count.
I never met Sam until after I was hired. My office was situated around the corner from his and mid-morning, I heard him yelling a co-worker’s name at the top of his lungs. Little did I realize, but this habit would become the stuff that made us stick. Months later, Sam was yelling MY NAME at the top of his lungs. At first, I would jump up, as if someone had placed a hot brand on my rear quarters and bolt into his office, flushed and out of breath. Later I found myself kidding Sam about “using the expensive paging system again.”
Throughout the course of my career, Sam became an unlikely mentor. We would sit in his office – he behind a massive, overly intimidating wood desk and me on the other side (miles away) and have deep philosophical talks about business and success. Most of our conversations ended with Sam inquiring about when I wanted to “start selling?” I kept telling him “I just can’t do it. I just cannot see myself asking people for money – asking them to sign a contract. I’m much more comfortable selling ideas and concepts.”
As a wildly successful CEO, Sam was a former Special Forces Officer in Vietnam who was always “packing.” In the industry that our company dominated, he was revered and said to “have a silver tongue.” He lived the life of a cowboy in the rural mountainous range of Colorado, raising horses amidst sacred Indian burial grounds. At the time, Sam was 60-something and each morning he sauntered into the office, decked out in hip hugging Wranglers that were flattering in a Cowboy Up kind of way. He had silver hair, a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, and more pairs of custom cowboy boots and hats than I could count.
I never met Sam until after I was hired. My office was situated around the corner from his and mid-morning, I heard him yelling a co-worker’s name at the top of his lungs. Little did I realize, but this habit would become the stuff that made us stick. Months later, Sam was yelling MY NAME at the top of his lungs. At first, I would jump up, as if someone had placed a hot brand on my rear quarters and bolt into his office, flushed and out of breath. Later I found myself kidding Sam about “using the expensive paging system again.”
Throughout the course of my career, Sam became an unlikely mentor. We would sit in his office – he behind a massive, overly intimidating wood desk and me on the other side (miles away) and have deep philosophical talks about business and success. Most of our conversations ended with Sam inquiring about when I wanted to “start selling?” I kept telling him “I just can’t do it. I just cannot see myself asking people for money – asking them to sign a contract. I’m much more comfortable selling ideas and concepts.”
One day, Sam was particularly intent on changing my mind and I asked him point blank: “Okay Sam, how do you do it? How do you ask someone for One Million Dollars? His answer was poignantly simple: You just ask.
I got it that day. I realized that the only thing holding anyone back from reaching their potential – whether it be monetary or otherwise was simply asking.
A few short years later, I was hired as the Marketing Director for a successful design firm. Interestingly, the position turned into one of sales. In just ten months, I was solely responsible for $300,000 in new sales and contributing to over a half-million in others.
The mystery of “could I sell?” was solved.
It turns out, Sam was right. I could sell. Just not then and not there.
I got it that day. I realized that the only thing holding anyone back from reaching their potential – whether it be monetary or otherwise was simply asking.
A few short years later, I was hired as the Marketing Director for a successful design firm. Interestingly, the position turned into one of sales. In just ten months, I was solely responsible for $300,000 in new sales and contributing to over a half-million in others.
The mystery of “could I sell?” was solved.
It turns out, Sam was right. I could sell. Just not then and not there.
A few months after my departure, Sam sold the company and, being the brave and wandering adventurer he was, sold everything (cowboy boots and all). Last I heard he was combing the beaches of Baja. No doubt glittering like the million-dollar man that he is.
No comments:
Post a Comment