Birth of a salesman

Apr 1, 2008 12:00 PM, By M. Richard Vinocur

After I sold some directory ads as an editor, the bosses asked me to move over to sales full time. I was reluctant, but several other editors suggested that was where the money was. After serious consideration, I made the move. There was little training available, so I developed my own techniques. As the contracts rolled in, I realized that I wasn't selling for the top publication and decided to look for greener pastures.

Curl up and dye

It wasn't hard to figure out that magazines with larger circulations had higher ad rates and probably would generate more income. Within the first two years at R. H. Donnelley, I had more than doubled the amount I was being paid. Still, it was time to move on. The economy had improved considerably since I had moved to New York and there were many space sales jobs available. The one I wanted was in the New York branch office of Vance Publishing, a Chicago-based firm. The magazine was Modern Beauty Shop (later to become Modern Salon).

Ken Grogan, the Eastern manager, interviewed me. One week later I was summoned for a second interview. Several days later, Grogan called to say they had narrowed the field to three people and that the publisher, John Ryan, would make the final decision. I didn't get the job, presumably because I wasn't Irish. (Months later, I found out it was less about being Irish, but and more about not matriculating at Notre Dame.) Jack Kiernan — who else — did land the spot.

Three months later, Grogan called to see if I was still interested. It seems Kiernan had a nervous breakdown, but I didn't yet know Grogan had caused it. My new boss was the most creative salesperson I had ever met. When Breck, a well-known hair products company, ran an ad in Readers Digest, Grogan convinced the publication to buy an ad in Modern Beauty Shop to promote it.

Grogan was a heavy drinker. On my first day, he took me to lunch and had four martinis. I couldn't keep up, downing only two. At five that day, he called me into his office for a scotch on the rocks. He had his own bottle stashed in a small refrigerator.

How to succeed in business

When he wasn't drinking, Grogan was a darn good teacher. He taught me the distribution side of the beauty salon industry. He taught me the importance of learning as much about the customer as possible, and he taught me to be greedy. Long before “Wall Street” character Gordon Gekko declared, “Greed is good,” Grogan had a sign on his desk that said: “BE GREEDY.” Grogan urged me not spend much time with ad agencies, explaining that most were more interested in the consumer business of our advertisers. That's where the big bucks were. “Spend as much time as you can with the marketing people and concentrate on the president,” Grogan advised. “He's the guy that makes the final decision.”

Although we served the salon industry, none of the vendors had a female president. The big names were the Gidwitz brothers from Helene Curtiss, Charlie and Marty Revson of Revlon, George Barrie of Fabergé (also a movie producer) and, last but not least, Dick and Bruce Gelb of Clairol.

For the first year or so, I followed Grogan's advice. I had small accounts and did cold calling. I'll never forget my first sale to a mom-and-pop business in the Bronx — they made shampoo in their bathtub. The contract was for 12 quarter pages at $600 each.

In 1960, I got lucky. Grogan assigned me a account that evidently he didn't expect to be a major one. Cosmair was the holding company for L'Oreal, now a major hair products company. The U.S. unit was located in a small office on 38th St. The firm had hired a sales vice president from Helene Curtiss, Walter Mishkoff. On my first visit, I made my presentation and he began to hassle me. I still don't know why. Maybe he was testing me. I ignored his barbs and continued. “Good job,” Mishkoff finally said. “I wanted to see how committed you really are.” I walked out of his office with 12 color pages, for a grand total of $72,000, and we became fast friends from that point on. Within three years L'Oreal was running 36 pages and was one of our top five accounts.

I made my first trip to the Chicago office and met Herb Vance, the owner of the company, and John B. (Jack) O'Neill, who was later to become a good friend and president of Vance. (Thirty years later I helped his son, Dave, land a job selling space for AMERICAN PRINTER.) There also was a Reagan in the office, and a Monahan and a Kelly. But I did not find a Jewish name, other than mine, on the list of company employees. It occurred to me that most Jews wanted to be comedians, not publishers.

M. Richard Vinocur is president of Footprint Communications. E-mail him at mrvinocur@aol.com.