The Oakwood Press (Oakwood

FIDDLESTICKS
by Fagin Fogg

Whatever has become, do you suppose, to the old fashioned salesman who simply showed you his product, rattled off its features, and then asked whether you wanted to buy it? The fact that you probably answered "No" and slammed the door in his face is doubtless indicative of something and may, in fact, be the answer. Maybe that is no way to sell and never was, because it is certainly not used at all today. Today, you are rarely shown the product that is being sold, and are frequently unacquainted with exactly what you have bought until the down payment has been made and the weekly payments arranged for.

I well remember when I was sold $110 ($10 down, and ten dollars monthly for an endless period) worth of parental pride. Until that time I didn't know what real parental pride meant. I had not imagined, until the salesman told me, how I would feel when my daughter graduated with highest all-time honors at Smith college. He mentioned Smith but indicated I would feel much the same at any other institution of higher learning. Until the salesman described the sensation, I had never dreamed how all-fired proud I would be when my son, then a nondescript fledgling, became known as the keenest young man in this Congressional district and rode into Congress on a tide of public demand. Until the salesman, operating in overdrive, explained the pride and pleasure of being nominated Father of the Year my candidacy for the honor had never once occurred to me. And while I could go on describing this expert's sales talk at considerably greater length, I will pause here and ask you to guess what he was selling. The answer is books. He was selling a set of books which, when read by the children, would produce, as a by-product, a wonderful education but which, more importantly, would make me the proudest father in America. Was it not worth many times $110 to be the proudest father in America? I could only conclude it was. As it turned out, the children didn't care for the books, and while I am a proud father I guess I am not the national champ in that regard.

The point is: that salesman, like most others, was selling a sensation. To enjoy the sensation you had to buy the article, in this case books.

Who buys insurance anymore? Nobody, I guess, because insurance as such is no longer offered for sale. A wide variety of other things are available, however. A planned program for security, for instance. Or, retirement in Florida at $200 a month. (Florida is generally indicated but it is possible that retirement elsewhere could also be arranged). Or protection against long-time inflationary trends. Or an amplified income based on your Social Security expectancy. These are only a few of the dreams you may buy which all boil down to insurance. But insurance is never discussed by today's insurance salesman. And since he drives a Cadillac his methods probably work.

I cannot help wishing I had appreciated this principle of selling a good many years ago when it was my practise to work the neighborhood with a variety of 10 and 25 cent articles which,
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Fiddlesticks-
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when sold, would fetch me a B-B gun or a woodsman's knife or a sleeping bag from some distant promoter.
My methods were rather dreadful. When the housewife came to the door I would display my articles, mumble the price, and give her a mute, appealing look. Sales were few and far between.
Today, I would go at it differently.
Madam, do you wish a yard that will be the envy of your neighbors, that will take you into socially elect circles where, within time, you will succeed to the presidency of the city's garden club, and see your picture on the first page of the Sunday Society section?
The product? Flower seeds.
Madam, do you wish a reputation as this community's most accomplished hostess, a woman envied, admired and cultivated for her obvious discrimination and her attention to the niceties of entertaining?
The product? Silver polish.

Good morning, Madam. There are, in this nation, few women who enjoy the affection that can be yours when, for an insignificant investment, you reveal your sympathy in time of sickness or sorrow, your joy at times of another's success, your warm appreciation of those days and seasons so important in the lives of others. The product? A box of rather gray greeting cards.
I believe the new salesmanship would have approached those selling problems in very much that way. And I cannot help wishing I had known of this method when I was selling the silver polish. By the time I sold the 12 bottles I had outgrown the sleeping bag.
From the opposite side of the problem, however - from the buyer's side, that is -- do you agree with me that all of this can be baffling in the dad-burned extreme at times?