Fraternity-Testvériség, 1969 (47. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1969-01-01 / 1. szám
English Section: ALDEN PALMER THREE GREAT INTANGIBLES FOR 1969 At New Year it is customary to talk about the building of a new outlook on life underwriting— To urge a reviewing of the past and the rooting out of habits that are destructive. Then to develop new methods that lead to finer success, and in supporting sucli a program, to emphasize the sound, established fundamentals of successful field work. Th ese fundamentals include what might he called the Tangible qualities, proven in the field: (1) organization of time; (2) planning each day’s activities; (3) rehearsing sales presentations; (4) intensive field work; and (5) studying for future development. These are, indeed, the Tangibles that are the foundation of permanent succeess and growth. But we are not going to discuss them here. For while vitally important, they cannot produce results alone. They need to be supplemented by what we might term the Three Intangibles. Like the additives for gasoline, they tone up the selling motor, keep the spark plugs clean and increase the power. These Intangibles—one or all—are too often neglected or overlooked. They are: 1— Enthusiasm 2— Firm belief in life insurance 3— Acceptance of the underwriter’s duty Without these Intangibles, much of the selling effort will be lost. Without them, work becomes wearying, the day tiring, and the words of the sales presentation can become, as St. Paul said about love, “as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.” Failure can be, and many times is, the direct result. II Why can’t a salesman—or a public speaker—give himself to his subject enthusiastically? Why can’t he put his whole heart into what he says? I have listened to speakers who were real experts in their field and who had important messages. I have heard them speak in dry monotones, never lifting their voices, each sentence ending in almost a murmur. They would drag on and on and on, until their listeners were almost bored to tears. Malty years ago I sat next to the speaker at an Underwriters’ luncheon in Detroit. The speaker, now dead a long time, was a high official in one of our great life insurance service institutions—a brilliant man, with a well-organized talk. But he read it, and read it poorly—hesitatingly and stuinblingly, in a hard-to-hear monotone. He had no change of pace, no emphasis anywhere. Three men went to sleep as he talked. One was over in the far left corner, another in the right center, and the third right down in the second row, directly under the speaker. There he sat, his head tilted back and his mouth wide open, quietly purring like a contented tomcat. I admired the speaker for being able to carry on. I never could have, I’d have yelled “Fire!”—anything to have waked that snorer. 1 have known life underwriters who did much the same thing. Why? I can’t understand. For their messages point out the greatest perils in living, and dramatically outline how life insurance can he used to avoid them. What do prospects think of such an underwriter? TU tell you: They think he only half believes in what he is selling. And the prospect may be right! III One of the great orators of two generations ago was All >ert J. Beveridge, Senator from Indiana for twelve years. I heard him make many speeches; particularly, one in tlie 1908 campaign. When introduced, Beveridge came charging down the stage, in seemingly a dozen pounding steps. He had his hands raised to high heaven, his face contorted, his eyes flashing. As he reached the stage center he brought his hands down hard upon the lectern, and shouted: “Gentlemen, this time Right wins!” Of course the Senator’s opening statement was actually empty words—almost meaningless. But not to us in the audience. The whole house roared with our wild cheers. I could sense the feeling around me. We all leaned back in great relief, confident now that at last America was safe! The thing that impressed us—I know now—was not the words, but the enthusiasm with which they were spoken. Just think: Five meaningless words and thousands of men leap to their fet cheering! Why, I reckon Beveridge could have declaimed “black is black” and with such enthusiasm, his audience would have felt it had heard an announcement of worldshaking importance. These two examples of apathy and enthusiasm are worth remembering. IV Here is, to some, an amazing fact: Prospects and audiences are alike in that they respect an enthusiastic speaker, and are glad to listen to him. But they scorn an unemotional, spiritless speaker, whether he is a salesman or a public speaker. And they will try to get rid of him. So they show the salesman to the door, and they snore in the face of the speaker. There is something inspiring and uplifting in the delivery of an enthusiastic sales presentation, just as in the effort of a passionate orator. Even though we may 11
