Sellenthal Column #8 – SELLING WAS AND IS A FAMILY AFFAIR FOR THE MANDELS

This is Part I of a two part column. Part II will be published tomorrow.

Author's Note

Those of you who read my 2020 book, "The Last Book About Selling That You'll Ever Need" (Amazon, $21.95), will remember Charlie Mandel, who tutored me on effective selling techniques before I got angry with him and ended our long relationship in the early 1990s (he passed away at 81 in 2016).

Regretting having done so, I contacted his two sons, Marc and Doug, and told them that I had devoted a praiseworthy chapter in my book to him which they seemed to appreciate. When I began my syndicated monthly how-to column on the art of selling over a year ago and then, more recently, started posting it with greater frequency on Substack, I let his boys know that I was planning to write a column about Charlie and his impact on both of them and their highly successful careers.

Happily, both Marc and Doug remember their father with warmth and appreciation, the kind that my own three boys have bestowed on me for the better part of six decades.

To do full justice to both father and sons, it became evident that this column needed to be presented in two parts. Part I on Charlie is what you are about to read and Part II on his sons will appear tomorrow.

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Part I: AS A SELLER HIS WAY WAS THE ONLY WAY FOR CHARLIE MANDEL

I've got a lot of Charlie Mandel stories I like to tell, none more memorable than the one that took place on a media day (it was actually a two-day event) sponsored by a New York advertising agency that encouraged magazine executives to make presentations extolling the values and benefits of their publications.

When Charlie arrived, the agency executive in charge welcomed him with these words: "Charlie, we just saw a really interesting slide presentation from the gentleman who preceded you. I was just wondering whether you, too, had a slide presentation to share with us."

IT'S CRUCIAL TO GET AUDIENCE'S ATTENTION

Charlie, who hadn't yet sat down, eschewed technology whenever possible in favor of a large envelope that he filled with memo pads containing scribblings related to the power of the publications he represented, along with doodles (he later explained to me that he wanted to spare people the hassle of taking notes).

Unruffled by the question, Charlie replied, "You want to see a slide presentation, I'll show you a slide presentation." That said, he backed up a few steps and then ran toward the conference table and slid under it. As attendees looked on in disbelief, they could hear him ask, "Safe or out?"

I'm not recommending it but give Charlie credit for getting everyone's attention.

Another time, Charlie was selling advertising space for a men's sophisticate magazine - he described it as something just short of a "dirty" book - when he introduced himself to me on a bus that took us to work in the morning to midtown Manhattan and then, at the day's end, back to the apartment complex in Whitestone, Queens, where we both lived with our wives and kids.

It was 1967 or 1968 and Charlie was an argument-waiting-to-happen, a seasoned smart-ass spoiling for a confrontation with just about anyone on the bus - except me, that is. He liked me immediately and I wasn't at all sure that I was pleased with this. Back then, I was still exclusively an editor - but, as things turned out, Charlie was destined to become an invaluable tutor when I began selling space a year or so later. He was stunningly good at it - albeit unnecessarily obnoxious at times.

He enjoyed regaling me with personal war stories related to selling and I listened with fascination, wondering how much of them were fictionalized in order to enhance their impact. It took me a few years before I was convinced that they were largely true, but I never quite believed the one about the time he was tossed unceremoniously out of the office of the marketing director of a tuxedo retailer in Philadelphia after being told his magazine didn't measure up to the image of the product being sold.

A NO CAN BE A SALES EFFORT'S BEGINNING

"It was the shortest meeting in the history of the world," I remember Charlie telling me. "He took a quick look at my magazine, threw it on the floor, made his image comment, and declared that the meeting was over."

Charlie continued: "I was working on straight commission and the roundtrip fare to Philadelphia was coming out of my own pocket. If I had to go home empty-handed, all I knew was I wasn't going without a fight."

Charlie said he had somehow managed to reach the company's president on the telephone by misrepresenting himself as a writer who was planning to do a major article on tuxedos but had been told that the company no longer sold or rented their products and instead was now selling images. The confused owner allegedly demanded that Charlie come to his office immediately so he could show him his vast array of formalwear. According to Charlie, once he explained that the readers of his magazine were mostly young men who needed tuxedos for proms, he claimed to have sold the owner four back covers.

Interestingly, I never got around to questioning the story's veracity and, when I began thinking about it years later, I was no longer speaking to Charlie.

As wacky as some of his notions and actions related to selling seemed at first, it was clear that he knew how to capture the attention of prospects and make a strong case for utilizing his publications. And he managed to do so in an entertaining manner by prefacing them with his storytelling skills.

BREAK THROUGH BARRIERS WITH CREATIVITY

Once when I was in his office, he got a long-awaited callback from an executive in the alcoholic beverage industry whom he had been trying to reach seemingly forever.

"Thanks for getting back to me," Charlie said. "I know you are incredibly busy, which is why I'm willing to pay your hourly rate for the time you spend with me discussing ways for me to break into your category. It will be worth every penny because I can't succeed without the expertise of someone like you. So, what's your hourly rate and when can I come by?"

A few minutes later when he had completed the call, I asked Charlie with sheer wonderment whether he had just hired a potential advertiser as a consultant.

"That's exactly what I did," he said. "Do you think I'll get his business? And, while I'm at it, maybe a couple of other liquor accounts?"

His questions were rhetorical, but I found myself nodding in agreement anyway because the power and simplicity of his concept struck me as foolproof.

Thanks to Charlie and his boldness, over the years I've hired a half-dozen or so decision-making prospects either as advisors or to create promotional material for me on a freelance basis.

Much later, when his career had lost some of its luster, I hired Charlie to help me run a couple of magazines, one of which I owned in part. He under-performed and I over-reacted - and the rest is history, but these days I enjoy thinking about him and the positive impact he had on some of the success I've experienced.

Charlie was an original, someone worth emulating in many ways. No, he wasn't perfect - but, at his best, he was a kick-ass, imaginative seller who taught me a lot. And he was much the same and more for his sons.