David's attendance at the sales managers' meeting results in an exciting new mission.

Years ago, when I was a teenager, my father began complaining of indigestion one evening after Mom made corned beef and cabbage for dinner. He tried the usual remedies, but his indigestion got worse. By morning he was dead. His indigestion was in fact a heart attack that went on and on for hours until it finally killed him.

Knowing that heart attacks are not necessarily sudden, I'm surprised I didn't recognize the symptoms sooner at that meeting. But, in any event, Gene Cherson did not die that morning. The paramedics must have arrived pretty soon after I started the mouth-to-mouth. They came with cases of gear and took over. A few minutes later Gene was on a stretcher and they were on the way to the hospital.

Just because I felt somebody should, I went after them, hailed a cab on the street, and followed the ambulance to the hospital. I sat in the waiting room off the intensive care ward, me and a bunch of dull green vinyl chairs, until Gene's wife got there. By then, the nurses said, Gene was stabilized and resting, and there was nothing for me to do except get back to work, trivial as that seemed in the scope of things.

It was early afternoon by the time I got to the sales managers' meeting, an all-day affair. I found the meeting room and as I walked in I was somewhat surprised to find none other than J. Reed Morrison himself sitting there at the table next to Jim Woller. After hearing about Gene, Morrison had apparently canceled his appointments to be there.

All faces around the table -- Cherson's staff (who knew me) and the sales managers themselves (who didn't yet) – turned to me as I came in.

Morrison held up his hand to stop the meeting and asked, "How is Gene doing?"

I told them as much as I knew.

"Must have been a rough interview," somebody said.

"Rougher on some of us than others," I said.

Which won a chuckle around the table and relieved some of the tension, but left me feeling guilty, because it wasn't really funny.

"For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, this is David Kepler," said Morrison. "He comes to us from IJK, which is where I met him. Most recently, he was head of marketing at IJK, which was struggling until David came in and got sales back on track. I've asked David to manage our product development function, because I think he has some ideas and viewpoints that could help us. Anyway, I invite all of you to get to know him."

The meeting resumed. A typical agenda for these meetings, I've been told, opened with some low-key presentations in the morning to the sales managers. This was when engineering or the R&D folks would wheel in new products, the ad manager would talk about new campaigns, market research would be reviewed, that kind of thing. Then, in the afternoon, it would be the sales managers' turn and Gene Cherson would hold court while the managers presented results for the previous quarter and forecasts for the next.

So now, with Morrison at the head of the table, the sales managers one by one got up and gave their grim reports. It had been an absolutely terrible fourth quarter. Sales were off 24 percent from the same quarter of the previous year, and down 10 percent from the third quarter, which also had been abysmally low. Huge numbers, tens of millions off the mark.

It was a sad parade made all the more miserable by the sales managers' struggle to make the news sound not quite so bad in front of the boss of bosses. The worst report came from Ann Lansky, sales manager for the Central Region, who was last to present that afternoon. Not that I think this is automatically significant, but Lansky was the first (and at that time only) woman to be named an Elemenco regional sales manager. More noteworthy in this context, Ann and her salespeople had been doing well even when everybody else's performance had stagnated. Until the reorganization, that is. Sales for the year just ended were more than 35 percent below her own projections.

"Wait a minute," said Woller as Lansky was concluding a summary that tried to make the numbers look better than they were. "I seem to recall that as of last quarter you had something like $40 million in pending contracts and other negotiations."

"Well ... I don't know if it was exactly $40 million," she said.

"All right, whatever it was, what the hell happened to those sales?" Woller asked.

Ann opened her mouth, but no words came.

"Your rate of successful closings is way, way off," said Woller. "And now you're telling me that for the first quarter of this year you only have $28 million pending. If your success rate on closings continues to be the same, how much of that $28 million are you going to bring home?"

Ann nervously put a finger to her temple and pushed back a strand of brown hair. Mostly brown, some gray. She was a woman in her early forties.

"Now wait a minute, Jim. If you look at what we all know is a very significant number, the sales dollar volume per salesperson ratio, you'll see we're not that bad," said Ann.

"Ann, less is still less!"

Ann hesitated for a few seconds, then said, "Yes, that's true. And I admit we've had a disappointing fourth quarter. But bear in mind, the rise in interest rates didn't help us any --"

Morrison cut in, saying, "Fine, Ann, I think that's all we need to hear. Thank you."

Getting up from the table, Morrison turned his back to the group for a moment. Morrison is a tall, fit, good-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the hard, narrow brow and eyes some of the advertising research folks say we subconsciously associate with dominance. When he turned back around his eyes drilled through everybody in the room.

"So this is where we begin," he said. "First of all, these results are totally unacceptable."

He looked directly at Ann.

"Some of you should be embarrassed by what you're turning in. All I can say is there had better not be another meeting in which we get a group of reports like these."

Ann was staring back defiantly, clearly very angry. Her look said, don't you dare tell me it's all my fault.

"I have to leave in a few minutes. But if anybody has any comments or suggestions I'd sure like to hear them," Morrison said. "Ann, you're looking straight at me. You got something to say?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. Morrison. With all due respect to Gene Cherson, I can't help but feel that some of the changes we made last year are at least partly responsible for what's happening. I'm not saying Gene's Lean Mean Marketing Machine wasn't a good idea, or that some trimming wasn't warranted. But maybe it's time we had a little more meat on the bones."

"What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying I need more resources, more good salespeople to get the job done."

"Bull," said Morrison. "You haven't even shown us you can be effective with what you have. Look at the numbers!"

"My salespeople have been working as many hours as ever," Ann argued. "And we're still not bringing in the sales."

"But that's exactly my point, said Morrison. "Nobody is questioning that you're all working hard. Nobody is questioning your dedication. But you're not selling effectively. Where are the results? Where are the sales? You've got to do better with what you've got."

But instead of backing off, Ann leaned forward. "Mr. Morrison, I had three good salespeople leave in the last six months. Not as a group. There was no conspiracy that I know of. They just were unhappy and they left."

"Then what are you doing as a sales manager that's causing these people to leave?" asked Morrison. "It's your job as a manager to keep your people satisfied and motivated so that they strive to reach the objectives of this organization."

With that, Ann sat back and kept quiet. Angry, but quiet.

"Are there any more questions or comments?" Morrison asked.

One brave soul asked, "Who's going to take over for Gene Cherson while he's in the hospital?"

"An interim manager will be announced shortly," said Morrison, not looking at Jim Woller, but in fact looking away from him.

Then Morrison glanced at his watch.

"All right, I have to leave," he said and turned to Jim Woller. "Jim, I want you and your people here to review your projections for the coming year. In my opinion, your sales targets need to be upwardly adjusted. I want you to come back to me by the end of the month with new, achievable targets and with strategies for how you are going to reach those targets. I do thank you all for your efforts. But it's going to take a lot more than ordinary effort to get this company growing again. We deserve to be in a leadership position, and it's your job to get us there. I expect more from all of you."

He began walking out of the room and Woller stood up to take charge. Just as Woller started to say something, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

On his way out, Morrison leaned down to whisper into my ear, "Come see me in my office after the meeting. I want to talk to you."

All eyes and ears were on Woller. He was a slim and smooth guy who had impressed me in our first meeting, because he seemed to know a lot about the electronics industry and about sales. But in our second meeting, it became obvious that he had told me most of what he knew about both in our first meeting. One of those kinds of guys. Still, he was energetic and personable, and not young, so maybe he had more to offer than he knew. I was hoping for that when he started his follow-up to Morrison's harangue.

"We all know that we have to get our salespeople to sell more product this year," said Woller. "But before we get down to discussing our actual sales targets, I've got something new on the agenda for you today. Fortunately, you're not going to have to go it alone when you get back to your offices. Because Gene Cherson, the marketing staff, and I have put together a program that can help us regain the initiative in the market," said Woller. "Will somebody get the lights, please."

Down went the lights and on came the slide projector.

Woller started reading from a script. "I'd like to introduce to you a powerful new force that will be working with us in the future. It's a force that can help all of us attain new heights in sales revenue and profitability. I'd like to introduce ... SAMMY!"

Up on the screen came a cute little cartoon figure with SAMMY on its chest. Across the table from me, Ann Lansky looked down at her lap and rubbed her forehead.

"And what does SAMMY mean?" Woller continued. "SAMMY means 'Sell All Markets to the Max this Year.' And that means new opportunities for sales growth for all of us. Most of your salespeople are accustomed to selling one or two types of product and service. We want to promote the idea that each of them is now capable of selling all Elemenco products to all customers."

That was Jim Woller's answer to the challenge. The sales managers were supposed to go back to the field with their SAMMY kits, fortified with their cartoon decals, a canned pep talk, and an incentive program, and just tell everybody to sell everything.

At first, I tried to listen noncritically, but I couldn't do it. Never mind that everything I'd learned at IJK told me this was an inadequate response, even instinct told me it was wrong. I suffered through most of the presentation with the rest of them, just to know what it was about. What made me feel worse was that a lot of hard work and a few dollars as well had gone into producing this. Finally, I decided I'd heard enough and sneaked out the door to find out what Morrison wanted.

I went up to 52, the Elemenco executive floor, and made my way back, past hardwood furniture and canvases of corporate art, to Morrison's office. The door was open. Morrison stood by the window in his shirt sleeves, looking out at Lake Michigan, which that afternoon looked gray and very cold.

"Don't jump," I said as I walked in.

Morrison turned and said, "Not even with a golden parachute. Come on in."

He gestured to the chair in front of the desk and we both sat down.

"How do you like it so far?" Morrison asked.

I tried to think of something clever to say, but the day had been so crazy that all I could do was wave my hands around vaguely in the air.

"Oh, that much?" said Morrison. "Well, at least you have your health."

He had talked to Cherson's wife and gave me the latest news, which was that Gene was awake and able to talk, and that he would probably make a reasonable recovery. But it would take time, a few months, maybe longer.

"Look, I'd like you to do me a favor," he said.

"What's that?"

"Check with Gene's wife every couple of days for the next week, will you, and then periodically after that. Find out how he's coming along, whether he needs anything, or if she or the family need anything we can help with. If they do, find a way to get whatever they need."

"Fine. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks," he said. "And I was also wondering if you would take over Gene's responsibilities for a while."

I'm sure my eyes blinked two or three times before I said anything.

"I can't say it'll be permanent," said Morrison, "but I'd like you to fill in either until Gene can return or until we can determine what to do about his position."

"This is unexpected," I said. "I'm flattered that you would ask me, and I'll be happy to accept, but aren't some of the other staff people more ... well, you know what I mean. They probably know how things work around here a little better than I do."

"I'm finding that the way things work in the Elemenco marketing department isn't necessarily for the best," said Morrison. "You're right, though. Ordinarily, I'd ask Jim Woller to step in. But after last year's performance, there's no way I'd do anything that might be construed as a promotion to him. He's not solely to blame, of course, but that would just be the wrong message. No, I want you to step in for the moment, if you're willing. After all, I know you and I know I can count on you. You want to give it a go?"

"Sure. I'll do my best," I said.

"Good," said Morrison. "Now, there are two parts to this. First, I want you to handle the day-to-day. Run the meetings, field the phone calls, collect the reports, do the numbers, put out the fires. Delegate whatever you can, of course. But no changes in personnel or policy without my approval. And if you have to make any spending decisions over $25,000 I want you to talk to me first. Is that clear?"

So he wanted me to be a caretaker. I found that a little depressing, but I said, "Okay. What's the second part?"

"I want you to make an assessment of our marketing," Morrison said. "It's clear that we're not doing something right. So I'd like you to think about how the sales force can break through whatever it is that's holding us back. Maybe from the top seat in marketing you can get a better overview of what works and what doesn't."

I was nodding. This part I found exciting.

"I'm leaving tonight for Europe," Morrison said. "We're setting up some new operations over there, and I really need to be on hand. So I'll be out for two weeks. When I get back, what do you say we get together and talk?"

"Sounds fine."

He said that before he left he would send around a memo announcing me as the temporary replacement for Cherson.

Then Morrison stood up to shake my hand.

"Go to it," he said.

To Chapter 3

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