Life Changer

In 1966, I found myself working for my father-in-law, Ed, who owned a tree service. Within a few months, I realized I wasn’t cut out to be climbing trees like a monkey. I watched Ed line the crew out and then head off to sell the next job, and I felt a surge of envy. I didn’t want the chainsaw; I wanted the briefcase.

Back then, 'Recon' was a different animal. Without LinkedIn or digital headhunters, I spent my days off scouring the newspapers and knocking on doors. After a relentless series of interviews, I stumbled upon a help-wanted ad for a company, named SONY, I knew nothing about.

I dialed the number and landed an interview at their office in Rosemont, Illinois—a 30-minute haul from our home in Arlington Heights. The role was for 'Inside Sales.' It wasn't exactly the 'Outside' freedom I craved, but I figured: What the heck, let's see what happens.

I filled out the application as 'Anthony.' When the sales manager, Jerry McCann, asked if he could call me 'Tony,' I agreed, even though it felt strange to answer to it. Jerry liked my background—he saw the hustle I’d learned cold-calling for my brother Ernie and selling Cutco Knives. We bonded over our military service, and he saw my Marine Corps discharge and my marriage as signs of stability.

Then, he gave me the pitch. He described Sony as a 'small Japanese electronics company' specializing in portable transistor products—radios, tape recorders, and televisions. As I listened, my enthusiasm sparked. I wasn't just looking for a job anymore; I was looking at the future.

RULE

Breaking The Ice

In the reorganization, I was promoted to the Southeast Territory. It was undeveloped, rough, and the 'Next Shock' for my career. Selling high-priced, high-quality Japanese electronics in low-income neighborhoods in South Chicago and Northern Indiana was a steep climb.

The biggest hurdle wasn't just the price—it was the history. The shadow of WWII loomed large. I’ll never forget the camera store owner who ordered me out the moment he heard 'Sony' because of the brother he lost in the war. I didn't push; I retreated. 

Two weeks later, I went back without samples. I asked for his story, listened to his pain, and then shared mine—the 'Luckiest Marine' who survived by typing. That honesty broke the ice. He didn't just become a customer; he became a friend. Within a year, my 'Recon' in those rough neighborhoods paid off. I was promoted to Assstant Key Account Manager, handling the giants: Carson Pirie Scott, Polk Brothers, and Goldblatt’s. Hoorah! A year later, I became the Key Account Manager.