How I Succeeded in My Business

Secrets of Success as Revealed by the Best Current Literature

STEPHEN LEACOCK

I HAD been employed in one business and another quite a good few years, more years than I cared to look back upon; and yet I hadn't made good. I hadn't made good, and I knew I hadn't made good, and sometimes the knowledge that I hadn't made good made me feel bad. Often I said to my wife when I came home nights, "Doll", I said, "I haven't made good". "No, Jim, old boy", she'd say, "I know you haven't made good, but never mind you'll make good yet". And then I'd see a tear fall from her eye onto the dresser. After that I'd go out and sit in the back yard and feel real bad.

Often I used to think it over as to why it was I hadn't made good. I'd had about as much education as most, and more experience than many and better chances than some. I was willing enough and steady enough. I was a non-drinker and a non-smoker; I never touched a card and had never seen a horse race in my life, and never been inside the doors of a poolroom. Yet I knew as well as anybody just where my shortcomings were: I lacked pep, I had no punch, I had practically no magnetism, and I didn't react quickly on a given environment. And I knew that now-adays in business it is magnetism, and pep, and reaction that make for success. Then, too, I failed in the little things: I couldn't add up more than one column of figures at a time and my memory was no good: things seemed to slip out of it. Often when I came home of an evening I'd say to my wife, "Doll", I'd say, "my memory is no good". "What is it you can't remember, Jim?" she'd say. "I forget", I'd answer, and I'd groan.

The Diet of Successful Men

THEN also, though of course I didn't know it, my diet was all wrong. Every morning I filled myself up with coffee, and I was a meat eater, and I used to enjoy every meal I ate without any idea of the proper proportion of farraginous and nitrogenous units. I had no notion in those days that for every unit of albuminous farrago that a man eats, he ought to have a definite quantity of hydrogen and a fixed proportion of pollen.

Well, I was thinking it all over one Monday morning in the back yard before going to work, when all of a sudden the reason of my failure came to me like a flash. I had no belief in myself: that was it. I couldn't accomplish anything because I couldn't believe in myself and didn't react upon myself. I got up and I walked right into the house to the kitchen where Doll was getting the breakfast ready. "Doll", I said, "I've found out what was wrong. I've got to believe in myself"* and I hit the table with my fist till it jumped up. "Oh, Jim", Doll said, "you frighten me!" "Ha! Ha!" I laughed—that was the first time in six years Doll had ever said that I frightened her—"I frighten you, do I? Well, then, fetch me some farraginous food". "Won't you have your bacon", says Doll, "I was just getting it ready?" "No, Doll", I said, "don't you realize that bacon contains more units of nitrogen than I can absorb in the office. The attempt to absorb nitrogenous food, Doll, depresses the nerve centres and lowers the tone of the system. Get me some sour buttermilk and half a dipper of baked beans so cooked as to emphasize their albuminous properties." "Coffee?" said Doll. "No, Doll", I answered, "not a drop: get me a little popped bran, mixed with warm water".

Well, I got my breakfast and I started down to the office for my new job just feeling fine. I could sense myself reacting against everything. "Jim Dudley", I kept repeating to myself, "you're going to make good". The first person I ran into at the office was the general manager just going in.

"You're ten minutes early, Dudley", he said.

"Mr. Kitson", I answered, "I'd rather be early than not: the employee who values his employer's time more than his own reacts backward to his own emolument".

And with that I opened my desk and got right to work. I guess I never worked in my life as I did that morning. Everything seemed easy. Letters I would have taken half an hour to consider I answered in two minutes. And every letter I answered I tried to put in just a little sunshine. Even if I didn't know who the correspondent was I found time to write in Peek-a-boo! or Keep on Smiling! or some little thing like that. "Jim Dudley", I said to myself, "you're going to make good".

Two or three times in the morning Mr. Kitson walked through the office. "Hard at it, Dudley", he said. "Mr. Kitson", I answered, "the employee who is not hard at it is defrauding both himself and his employer of his proper integument".

Well, along about one o'clock Mr. Kitson came over to my desk. "Dudley", he said, "I've something I want to talk to you about, come out to have lunch with me". "All right, Mr. Kitson", I answered, "I've one more postcard to write and then I'll come". "Never mind the postcard, Jim", he said, "that can look after itself". "Mr. Kitson", I said, "Napoleon used to make it a rule never to begin a postcard without finishing it".

Swinging on Spinach

WELL, I got the postcard all nicely fixed up and signed and got my hat and went out with Mr. Kitson to a swell club. There was a big bill of fare, but I took no meat at all, only half a bucket of spinach. I noticed that Mr. Kitson ate nothing but boiled watercress.

"Now, Jim", said Mr. Kitson, "I've had my eye on you all the morning, and I believe you're the man we want. The company wants some one to go to Kansas City to line up a man and to swing a big proposition".

"Mr. Kitson", I interrupted, "I can line him up and swing it".

"When can you go?"

"Right now", I said, "as soon as I finish my spinach. Just tell me what it is that I swing when I get there".

"Good!" he said. "The man that you are to see is John Smith of John Street. Can you remember the name? Better write it down".

"I don't need to", I said. "Just say the name over three or four times and my memory will take a grip on it. I'll take a few deep breaths while you say it".

So I went right over to the house and packed my grip.

"Doll", I said, "I'm off to Kansas City".

"What to do?" Doll asked.

"To swing a proposition", I answered. "It's a big thing, Doll, with big people, and if I make good we'll come out big".

I left on the cars that night, and all the way out I ate grass and cultivated my memory and reacted all the time on everything I saw.

Well, when I got to Kansas City, I found I was' up against something pretty big, all right. I found John Smith but he wouldn't see me. I went right into his office, and I said, "Mr. Smith, can I see you?" "No", he said, "you can't". However, I hung on. "Let me see you", I said. "No, I won't", he answered. Still I wouldn't give in. I went up to his house that evening and right into his library. "Can I see you now?" I asked. "No", he answered, "you can't see me". "Look here! Mr. Smith", I pleaded, "I've come two thousand miles to see you: let me see you!" "No, Dudley", he said, "I won't".

That went on four days and at last he gave in. "All right, Jim", he said, "state your business. What do you want?" "I want to line you up—swing you", I said, "come out with me, Mr. Smith, and eat spinach, and I'll tell you about it".

So I took him out to a swell restaurant where they had the best spinach in Kansas City. "Now", I said after we had eaten, "you're a big man and this is a big thing: we want to put over something pretty big and you're the man we want in on it. You're big".

Success at Last!

"JIM", he said, "you talk well. And what's more, you've got personality and that's the biggest thing in business to-day. As soon as I see a man who has personality, I do whatever he wants. Personality gets me every time".

So I got what I wanted, and I took the train right back to New York. Doll met me at the depot. I kissed her right there on the platform. "Did you swing it?" she asked. "Yes, Doll, I did", I answered. I saw Doll drop a tear right on the platform. "Good old Jim", shesaid.

Next morning I found an envelope on my desk with a cheque for five thousand dollars in it.

Well, that was how I got my first start. Once the firm found that I could line up a man and swing a thing of that size there was lots more for me to do. So the end of it was they made me the head of the company. "It's no use trying to keep you down, Jim", said Mr. Kitson. "You're the biggest of all of us".

So I went home to Doll and I said, "Doll", I said, "I'm made president of the company". "Oh, Jim!" she said, "you've made good. I'm so proud—and I'm proud of the company, too, now that you're president of it. So you must tell me all about it, what it does and what it makes and sells".

"Doll", I answered, "don't ask me. I've been so busy swinging propositions and lining things up and breathing and eating spinach, that I've never had time to find out what on earth the company does do".