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Sales Success Magazine | Sales Training | Success StoriesHow I Went From a Shoe Shine Boy to a Millionaire and Found Passion for Life
A Series Written to Inspire Those Who Want Passion for LifeChapter 4: The Barber and the Shoeshine Boy Click here for "Millionaire" directory. Timothy L. Drobnick Sr. SALES SUCCESS MAGAZINE ©2001,2002,2003 Published 7/20/2003 
Later in my life, I gave up on all of them, until forces brought me back on the path I needed to be, but that is another story for another time. But I will tell you that books written by Napoleon Hill, W. Clement Stone, Dale Carnegie, Zig Ziglar, and others played an important part in getting my thinking
in the correct path.
These seemingly conflicting desires grew. As I went on through school, I continued to pursue the arts as a career. I also started to feel that perhaps my call to serve humanity was to be with my families' religion as a minister. Pulling me the (seemingly) opposite ways of these desires, was a need to rescue my father, mother, brother and sisters from poverty. One thing I learned early about artists, was that very few of them had any marketing skills for their work, much less a desire for it. All they really wanted was to pursue their art. And almost any minister I knew, had pretty much taken a vow of poverty. How could I decide to be a minister and escape poverty? I searched for a solution. I mentioned in a earlier letter about my experience as a shoe shine boy. I want to talk a little more about the events there that relate to my coming to decisions on my dilemma. I worked in the Mission Barber Shop right next to the Mission Bar. This was the one that my artist friend Stew, killed himself in front of at high noon. Important parts of my point of view about life, and many important lessons were learned during my 2 years shining shoes. When you walked up to the Mission Barber Shop, you were greeted by an old spinning barber pole. Walking in, you could smell stale cigarette smoke, hair tonic and the hot lather kept ready in the boiler. The floor was hard tile, checkered black and white. There are four barber chairs made of turquoise colored porcelain from the 1930's or earlier. Mirrors covered both walls, and old vinyl chairs were placed opposite the barber chairs to wait in, while looking through outdated magazines pile up on stands next to them. In the back of the room, stands a very old elevated shoe shine stand with metal foot rests and a drawer underneath for supplies. Bob, (Robert Morris), the only barber and owner there, was rich in experience. He would tell me tales that I dare not take home. Many embarrassed me. Bob was quite a character. He had previously lived with his first wife in Billings, Montana, operating a barber shop at the airport. Bob was always game for anything that would promote his business with little to no investment. I think sometimes his values were a little screwy, but I respected him nevertheless, taking most things he said with a grain of salt. Anyway, his story goes, that one day while working in his airport shop, a stewardess came in and asked how much he charged to shave legs. Bob said, "why nothing at all!" Well before you know it, a parade of stewardesses are coming in to Bob's shop to get their legs shaved for free. Of course Bob calls the newspaper to get some free press and before you know it, he was on the front page. Bob thought this was really a hoot, and it was bringing in a lot of business. Unfortunately, his wife had a different point of view and the story ends with Bob in Sheridan, Wyoming at the Mission Barber Shop and his next wife. Bob liked to tell stories to his customers. He seemed to keep them coming back because of them. Of course, he did a great job on their hair also. Watching this, I learned that people liked to hear stories. It made them feel a part of something and wanted. He refused to be a part of the barber's union that set rules as to how much barbers could charge and advertise. I think there was a law against advertising at this time, so the union did not control that anyway. Well Bob would always charge 25 cents less than the other Barbers. This caused quite a stir. Sometimes a crowd of barbers from other shops would come up to the Mission to attempt to convince Bob to play fair. They all practiced price fixing. He retorted, "this ain't Russia, you heard of competition?" I watched Bob as he remained undaunted in the face of his adversaries. He seemed to rather enjoy being the odd man out. I had to respect him for this stand. Even though it did seem he was breaking the rules, they were only rules set by the barbers. Bob felt that a barber had a right to compete with the others on price as well as service. Even though this made him pretty unpopular with his peers, he stood for what he seemed to think was right. After that brick came through the plate glass window, Bob lowered his prices another 10 cents. Some things just never seemed to phase Bob. As a matter of fact, I rarely saw him get excited about anything. He was about 40 years old, and he had perfect red hair that would stay in place all day. He was rather short, only about 5'8", but was strong for his size. He always spoke just above a whisper, kind of like Marlin Brando in the "God Father". There were a couple occasions I witnessed him experience dramatic emotion. One day a boy about 12 years old came into the shop with hair past his shoulders, and a baseball cap. He was alone, climbed into the chair, and asked for his head to be shaved. Well, Bob hated long hair, and he loved any chance he could get to cut it. He even paid someone walking by his shop one day to get their long hair cut. Bob reached with his right hand across his chest to his ash tray and picked up his cigarette. He took a long draw on it as he looked with his squinted eyes at the boy. Laying his cigarette back in the ash tray, Bob clears his throat. "You want a crew cut?" "Yes", the boy replied. "You mean short?" Bob continued, "That is right" the boy repeated. "Does your mom know about this?" Bob drew these words out very slow, hoping to make sure the boy knew what he was doing. "Sure" came the answer. "Okay," Bob cautiously continued, "I sure hope it is O.K. with her." Bob cut off the long hair, the boy set in stone stillness. Not one expression came on his face. Giving him a nice crew cut, Bob brushed off the boy's neck and shoulders, and handed him a mirror. "How is that?" The boy raised his eyebrows, rubbed his hand over his head, slowly feeling the hair, and declared, "I want it shorter, I want you to shave it." Bob lit a new cigarette, sipped some coffee, took a long gaze at the boy, and then reached in the steamer for shaving cream. He shaved the boys head smooth. "How is that" Bob asked, finishing. "Great!" said the boy and bounded off the chair, gave Bob his money and put his hat back on. The hat fell over the boys eyes and ears, since there was now no hair to fit in the hat. Bob nearly swallowed his cigarette, but he held his laugh until the boy walked out. Roaring with laughter, Bob sat in his chair holding his belly. I laughed too, it was a funny scene to see that hat fall over his eyes. One hour later, guess who was back being towed by his mother? Yep, the boy, looking rather sheepish. "How could you do this to my son!" screeched the woman. "What kind of a barber are you?" Bob, in his smooth, quiet, unemotional voice said, "Well, you know it did seem kind of strange to me. But he insisted he wanted his head shaved. I didn't charge extra for the shave though". The woman opened her mouth, gasped, shut it, pursed her lips, opened her mouth, gasped and shut it again. Finally, flabbergasted, she squealed, "I will never come back here again!" and stormed out never letting go of that boys arm, who seemed to be enjoying the show. Bob started cracking up with laughter again. Even as I write this, I chuckle to remember it. Another time, I followed what I thought was serious advice. There was one fellow in particular that would never let me shine his shoes. He was tall, skinny, and dressed in a blah brown suit. He worked up the street as a stock broker. I had no idea what that was. All I knew was, he never sat down while he waited for his hair cut, but paced back and forth over the tile floor, rattling on and on about how bad the market was. He had nice shoes though. I really wanted to shine them. One visit after having again refused a shoe shine, I offered to shine his shoes for free. It bugged me seeing those nice shoes without a shine. I figured if he could see the good work I could do, the next time he would spring for a shine. The man stopped his fretting, looked at me like I was trying to scam him, and sternly said no. After he left Bob said, "you know how to sell him? The next time he refuses, tell him that sheep herders never shine their shoes." Gee, that seemed like a good line to me! I waited for the next visit, the man enters. After he sits down in the barber chair, and Bob wraps the cover around him, I ask "Sir, would you like a shine?" I received the usual "no." And then, I used that wonderful bit of advice that had been bestowed on me. "Well that is okay, because sheep herders never shine their shoes!" Bob about choked! It seemed he wanted to spit his coffee at the same time he was grabbing his throat from inhaling it. I got a look from the man, but that was it. Bob cut his hair, did the normal chit chat, and after the man left Bob says, "I was just kidding, you know." Of course, this taught me that the hard sale was not any fun. Click here to go to chapter 5. This article is copyrighted by Timothy L. Drobnick Sr. and no one has permission to copy or reproduce any part without written notarized permission from Timothy L. Drobnick Sr. ©2001,2002,2003 |
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