STORIES and MORE by JACK

 This is my recollection of my first job interview in the toy industry…the industry, that unknown to me at the time, was to be my employer for the next forty years. On that summer day back in 1956, I cooled my heels at the headquarter offices of Lionel Trains, located on 26th street, across Madison Park from the Toy Building at 200 fifth Ave., with not the slightest interest in working in the toy business. My sights had been set on "bigger" industries and since no other job interview was available that day, I was taking this one just for the experience. The Lionel offices were both excitingly themed to their business & posh featuring a huge operating train layout display that was in those days a major tourist attraction...but my knowledge, interest, and desire to become a toy man was still yet to be revealed to me... 

As I sat in the Lionel office lobby, waiting to be summoned for my interview, I was awed by the nearly life size model of a steam engine’s front end that appeared to be roaring right out of the wall. Like the huge toy train layout that dominated the gallery just beyond the lobby, these displays very dramatically underscored the theme of the Lionel business...making toy trains that were advertised as "a lifetime's investment in happiness". Tired of thumbing through magazines, I engaged the receptionist in conversation about this most famous of toy companies. My interest tweaked as she told me of the company’s colorful history. The Lionel name was premier in the toy industry, tracing back to the early 1900s when Joshua Lionel Cowen founded the company. From that modest beginning, Lionel’s skillful management of a popular cultural toy icon developed into a big business, and one of America’s best recognized brands.  Mid ‘50s sales volume was 25 million dollars, equivalent in 2000 terms to a 500 million-dollar enterprise! And all of this was accomplished with a sales group of only 14 field salesmen. Not a bad place to be for beginning a career...certainly as compared to the army of look-alike rivals I would have had compete with in a "big" company.

With more interest in this job than when I first arrived at Lionel’s office, I was finally called into Mr. Sam Belser’s office for my interview. He was the National Sales Manager, and very smartly tailored, like all the men and women I had witnessed taking care of business that day. No nonsense managers, scurrying about the office these were the sophisticated and well dressed embodiment of what I thought successful New Yorkers were supposed to look like; particularly impressive to a young guy just recently sprung loose from the world of military uniforms, and casual college attire. I also remember clearly how fashionable the men looked in their colored dress shirts, eschewing the dictum of only white shirts that was still the regimen in stuffier businesses. It was a time before trousers for women were acceptable, but open to glamorous women in tight skirts, very high heels, lots of jewelry, layered make-up, and black tailored blouses and jackets. Fifty years later, I'm still amused how de rigueur is the color black for business attire in NYC, and most major cities around the world.

Mr. Belser’s demeanor was pleasant, if a bit detached, and he seemed vaguely uncomfortable with conventional interview banter, removing his rimless glasses frequently to wipe them with a handkerchief.  I learned later that that was indeed the case, since Lionel had not hired a new salesman in years, and Mr. B was almost as inexperienced at interviewing as I was at being interviewed.

But we did our best. He asked me clichéd questions for which I supplied clichéd answers. At one point, he surprised me by interrupting in mid-sentence my claim to being the world’s best candidate for this job, with an unexpected inquiry about smoking.  I told him that I did indeed smoke, to which he smiled for the first time, and implored me to give him a cigarette. He had quit the habit, you see, or rather he had quit buying cigarettes, and he now needed one badly.  In the 5 years I spent at Lionel, Mr. Belser never ceased to “borrow” cigarettes from me, occasionally balancing the scales when he would call me in to his office to repay me with a carton of Pall-Malls.

Sam Belser ended our discussion when he simply asked me if I wanted the job. I responded by telling him I was flattered, and would like to learn more about Lionel before answering. He seemed agreeable to that idea, and instructed me to wait in the lobby, for another interview with the company Vice President, Mr. Allen Ginsburg. Sam Belser’s physical appearance was professorial and mildly comical since he bore a faint resemblance to Burt Lahr, the actor of Cowardly Lion fame in the Wizard of Oz. As National Sales Manager, Mr. Belser was both a professional, and a gentleman.  He remains in my memory, as one of my earliest and fondest contacts in the business world.

Mr. Ginsburg, from the first handshake conveyed his in-charge personality and New York urbanity. He looked like a paunchy, elegant owl in stylish horn rimmed glasses, generous girth, and slick black hair. His very broad smile had the effect of zipping his eyes so tightly shut that the silly speculation popped into my youthful noggin that maybe this rendered him sightless. An impeccable pinstripe suit, Church’s English wing-tipped shoes, and fifty dollar tie filled out the picture of a guy who could well have been one of the “regulars” at the bar of the 21 Club. When he spoke, his ideas came out precise and clear, and he seemed on familiar ground employing the power of language to get things accomplished. Before coming to Lionel, Allen Ginsburg had been a big shot at Macy’s in NYC, and his extraordinary talents were vital to Lionel in the rapidly changing world that was impacting their business in the late 1950s.  More on that later. 

Mr. Ginsburg, presumably satisfied by Mr. Belser’s support for my candidacy, proceeded quickly to the bottom line. The job as a “sales executive” (really just a fancy title for a junior salesman for the New England Region) was mine, if I wanted it, and if we could agree on what I should be paid. I was fully prepared to defend with Dale Carnegie persuasiveness my claim to no less than 100 dollars per week, justifying it as the level of pay I recently enjoyed as a First Lieutenant, USMC…when Mr. Ginsburg cut me short.  He thrust his hand at me and declared, “Great. Then we have a deal!” I left his office full of anticipation about my new career, but somewhat chastened by the possibility that I had sold myself short in our salary negotiation.

That first year “on the road” exposed me to the challenge, excitement, and glamour that confirmed the wisdom of joining Lionel.  My worry over salary negotiations proved moot, as Mr. G. personally rewarded me with three incremental pay raises that first year.  First class hotels, airline travel, expense accounts, company cars, and the money to live a high style bachelor’s life were heady new experiences for the kid from Kearny. The exhilaration of all this, plus the approval and encouragement of men that I respected, obscured the ominous warnings of a good business about to suffer from the changing landscape of American retailing. Ironically, 1956 proved to be the best year in Lionel’s history, but from there the toy train business was destined for derailment hidden just round the bend.

Jack Mason

Tryon, NC, 2001

Pushing through the revolving door of the Emery Waterhouse Company warehouse, I entered what had been a 19^th century shoe factory. An old fortress of a building, it was haunted by the smell of machine oils, leather hides, and the pipe tobacco of men that once labored there. But like many obsolete New England mills, originally built to weave textiles or make shoes, this old plant had been refitted to serve a new business after its original operators abandoned it for cheaper labor in the South, and overseas. Now it was home to the Emery Waterhouse Company, wholesalers of hardware merchandise to hundreds of small stores from Maine to Connecticut. As an adjunct to their nuts & bolts business, EW also distributed my line of Lionel Trains during the Christmas selling season.

But all was not well in Toyland. Hardware retailers, mostly small town Mom & Pop stores, were struggling to compete with the new mass merchandisers who were attracting consumers by cutting prices on famous brands. Unfortunately for my company and me, one of those famous brands was Lionel Trains.

I was 24 years old, with butterflies fluttering in my belly, when I asked the lady at the EW reception desk for direction to the sales meeting being held that evening in the cafeteria. After I found my way to the meeting place, that vaguely resembled a Temperance Hall, I took a seat on a folding chair in the back of the room. In front of me sat 100 gray-haired wrinkled salesmen, in wrinkled gray suits. 

They were attending an Emery Waterhouse pep-rally convened to educate field salesmen (no field saleswomen in those days) to new products and gin-up excitement for an upcoming sales campaign. But no whoop’n hollers hyperbole here. No revival tent fireworks tonight. Just an occasional solemn nod of the head, or discreet clapping would be enough to demonstrate their enthusiasm. Yankee decorum ruled.

Presiding over this meeting was EW Sales Manager, 50 year old Peter Cebula. A former “field man” himself, Peter was responsible for buying and selling the merchandise listed in the EW sales catalog. In a piercing Down East accent, tinged with a hint of Cebula’s French-Canadian ancestry, he presented the men with generous new deferred payment deals, and demonstrated the improved packaging for their 12-piece private-label wrench set. He assured the field people that there would indeed be no shortages of electric house fans this coming summer, as had been the case last year, etc, etc. Since he was one of them, the old-timers trusted his promise that if they got the order, he would make certain it got shipped. An important concern for men who only got commission checks based upon what got delivered to their dealers.

At a meeting in Peter’s office, the day before, Peter had rocked me with the news that his company was no longer going to offer Lionel trains for sale to their dealers. Cebula had polled his sales force to see if they thought they should continue selling Lionel products to their dispirited dealers. The old gents said no. They had had it. And so it looked like a rookie salesman, like yours truly, was faced with the disaster of losing a major distributor on my first call!

This is why I wound up at the sales meeting, waiting my turn to speak to the sales force. I had persuaded Cebula to agree that, if I could convince his men to give Lionel another try, EW would continue as a Lionel Trains distributor. A daunting challenge for a young “factory man” in a Brooks Brothers suit and bow tie, coming up from New York to try to talk them out of throwing in the towel. Mr. Cebula had nothing to lose, and maybe feeling a little sorry for my predicament, agreed to let me give it a shot. So here I was, waiting for my 30 minutes to attempt the impossible.

After an hour or so, from behind the draped card table where he had been making his presentation, Peter spotted me in the back and nodded a signal that it was my time to speak. Gathering myself up, I scooted to the front of the room, briefcase in hand, as Mr. Cebula informed his audience that I was the new factory man from Lionel Trains, replacing the retired Mr. Myles J. Walsh. (Actually, Mr. Walsh wasn’t exactly retired—he was out of action having just lost one of his many battles with the Demon Rum)

Laying my briefcase on the table, I clicked open the snaps, took out my shiny new 1957 Lionel catalog, and shouted “Good Evening Gentlemen” in my best baritone voice, hoping I could hide my nervousness with a big, confident smile. I then proceeded in my usual routine of showing the catalog illustrations of our wonderful new line, prattling on about Lionel quality and Lionel’s indisputable popularity with kids. But it soon became clear from 100 empty faces that I might as well be talking to the wall. The terrifying awareness that my message was “bombing” made my knees go wobbly. It was time for something drastic, or I was a goner.

So I plunked down the catalog, and scowling my best “I-mean-business” scowl, strode round to the front of the card table to look the “hostiles” in the eye. “Gentlemen”, I said, “something is wrong here, and I’d like you to give it to me straight. Please feel free to say exactly what’s on your mind.”

After a brief silence, I appealed again. “C’mon, what’s the deal?” This finally got the ball rolling as a grumpy old-timer blurted out “We can’t sell this stuff to our people. There’s too much price-cutting”. After that another guy chimed in, “Yeah, the discounters are killin’ us. We need protection”. For the next few minutes the room came alive with hardware salesmen up in arms over the problem that eventually changed the face of American retailing. But like the weather, complaining about discounting wasn’t going to change it. It was a problem for which there was no easy answer, and certainly not one that could be expected from a rookie peddler like me. That was when despair became the mother of invention. I decided to go for it with an all-or-nothing brainstorm.

“Gentlemen”, I shouted, flirting with a corny imitation of Jimmy Stewart in “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.” “Hold on a minute. If I’m not mistaken it’s only a few miles from here, to over there in Massachusetts, where those brave fellas at Lexington put it on the line. Did they sacrifice everything just so you could have it easy? What would they think about hollerin’ for protection? No they did it to be free from protection. To compete, not complain.”

Now, you’ve got to know that I took this bizarre tack because I simply didn’t know what else to say. I had to come up with SOMETHING to save this account and to save my own bacon as well.  So I continued to wave the flag, and pound on the wacky notion that it was their patriotic duty to stick with Lionel! Remember the Maine, Tippicanoe, and Pearl Harbor too! With over-the-top rhetoric that only the young and desperate are capable of, I fogged the room in a cloud of chauvinistic hot air--and prayed my Yankee Doodle bamboozle would work.

When I first saw a glimmer of response, a few heads bobbing in agreement, I actually began to think that maybe I was on to something. Good Lord, was I beginning to buy into my own malarkey? Nevermind, the only thing that counted now was NOT LOSING Emery Waterhouse.

And so I continued on to some sort of smarmy finale, which I don’t precisely remember. But the gist of it was, you owe it to yourselves and your families, you owe it to your dealers, you owe it to AMERICA.. to stay in the Lionel game.  And it worked!

As an old man looking back on all this, I confess that it makes me blush to think I resorted to such jingoistic shtick. But I must also confess that on that long-ago night in icy New Hampshire, I reveled in my victory. When for the moment I was the MVP of the Lionel sales force. King Kong in an Ivy League suit. Jack the giant killer.

As it turned out, my triumph was short lived. Yes, when I left the meeting that night with order in hand, I felt on top of the world. But 5 months later old fickle fate had the last word when Peter Cebula phoned me his final decision on dropping the line. His guys had indeed gone out, inspired by my bombast, and given it their best. But reality got in the way, and when their dealers persisted in abandoning the Lionel business to the discounters, Emery Waterhouse had to admit it was over for them as well. So in August 1957 they resigned the Lionel line for good. It was the end of an era for Emery Waterhouse. It was the beginning of the end for Lionel.  But it was just the beginning for me.

Jack Mason

April 23, 2002

Hong Kong… here I come!

(This is copy of letter I penned to my wife & family describing my first trip to Hong Kong in January, 1976. Above picture shows old Kai Tek airport where I landed))

Wed.1/7/76, 12:10 PM, NYC

The trip now begins to become a reality as I board the JAL DC-8 welcomed by smiling Japanese stewards in their naval-like uniforms, and businesslike Oriental hostess girls smartly costumed in modern dark blue suits. Background Muzak features hauntingly relaxing eastern sound…interrupted by a crisp, heavily accented pilot announcement, first in English & followed in Japanese (almost sounds military!) My mind a happy confusion of thoughts concerning my dear family reading this account & the eager anticipation of a new experience. Up, up, & away!! Comfortable in left side window seat, empty all across the aisle to opposite side of cabin. Great view & quiet opportunity to read Centennial.

Wed 1/7 2:38PM Anchorage

Landed in Alaska after flying over Great Lakes area & NW Canadian Territory…saw pipeline, lots of wilderness and some very beautiful & very snowy mountains. During layover attempted phone call to Marino but couldn’t locate. Enjoyed long distance phone check with my family & reported my safe progress. Witnessed many Japanese shoppers at Anchorage Intl. Terminal duty-free stores. First time in a non-Caucasian crowd. Left Alaska @ 4:00PM their time for 7 ½ hr. flight to Tokyo. Map check surprisingly shows Anchorage almost as far west as Honolulu.

Wed 1/7/76 11:30EST

Flying SW across Bering Sea visibility is fair with clearly illuminated horizon. The feeling is one of escape, from darkness to light as we race towards the extended daylight in the west. In approx. 2 more hours the International Date Line will be crossed and a day will be “lost”. I’m trying to accommodate physically & mentally to the idea that in five hours from now I’ll be arriving in Tokyo in time for supper rather than the normal routine of awakening for breakfast!

Thurs 1/8/76 6:00PM Tokyo time

After a nap of 3 hours we are now a half hour from our Tokyo landing. My main thought is that in spite of almost fifteen hours in one seat, the prospect of being half-way round the world is truly amazing! The magical flying carpet is for real!! In an attempt to freshen up had to wait for available bathroom and noticed that Japanese people sure seem to take more time to get the job done than most westerners. Feel surprisingly “with-it” & adjusted to 180 degree time differential. Tokyo weather cloudy & 53degrees announced by captain. Many passengers now sleeping and cabin atmosphere dreamy in near darkness with only soft lights in operation

Friday 1/9/76 10:00AM Tokyo

Departed Japan en route to Hong Kong. Spent last night @ Pacific Hotel & found it very pleasant. Rode bus from busy airport with an American Army sergeant & English engineer who were also booked into the Pacific. Enjoyed a Japanese beer with soldier at airport while awaiting bus, and learned that he was garrisoned at small U.S. installation 500 miles north of Bangkok on Laotian border…and very apprehensive about political/military conditions in the area. English fellow was returning to his assignment in north China & reinforced my understanding of People’s Republic of China today as very suspicious and untrusting of westerners. Had no trouble getting to sleep at 11:00PM Tokyo time while you guys were probably getting ready for lunch…but awoke during night & discovered my “metabolic” clock was a little bit confused! Felt rested in morning, however, and had scrambled eggs & cornflakes w/bananas for breakfast with G.I. from U.S. Tell Spacs’a that Mom’s scrambled eggs are even more superior when compared to Japanese version. Bus ride back to airport revealed a clean, modern & bustling city going to work…probably the most populated city in the world. No skyscraper buildings, but plenty of them. Small cars & small people in left handed, jammed traffic lanes. Clusters of mothers & school children on almost every street corner awaiting school buses. Kids wear colorful, but uniform type caps…probably denoting their school or class…and carry their books in knapsacks. They strike me as being active youngsters eager to get where they are going. Also observed that Japanese children, particularly the toddlers are very cute & usually dressed to look like dolls. Could not help but wish Ellen could see them! Not uncommon to see people on the streets wearing surgical masks & experienced traveler told me purpose was not exclusively preventative but rather a courtesy that a person with a cold extends to others! Met Chicago couple on return bus who are going to stay for 6 months, the husband being involved in camera manufacturing of some sort. JAL plane more crowded than yesterday and take-off was as scheduled for the almost 5 hour trip. Destination weather in the 60degress…Hong Kong Here I Come!

All of the recent hullabaloo surrounding Michael Jackson reminds me of my own "18 inches away from greatness" with the MJ phenomenon. At the height of Jackson's popularity I represented LJN Toys who manufactured a Barbie sized replica of the famous moonwalker.

My major customer was K-Mart, and my main man at K-Mart was the boss of all the toy buyers, Ed Scully. I did very well in those years selling K-Mart tons of LJN products including 63 million bucks worth of ET toys in 1982. But, as luck would have it, ET wasn’t the over-the-counter blockbuster Mr. Scully and I had expected. It wasn't a flop, but it also wasn't the huge hit we planned upon. From then on the K-Mart m.o. regarding LJN toys was trust, but verify.

Not long after the ET disappointment I was peddling a doll made in the image of the ultimate pop culture song and dance celebrity of the day. And like guys at the race track who place huge bets on favorites that fizzle, my buddy Ed Scully and I, hoped to recoup from ET by betting big on Jacko.

With ET still fresh in his mind, Mr. Scully is gung-ho on the Jackson doll, but cautious about our ability to accurately capture a true likeness on a product in this small scale. So, to address this concern, I made frequent visits to K-Mart during the early development stages of the product to review prototypes with the buyer Jim Tyndal to assure them that we were indeed achieving the look of the real Michael Jackson.

Now, you have to keep in mind that here we were, conventional middle aged "squares" attempting to get on the pop culture band wagon that in every way conceivable was foreign to our own way of life...but had great potential for making a buck. And as you might have guessed, making a buck prevailed…

I should mention that Tyndal giving thumbs up or down on this project was very limited, since Mr. Scully had already pretty much called the tune. It was clear, however, that this “approval” charade had to be taken seriously, and so I did. It should also be noted that Mr. Tyndal was the only black man in the toy buying dept, and one of the few, and very few black men in all of K-Mart management in those days: And to complicate these negotiations, Michael Jackson insisted on his personal ok of the product to insure that his likeness agreed with his weird self image, which resulted in a toy true to his bazaar likeness. 

So here’s the picture…a fiftyish portly white peddler presenting Michael Jackson prototypes for approval to African-American Mr. Tyndal...which was a comical, if not awkward scenario for the both of us since Jim knew full well that Michael was calling the shots on the product and his boss was the one calling the shots on the buy.

At the point where the prototype was nearly complete, I took it to Jim for his review. I'll remember forever that meeting in his office, as I sat there watching him examine the 11" hand sculpted doll figure, and for the longest time saying nothing.The silence was so unsettling I decided to inject the old salesman's trick of putting words in a customer's mouth. I broke the ice by enthusiastically proclaiming, "Pretty good isn't it Jim? Really looks like Michael, don't you think"? smiling a ridiculous grin to reinforce my claim.

It was then that Mr. Tyndal dismissively put the doll on a shelf near his desk, and said. “So you think this proto is great, do you?...to which I replied "I certainly do, Jim." and then making the mistake of surrendering control of the interview I said, "Why Jim ...don't you like what we've done?" That's when he made me almost fall out of my chair...

Picking the doll off the shelf, and pointing to it Tyndal asked me, "Now you think this is a good likeness, do you. Well I don’t. Look here at his skin color...and tell me you've got it right". He knew that his opinion was irrelevant, but that didn’t stop him from expressing his dissent. He knew the score but defended his own integrity by giving it to me straight; and for that I admired him.

To this question I answered, "I do, Jim...I do"...but now here we were clearly immersed in a wacky conflict of opinion over the look of a toy character figure made all the more awkward by the many cooks in the kitchen and the racial undercurrent.  Here we were judging a ten dollar toy modeled on a pop culture giant, a celebrity who had inflicted so much alteration to his appearance that even his Creator wouldn’t recognize him.

JT then plopped the doll down on his desktop and told me that this product wannabee looked too white. And to make his point, it was then that Jim blurted out his unforgettable analogy..."His skin is much too light...much too light…God almighty, your thighs in January (referring to my anatomy) are darker than this!" Well, this analysis caught me so much by surprise, that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!

And so the product development visits to Jim Tyndal ended. The actual production dolls, despite Jim's objection reflected a fairly accurate image of the pasty & effeminate character that was its inspiration, but as luck would have it…the Jackson doll went on to be another marketing “near miss”.

As with so many of LJN's great ideas that fell short of expectations, the consumer reaction to the Michael Jackson doll was only luke warm, proving that celebrity status is no guarantee in the toy biz. But since I saved a production sample in the original package I wonder if its collector value has been increased, or diminished by the current tribulations of the greatest flash dancer of them all? I suspect that like my thighs in January, this question will soon be answered by a jury out there in sunny California.  

Jack Mason

June 9, 2005

She’s a Real Doll…Isn’t She?

I’m guessing the year was 1968. But it might have been a year earlier, or later. In any case it was when I worked for Mattel in Chicago, selling to National Accounts. What I’m about to tell you involved a meeting with our biggest account, Sears Roebuck, when I was tapped to present the new Mattel product line. To lend a little humor to the presentation, I came up with a shtick to which, Paul Burg my boss, gave his smiling, professorial approval.  

He shared my notion that humor is sometimes a good lubricant to doing business even though one has to be careful since it can sometimes boomerang. But these were days in the toy business when both sellers & buyers took themselves less seriously; when style and humor were still part of the industry’s personality.

My job was to present the new Mattel line to a group of out-of-town Sears store managers who were meeting at Sears Roebuck headquarters in downtown Chicago. I relished the assignment because I love to speechify. And so here I was standing in front of these guys (I don’t remember any women), all of whom were eagerly waiting to hear about “What’s New” from the world’s largest toymaker.

The room was dark, except for a spotlight on me and the lectern where I was doing my speechifying. I felt like Billy Crystal presiding over the Academy Awards. I was in my early thirties, so why not?   

Before the presentation, I had surreptitiously hidden a bucket filled with water, outside of view of the audience, inside the base of the lectern. In that bucket I had immersed a naked, nondescript 16” toddler aged doll.

I began by reminding these fellows of Mattel’s leadership in the toy biz, and particularly in the doll category. I reminded them that the very concept of dolls that “did something” rather than just stare back at you was innovated by Mattel. It made possible the new toy wonders and huge commercial successes we called “live action dolls”…dolls that talked, walked, rode bicycles, danced, etc: uniqueness’ that gave excitement and action not only to the product, but to the product when it appeared on television. All of which added up to really big business for both Sears & ourselves.

Blustering on about Mattel’s leadership in the toy industry, I detailed the modern sophistications that made this possible…Mattel research, Mattel product testing, Mattel focus group sessions Mattel technologies, Mattel promotion, etc. Pointing to these and other “cutting edge” Mattel initiatives, I tried to ratchet up the excitement and interest to set the stage for the climax of my speechifying, which was when I announced it was now time for…

The presentation of this year’s most “live action doll” ever…the doll with realism and play value that would make all other dolls look pale by comparison. (a more appropriate word here would be pail). And with that…

I announced in a booming voice, “GENTLEMEN”…

At this point I reached down to grab the doll soaking in the bucket. I put the dripping wet, soggy looking naked plastic figure with waterlogged red hair, smack in the middle of the lectern, the spotlight coming in tight for dramatic effect.

The silence was deafening, and although I couldn’t see my audience out there in the darkness, I sensed they were totally taken in…maybe even awestruck.

I then barked like a carnival pitchman, “And here she is…the most “looks for real” doll ever created. The crowning glory of our new “live action dolls” category…what is bound to be the best selling toy, ever…Gentlemen, I give you, the one,… the only…SWEATY BETTY!”

“What does she do? Why she is the epitome of the human condition in miniature…she does what every REAL PERSON does…she SWEATS, and she SWEATS…like no doll has ever done before!  And to understand the lengths Mattel went to produce this miracle, we put hundreds of names before kids in focus groups before finally settling on SWEATY BETTY. You might be interested to know that the name POLLY PERSPIRATION also tested well, but was a distant second…”

“And so there you have it. Gentlemen, Whaddayathink?”

For a moment there was absolute silence, and then when it was obvious this was all a spoof, these guys exploded in laughter and applause.

When the gag was over, I then went on to demo the REAL headline doll for that year. I can remember clearly Sweaty Betty, but the nonfiction new doll I can’t. Possibly Dancerina?

For me it was it was a real kick…one that I’ll never forget because it reminds me of a time when our jobs as well as our products were fun…a time when what we did for a living was worth remembering.

Jack Mason

April 17, 2005

 It was New York Toy Show, 1967 and I was beginning my first week as regional sales manager for Mattel’s Midwest National Accounts. Our Mattel regional offices were in the Chicago Merchandise Mart, but the entire industry was gathering in the Big Apple for the annual introduction of new product lines, commonly referred to as Toy Fair. And so here I was in New York City, along with everyone else associated with the toy biz in those days.

The Mattel line was displayed in Mattel’s new Manhattan digs located in the recently constructed Penn Plaza office building atop Madison Square Garden. For our VIP National Accounts, a special display room was separate from the main toy display gallery. In this detached environment we were able to make solo presentations to major customers, providing a private “confidential room” intended to reflect our appreciation and respect for their business. They included giant Chicago accounts like Sears, Montgomery Ward, Aldens, John Plain,  Spiegels, Walgreens, Ben Franklin, Jewel Tea, and out-of town customers like K-Mart (Detroit), Western Auto (Kansas City), Coast-to-Coast Stores (Minneapolis), and Gamble-Skogmo (Minneapolis)

It so happened that my last minute decision to leave my Minneapolis employer, Topper Toys, to accept a Mattel job in Chicago had left no time to advise my customers of my new affiliation. Which meant our meetings at Toy Show would be my first chance to explain that I was no longer their Topper Toy representative, but their new Mattel guy.

One of these gentlemen was Mr. Chet Armstrong, buyer for hundreds of Midwest hardware stores organized under the chain store name of Gamble-Skogmo. In those days G-S was a formidable distribution venue for our products in small Midwest towns.  Chet had most recently been a customer of mine for Topper Toys, and in that connection I had sold hard against the many Mattel toys that were competitors to my Topper products. Since Topper was a newcomer and not as established as Mattel, I was proud to have persuaded Chet to choose some of my Topper products over comparable Mattel toys.  One of those Mattel toys that I displaced was a baby doll, Cheerful Tearful. It was a very successful TV promoted doll that cried when you pulled down her arms, & that returned to a smile when you pulled them back up. In its place Mr. A. bought my Topper “knock-off”, whose name I’ve forgotten. But, in any case, it was quite a coup.

Now, Chet Armstrong was a big buyer, literally & figuratively. He knew he had purchase power that suppliers would bend over backwards for, and at 300+ pounds, with his bald head, taciturn face & manner to match; he inspired fear & drove hard bargains with all his suppliers. But somehow, Chet never struck me as being the ogre others stood in fear of…or maybe I was just too dense to recognize and ogre when I see one. In any case, we seemed to get along pretty good. Not bosom buddies, mind you, but I was lucky enough that he gave this 34 year old peddler more business than grief.

So, when I went to the lobby to collect him for the private room showing, he was quite surprised. And as his face flushed when he was angry, his crimson countenance was not a good sign for the presentation I had planned. So we began with some small talk with which I clumsily tried to put him at ease, explain my new Mattel assignment & my haste to move my family to Chicago and to get to NYC for Toy Show, etc.-- all of which I hoped would explain why I didn’t call or visit him to announce my new affiliation. As I think back, I believe I did try to get in touch, but it was the Holiday Season & Mr. Armstrong was out of town.  At least that was the excuse I used, and as I remember it worked, sort of, but with Chet hinting that maybe I could have tried harder…

The private room arrangement was perfect for a guarded guy like Chet, and I assured him with just the two of us, he could be free to react as he chose, without playing political games because “big shots” were not looking over our shoulders. I also told him, I would keep codified notes about any technical questions he might have, for which I had no answer, with the assurance that those questions would in time be promptly responded to by our technical people. Knowing Chet, he was likely to have plenty of arcane questions early in my presentation, to establish how he was on top of things, and which he would soon become weary of asking. They were usually questions like, are the tires on that toy truck fully dimensional, or half/dimensional? Is hair for that doll rooted, or just glued? These and other boilerplate questions came out of the playbook of old-time buyers, and Chet was certainly in that old-timer tradition.

And so, I told him I would note these questions on my legal pad to save time, and organize a proper written answer & reply to Chet’s office so it would be waiting for him when he returned home from Toy Show.  In actuality, my notes were doodles not unlike the ones I made in grade school, because I knew the game we were playing, and that Chet had much more interest in asking questions than in actually ever getting answers; that he would forget his questions the moment he left our office, just as I would forget sending him a report.

Presentation procedure called for reviewing “continuing” toys, or items still in the line from previous years, and then demonstrating the brand new products as finale. And so it was that Cheerful Tearful, the crying-smiling little dolly that had been a huge success for Mattel was one of the first toys I presented to Mr. Armstrong.

Just a few weeks ago this product was the “enemy”. But now I had to reverse course & persuade Chet that his purchase of the Topper “knockoff” was a mistake, even though I was the culprit who sold him that “mistake”.  And to correct this, I had to try to get Cheerful Tearful back on the shelves of the Gamble-Skogmo stores. Lots of luck!

But, since the irascible Mr. Armstrong was not suffering amnesia, he bellowed…”Hold it…hold it! Stop the music!”…and with this I knew I had my work cut out for me.

“It wasn’t but a few weeks ago, YOU…yes YOU… told me that that doll,” looking derisively at the Cheerful-Tearful doll in my hand…“was a PIECE of JUNK!  AND NOW you want me to believe its better than sliced bread…YOU, actually… want me to buy it?”

Well, as you might expect this was indeed a challenge for which I had neither logic nor God on my side. So, I took a deep breath, bent towards Chet as if to pass on a national security secret, and said almost in a whisper, the only thing I could think of…“Chet, …yes I did say that a few weeks ago, and you know what?.....A few weeks ago it… WAS A PIECE OF JUNK?”….

I’m, sure he was fully expecting that I was going to reveal some incredible new design improvements for the teary-cheery doll, but since there weren’t any, all I could offer was this stupid frozen smile on my face, hoping that it could outlast the interminable silence that followed…

It was then that the ridiculousness of all this suddenly hit the big guy from Minneapolis in his funny bone, and it transformed him into a belly-laughing Buddah in a pin striped suit… wryly smiling & chuckling, he stammered “why I’ll be Gol-danged”…I’ll be Gol-danged... YOU did it again...YOU got me again!” (Chet cussed like a Minnesotan, but it was no less pointed than had he been a Brooklyn longshoreman). This relieved me of my idiotic smirk, but instinct told me I had better not join in with the yuk-yuking, and so I adopted a slightly sheepish look and kept my mouth shut, avoiding like the plague any hint of triumph in pulling one over on the big fella.

Mindful of Scripture that threatens those who live by the sword will die, etc…my mind raced to the conclusion that this was to be the end of my career as the Mattel salesman to Gamble-Skogmo. But no, that isn’t how the story ends

From that never-to-be-forgotten gotcha in the Mattel presentation room with Chet Armstrong, we moved on. He and I never spoke again of transitory loyalties to products or toy companies, and actually Chet Armstrong gave me very respectable support in my new job, even though that didn’t include re-listing Cheerful Tearful.  

I have to suspect that he understood, and probably even enjoyed being part of a zany business where selling is the art of trying to change buyers minds, practiced by sales people who were willing to sometimes abandon sanity to get the order…providing that after the fun ’n games, and the buyer signed on the dotted line, these sales “pros” worked as hard to protect their customers interests, as they did to sell them merchandise. A comedic quid pro quo you might call it…

At least that’s how it was in those days…if I remember them correctly…

Jack Mason

Tryon, NC

Feb, 2005

.

     Paul Burg was a good man. But now he was a good dead man, lying in a closed casket with his smiling photo on top of a shiny copper coffin.

It was 1969, at a downtown Chicago funeral parlor where I had gone to pay my respects to this much-admired professional, who had been my friend and teacher. Mr. Burg had been my boss since 1966 when I joined Mattel Toys as his assistant for National Accounts Sales. His assignment was the sales management of the major Mattel customers in the Midwest, and I was his understudy. Our job was to optimize business from the big guys like Sears & Roebuck, Montgomery Ward, John Plain, Spiegels, Aldens, K-Mart, Target Stores, Walgreens, Ben Franklin, Jewel Tea, Gamble-Skogmo, and Western Auto. It was a great, high visibility position for a young guy in a company going places. And Paul was a prince of a boss who did all he could to help me make the best of it. Although he was 20+ years older and a veteran toy man, he always made me feel comfortable and confident that I would be a success. Of my many business associations, this was one of my most inspiring.

Since he had taken his own life, lying in that casket didn’t square with what I thought I knew about him. Like everyone else that encountered Paul he had always impressed me with his love of life, love of people, love of learning, and his love of the toy business. He was a graceful, wise gentleman to whom just getting up in the morning was an exciting adventure. So, how could this be? How could this make sense?

Paul had been hospitalized for exhaustion, but was well enough that his doctor Ok’d his “off campus” request for dinner & a movie with his wife. After their date, the unsuspecting Mrs. Burg taxied home, and Paul returned to his hospital room, giving no hint of the horror that was to follow.

Paul Burg had been a member of the small group of men and women who pioneered Mattel into the post WWII market when the founders, Ruth and Elliot Handler, first made toys in a small factory in Colorado. In those days, he and his partner Joel Alexander had been independent manufacturer’s representative for the fledgling toymaker, and other toy factories. When, in the sixties, Mattel had outgrown outside sales reps, Joel and Paul’s people were folded into the Mattel organization. From that point on, they became Mattel employees, making the rare transition from being independent representatives to “housemen”.

It was only two years before his death that Paul and I had been invited to a dinner party at the Handler’s opulent digs in Century City, a Los Angeles penthouse for the rich and the very rich. The Handlers were hosting some Sears and Ben Franklin VIPs, and since they were our customers we were also invited. In these glamorous surroundings, Paul Burg was the center of attraction, entertaining the Handlers and the buyers with his worldly insights, his sunny wit, and amusing stories about the “old days” in the toy biz. This was the Paul Burg I remember so fondly.

But on this night in the Chicago Loop not far from Marina Towers, the silo shaped apartment building where Paul and his wife Muriel had lived, we gathered to say good-bye. The funeral parlor was overflowing with their many friends, and Mattel colleagues.  When the Handlers entered, the crowd made way for them to pay their respects. With Elliot close behind, like Prince Philip following Queen Elizabeth, Ruth Handler proceeded directly to the casket, looked painfully at Paul’s photograph and muttered,  “Oh, Paul...Paul.. You poor bastard.” The tough as nails President of Mattel was visibly shook as she clasped the hands of the teary widow, and her only son Dr. Fred Burg, a prominent Chicago pediatrician. She murmured “I’m sorry, Muriel. I’m sorry, Fred. Very sorry”, and left as quickly as she came. 

The rapid pace of the toy business compelled us all to move on, and move on we did. But with hindsight I’m a little surprised how little we speculated on why Paul did what he did. It wasn’t that we didn’t care. It wasn’t because it was taboo. And I don’t think it was because he was quickly forgotten. I suspect it was because we knew it wasn’t our business. He did what he did, and that was that.

At the time, I don’t even remember making the connection in my mind, that Paul Burg’s leap to his death from a hospital window wasn’t my first encounter with suicide. Or more accurately, attempted suicide. Seven years earlier, another boss of mine, at another toy company, had seriously considered going the same route. That good man, crushed by a business that was heading in the wrong direction, also thought life was no longer worth living. He too would have ended it all had another salesman and myself not returned early from our lunch to prevent him from leaping from his office window on the 14^th floor of the Chicago Merchandise Mart.

After months of psychotherapy at Michael Reese Hospital, Jack Caffrey was made well enough to limp through his remaining years, and salvage what was left of his life. A widower, Jack married the nurse who had helped him through those rough times. And in their brief marriage I believe he finally found happiness, so long denied by business catastrophes.  On a 1977 trip to visit his relatives and friends in New Jersey, Jack Caffrey died suddenly in a motel room. He was in his late sixties. 

Witnessing so much tragedy, one might think that a prudent person would run, not walk, to another line of work. But it never entered my mind. You might think that a game that inflicts so many injuries upon its players would drive us off the field. But it didn’t.  Like so many veterans of the toy business of those days, I just kept moving on. A decision that, oddly enough, I think both Paul & Jack would have fully understood.

Jack Mason

May 2, 2002

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Hey Jack,

A fabulous remembrance!  I vaguely remember Chet, so it doesn’t have quite the impact as the one I vividly recall when you were faced with the entire Kmart buying crew on the 7^th floor of 200 Fifth in that little “theater” we built, around 1984, trying to make a presentation of the new WWF line, and they flat out told you they would not even allow you to present it because ‘those people (lowlife’s) who watch WWF aren’t Kmart customers’, or something to that effect.  I clearly recall being impressed with the how hard you tried, and how many approaches you took to try to convince them to, at least, take a look at the presentation, but to no avail.  Then a few months later when it blew out at TRU, you got THAT call from them wanting, was it 400K, or 800K figures, yesterday. 

As a personal aside, I was still learning that sometimes Jack’s (Friedman) self assuredness was, when we dug down a bit, not quite as firm as it appeared.  Early on in the line development, I was a bit cautious on WWF because the demographics for the shows were very heavy adult, very light on kids.  Jack acted like it simply didn’t matter (of course, he had already signed the agreement!), but as the time to cut steel grew closer, we looked hard at options, and when you guys were getting some responses like Kmart’s, Jack slowly came around to agree to consider some cheaper options – hence we tooled, as I recall, six figures, one cavity each, in aluminum tools.  The aluminum tools were fast to make, cheap, but were projected to degrade to the point of uselessness after about 50K pcs.  So we got off to a cheap start, and man, did we ever quickly crank out many, many more aluminum cavities over the next few months!

My clumsy language skills couldn’t do this story justice, but should you find the interest, I think lots of folks would love to read a more complete recollection in a “Mason Essay!”  After all, it’s only the “retired” mates that get to tell the whole truth!

All the best,

Harry Moorhouse

PS:  Hope you’re feeling better.

Hi, Jack. It was a pleasant surprise to hear fom you again after so many years. And I must say that both your"E" mails that I recieved fom you (2/20 Subject: Chet Armstrong & 2/23 Subject: Growing up in Newark)held a great deal of poingancy for me.

It was a great trip down Memory Lane, and made me recall how much I valued both the Toy business in which we both toiled, wth its collection of truly remarkable characters, as well as the venue in which I was raised, and lived for the first two decades of my life.

FYI, Jackson Heights, N.Y. in the Borough of Queens, probably wasn't too different from Newark, neither being very pretty. However, most of the guys that grew up there seemed to have had instilled in them a set of values, which coupled with the great American system, we  enjoy, a system which offers its citizens the opportunity for upward moblity, enabled us to live today on tree lined streets with manicured lawns, as you remind us in your "Beauty Is Where You Find It"

Thanks for including me among the recipients of your two messages, and stay in touch.

Best Regards,

Jim Walsh

THIS E-MAIL WAS SENT BY KEN SIMMONDS ON 5/10/06 FROM ENGLAND WISHING US A GOOD RECOVERY FROM OUR MAY 4 AUTO ACCIDENT. ON 9/10/06 POOR KEN DIED. I'LL MISS THE MANY GOOD TIMES WE HAD TOGETHER IN HONG KONG

Dear Jack,

Jim passed on to me the news of your accident.

I trust that you and Mary Jane are fully recovered, or , at least, well on
the way to that desirable state

Jack, you are a rare and very special commodity, thus you must take care
when driving, drinking, secret smoking or any other dangerous  pursuits.

I am, as you know, sort of semi retired.  This means I wander in to the
office at about 10.00, work until 1.00 then, once I have studied the form
and placed my bets, wander off home again. An enjoyable and not too taxing
life.  Always provided the horses run well.

Why are all our favourite singers dead?

Love you madly, get well.

Ken.

Hi Jack,

It’s Monday morning, time to get to work after a pleasant weekend.  I sit down at my desk, coffee in hand, turn on the computer (no, I didn’t have it on all weekend…although I did check for biz e-mails on BlackBerry, of course).  As I’m scanning through the e-mails and dumping the 100’s of SPAMS received, I had narrowed the weekend e-mails down to a few biz ones, a couple airline updates and of course the Bloom Report.  So I clicked onto Bloom ( skipped it last week), went to the “e-mail to the editor” section, started reading the first one that popped up (not scrolling down to see who wrote it) all the time thinking, wow this person is a story teller.

Anyway got to the end and saw it was you!  And then, as a bonus, saw you had another one…Confessions of a Salesman! 

Jack, keep writing your e-mails, it’s great reading and initiates great memories….Took a lick” in from a chicken, and many, many more.

Looks like things are going well for you!  Keep story telling! 

(How was my 1^st paragraph….captivating!?.....it’s a start!.....some day!)

Dennis

Dennis Dillman

Mountain States Sales Co., Inc.

ph: 303-972-2040

fax: 303-978-9252

PO Box 620967, Littleton, CO 80162

6296 So Urban St, Littleton, CO 80127

e-mail: dennis@MountainStatesSales.com

www.MountainStatesSales.com