Two Americans met by chance one day last summer at a little table in front of the Cafe de la Paix in Paris. One had arrived only a month before; the other was an old resident in France. After the fashion of their kind they became acquainted and began to talk. Before them pa.s.sed a picturesque parade, brilliant with the uniforms of half a dozen nations, and streaked with the symbols of mourning that attested to the ravage of war.
"There is something wrong with these Frenchmen," said the first American.
"How is that?" asked his companion.
"It"s like this," was the reply. "I have sold goods from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and yet I can get nowhere over here. I give these fellows the swiftest line of selling talk in the world and it makes no impression."
"How well do you speak French?" queried his new-found acquaintance.
"Not at all."
"Have you studied the ways and needs of the Frenchman?"
"Of course not. I"ve got something they want and they ought to take it."
The man who had long lived in France was silent for a moment. Then he said:
"The fault is not with the Frenchman, my friend. Think it over." He did, and with reflection he changed his method. He put a curb on strenuosity; started to study the French temperament; he began to see why he had not succeeded.
This incident illumines one of the strangest and most inconsistent situations in our foreign trade. By a curious irony we have failed to realise our commercial destiny in the one Allied Nation where real respect and affection for us remain. France--a sister Republic--is bound to us by sentimental ties and the kinship of a common struggle for liberty. Her people are warm-hearted and generous and _want_ to do business with us.
Yet, as long and costly experience shows, we have almost gone out of our way to clash with their customs and misunderstand their motives. In short, we have neglected a great opportunity to develop a permanent and worth-while export business with them. It was bad enough before the war.
Events since the outbreak of the monster conflict have emphasised it more keenly.
Why have Americans failed so signally in France? There are many reasons.
First of all, their whole system of selling has been wrong.
For years many of our manufacturers were represented in Paris and elsewhere in France by German agents, who also represented producers in their own country. The energetic Teuton did not hesitate to install an American machine or a line of American goods. But what happened? When the machine part wore out or the stock of goods was exhausted, there was seldom any American product on hand to meet the swift and sometime impatient demand for replacement or renewal. By a strange "coincidence"
there was always an abundant supply of German material available. The German salesman always saw to that. Necessity knows no nationality. The result invariably was that German output supplanted the American. The Frenchman did not want to be caught the second time.
This prompt renewal created an immense goodwill for German goods. Right here is one of the first big lessons for the American exporter to learn, no matter what country he expects to sell in. It lies in keeping goods "on the shelf," and being able to meet emergency demand.
The Frenchman in trade is a sort of Missourian. He must be "shown." He shies at samples; distrusts drawings. He likes to go into a warehouse and look over stocks; it gives him satisfaction to pick and choose. He is the most fastidious buyer in the world and he likes to do things his own way. Any attempt to ram foreign methods--either in buying or selling--down his sensitive throat is bound to react.
Here is a case in point: The General Representative in France of a large American manufacturing concern decided to engage some French salesmen.
He was a shark on business system; he fairly oozed with "scientific salesmanship"; he decided to gird his Gallic emissaries with the most improved American selling methods. So he prepared an elaborate "What I did" schedule for them. Into it was to be written every evening the complete record of the business day.
When he handed one of these blanks to his leading French salesman, that gentleman shrugged his shoulders and said:
"It eez imposseeble."
When the American became insistent all the French salesmen resigned in a body. This objection was purely temperamental. If there is one thing above all others that puts a Frenchman into panic it is publicity of his personal affairs. He believes that the greatest crime in the world is to be found out, whether in business or in love. There was nothing perhaps to hide in a biography of his daily work, but it was the wrong tack to take.
In the same way militant and masterful salesmanship also fails. A man may be a crack seller in Kansas City, Denver, and all points West, but he finds to his sorrow that his dynamic process goes straight over the head of a Frenchman. He refuses to be driven; he wants time for mature reflection and an opportunity to talk the thing over with his wife.
This irritating attempt to force uncongenial methods on French buyers is duplicated in a corresponding lack of plain everyday intelligence in meeting the simplest French requirements.
Indeed, the omissions of Americans are wellnigh incredible. Take the matter of postage to France. The head of a great French concern made this statement to me in sober earnestness: "Won"t you be good enough to beg American manufacturers to put their office boys through a course of instruction in postal rates between Europe and the United States?"
When I asked him the reason he said: "We sometimes get twenty letters from America in one mail and each comes under a two cent stamp. This has been going on for years despite our repeated protest about it. Some months my firm was required to pay from ten to fifteen dollars in excess postage."
Now the amount of money involved in this transaction is the slightest feature: it is the chronic laxity and carelessness of the American business man that gets on the Frenchman"s nerve.
Here is another case in point: A well known French firm has been writing weekly letters for the past eighteen months to a New England factory trying to persuade the Manager to mark his export cases with a stencil plate and in ink rather than with a heavy lead pencil, as the latter marking is almost obliterated by the time the shipment arrives at Havre.
In fact, this French firm went to the extent of sending a stencil and brush to New England to be used in marking the firm"s cases. But the old pencil habit is too strong and a weekly hunt has to be inst.i.tuted on the French docks for odd cases containing valuable consignments of machine tools. Vexatious delays result. It is just one more nail that the heedless American manufacturer drives into the coffin of his French business.
These incidents and many more that I could cite, are merely the approach, however, to a succession of mistakes that make you wonder if so-called Yankee enterprise gets stage fright or "cold feet" as soon as it comes in contact with French commercial possibilities. Let me now tell the prize story of neglected trade opportunity.
Last spring the American Commercial Attache in Paris made a speech at a dinner in Philadelphia. He painted such a glowing picture of trade prospects in France that the head of one of the greatest hardware concerns in America, who happened to be present, came to him afterwards with enthusiasm and said: "We want to get some of that foreign business you talked about and we will do everything in our power to land it. Help us if you can."
The Attache promised that he would and returned to his post in Paris. He studied the hardware situation and found a tremendous need for our goods. He was about to make a report to the hardware manufacturer when an alert upstanding young American breezed into his office and said:
"I have been looking into the hardware situation here and I find that there is a big chance for us. In fact, I have already booked some fat orders. Will you put me in touch with the right people in America to handle the business?"
"Certainly," replied the Attache. "I know just the firm you are looking for." He recalled the enthusiastic remarks of the man who came to him after the Philadelphia speech, so he said: "Write to the Blank Hardware Company in ----, and I am sure you will get quick action."
"No," said the enterprising young American, "I will cable." He immediately got off a long wire telling what orders he had and giving gilt edge banking references.
Quite naturally he expected a cable reply, but he was too optimistic.
Day after day pa.s.sed amid a great silence from America. At the end of two weeks he received a _letter_ from the Export Manager of the firm who said, among other things: "We are not prepared to quote any prices for the French trade now. We have decided to wait with any extension of our foreign business until after the war. Meanwhile you might call on our agent in Paris who may be able to do something for you."
The young American dashed up to the agent"s warehouse. The agent was an old man becalmed in a sea of empty s.p.a.ce. All his young men were off at the front; a few grey beards aided by some women comprised his working staff.
"I have no American hardware in stock," he said, "but I may be able to get you some English or Swiss goods." This did not appeal to the young American. He is now making a study of Russian finance.
Full brother to this episode is the experience of another American in Paris who found out that there was great need among French women for curling irons. Despite war, sacrifice and sudden death, the French woman is determined to look her best. Besides, she is earning more money than ever before and buying more luxuries. Knowing these facts, the Yankee sent the following cable to a well known concern in the Middle West:
"Rush fifty thousand dollars" worth of curling irons. Cable acceptance."
He also cabled his financial references which would have started a bank.
He, too, was doomed to disappointment. After a fortnight came the usual letter from America containing the now familiar phrase: "See Blank Blank, our Paris representative. He may be able to take care of you."
Manfully he went to see Monsieur Blank Blank, who not only had no curling irons but refused to display the slightest interest in them.
Still another American took an order for some kid skins, intended for the manufacture of fine shoe uppers. By the terms of the agreement they were to be three feet in width. The money for them amounting to $30,000 was deposited in a New York bank before shipment.
When the skins reached Paris they were found to be heavy, coa.r.s.e leather and measuring five feet in width. They were absolutely useless for the desired purpose. The average French buyer, however, is not a welcher. He accepted the undesirable stuff, but with a comment in French that, translated into the frankest American, means, "Never again!"
All this oversight is aided and abetted by a twin evil, a lack of knowledge of the French language. Here you touch one of the chief obstacles in the way of our foreign business expansion everywhere. It has put the American salesman at the mercy of the interpreter, and since most interpreters are crooks, you can readily see the handicap under which the helpless commercial scout labours. A concrete episode will show what it costs:
A certain American firm, desirous of establishing a more or less permanent connection in France, sent over one of its princ.i.p.al officers.
This man could not speak a word of French, so he secured the services of a so-called "interpreter guide." It was proposed to select a representative for the company from among a number of firms in a certain large French seaport. The firm chosen was to receive and pay for consignments through a local bank and act generally for the American company.
Friend "interpreter guide" said he knew all the big business houses in the city, so he selected a firm which the American accepted without making the slightest investigation. A bank agreed to take care of the shipments and the whole transaction was quickly concluded. The American grabbed the papers in the case (and I might add without the formality of having them examined by a third party) and left France immensely impressed with the ease and swiftness with which business could be transacted with that country.
But there was an unexpected and unfortunate sequel to this performance.
A few months later another officer of this American company came post-haste to France to straighten out an ugly tangle. It developed that the French firm chosen by the "interpreter guide" was not of the highest standing: that the interpreter, for reasons and profits best known to himself, had entirely misrepresented the conversation, that instead of paying four per cent for services, the American firm was really paying about ten. The whole transaction had to be called off and a new one inst.i.tuted at considerable expense of time and money.