The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1929-08-28

of jump he had made; he still was
at the tail of horse and giving part
of his time to the farm; but he had
struck out and arrived somewhere
he was townsman.
He drove the rig himself, mostly
for "drummers," men with big sam
pie cases, checked vests, fat cigars,
and stories. The lightning-rod sales
man was much in evidence, the ven
der of patent medicines, the chap
from Omaha who sold calico to farm
ers' wives. the men from the big
seed houses, politicians.
Klingman and his fare" logged
along the hot dusty roads, and be-
Klingman added to his education.
tween his "Giddaps" and "Whoas"
The "fare"was usually a good talker,
the lank driver a good listener. The
latter learned of cities and people
and things, weighed one mans sales
technique against another's; watched
and studied men, and kept asking
himself, what do these men have
that l haven't got ?" Unconsciously
he was absorbing an art-the art of
selling
The years rolled along. The livery
business fourished. New rigs were
brought, a transfer line was added.
Nights, his chair titled against a
horse stall, Klingman studied in
red within him, the urge to be NOV
irr, on There were bigger things in
life than driving a hack. He was
married now and had boy-a livery
stable was no place for boy.
"Mr. Klingman
A stranger stuck his head in the
livery stable door. ''I'm selling life
insurance" he explained. want to
hire buggy and you as driver, SOS
you can introduce me to farmers"
Klingman hesitated. There was a
note in the man voice he didn't like.
Still. business was business. He
hitched up.
The two drove out to farm.
Klingman introduced the man and
listened to his talk. He was glib.
He made promises. In no time the
farmer was ready to sign on the dot
ted line. The two returned to the
buggy. "Let me see that policy you
just sold, said Klingman. "Seems to
me like you made some awfully big
promises"
"Sure," grinned the insurance man.
THAT'S the only way to land these
rubes. Promise 'em anything they
want"
Klingman stiffened. "Look here
these 'rubes,' as you call them are
friends of mine. If you're going to
sell them insurance you're going to
sell it on the square,"
Maybe you'd like the job" sheer
ed the other. eff so, here's a rate
book and an application: there's a
farmer blowing in that field. Fly at
it."
With jaw set, Klingman stumbled
across the field. He had studied some
good salsemen in the eight years he
had been followir,, the tail of a liv-
cry hour, studied them with a profit.
In an half hour he was back with a
/ signed application for $4,000 of in
surance.
''Now. you'll sell this stuff on the
square or I'll sell it for you," he said
grimly. "Giddap."
That night, lying awake, he saw
where he wanted to go! This chance
meeting with man he was never to
see or hear of again had been the
turning point in his road.
What made you see?" 1 asked
him. 'The fact that that days work
appealed to me as the best I'd ever
done in my life," he replied. had
done real good for the family of that
farmer. Insurance was it's protec-
ton against such want as l had seen
In my own home
So Klingman became an insurance
agent. There was a new life in his
eyes. Whenever he saw a child, he
thought, I'm selling protection for
that child's future" When he hap
pened upon a widow toiling to live,
he told himself, "By my work Pm
putting an end to such need"
To protect his wife and children,
he took out $4,000 insurance on his
own life, a prodigious~ sum for a man
of his means. That first year he earn
ed $4,000 in commissions, selling in
surance to farmers.
He felt very proud of himself, very
important. He sold the livery stable
and moved to Lincoln, capital of the
state. He rented a nice place, bought
new clothes, and set forth to conquer
al. T.. =