How to Sell Yourself

Three kinds of people. Girard sorts everyone into number ones, who achieve, stay enthusiastic, and recharge others; number twos, the gripers always hunting a shoulder to cry on; and number threes, the cop-outs who shrug "what's the use." His instruction is blunt: emulate the ones, flee the twos and threes, because losers work to drag winners down to their level.

Reframing hostility. When Girard became top salesman, his peers booed him at industry banquets, year after year, eventually on national TV. He drew on Ted Williams, whose batting average reportedly climbed whenever the stadium jeered. Girard stood up, thanked the hecklers, and told them the day they stopped booing was the day he stopped being number one. He converted contempt into evidence of his standing.

Confidence is rebuilt brick by brick. Girard's life cratered before it soared. His construction business collapsed, leaving him sneaking into his own home through a back window to dodge repossession, with no food in the house. His wife June's unwavering faith pulled him back. He talked his way into a car-sales job, promised to beat the dealership's best salesman within two months, and did.

Five rules to banish fear. Believe in yourself, associate with confident people, keep your confidence machine fueled with faith, be master of your ship, and stay busy. He cites a surgeon's claim that only about 5% of people let their minds rule their bodies while 95% are ruled by impulse. George Eastman, near ruin when his photographic plates failed, rebuilt his confidence and invented roll film and the Kodak.

The cost of not listening. Two ears, one mouth, Girard notes. His most painful lesson came when a wealthy contractor was minutes from buying, then started talking about his son at the University of Michigan studying to be a doctor. Girard, certain the sale was sealed, half-listened while straining to catch a joke outside his door. The man walked. That night Girard phoned him at eleven to ask what went wrong and learned he had failed to honor the customer's pride in his boy.

Listening is active. We absorb only about half of what is said. Girard's model is financier Bernard Baruch, who advised presidents from a park bench mostly by listening. Mirror expressions, never interrupt, and hear between the lines.

Become bilingual in your own tongue. Girard divides words into move-forward words that pull people toward you (you, yours, we, please, thank you, sorry, promise) and hold-back words that push them away (I, me, my, later, maybe). One firm banned the word "I" from all outgoing letters. IBM's star Buck Rodgers sold not transistorized circuitry but what the machine did for the buyer: easier work, lower cost, better service.

Keep it simple and safe. Girard prizes Churchill's preference for short words, the ones that move people, as in "blood, toil, tears and sweat." He warns against red-flag topics (religion, politics, race), against slang that dates fast, and against profanity, which offends half your audience and embarrasses the other half.

The practical case for honesty. Beyond morality, Girard argues lying is bad memory management: a single falsehood demands more falsehoods to cover it, while the truth never needs maintenance. His moral anchor was Father Solanus Casey, a Detroit Capuchin monk, now on the path to sainthood, who told the neighborhood boys they could fool people but never God.

Truth that costs money. Drafted into the army, Girard injured his back falling off a truck. Asked if he had ever hurt his back before, he could have stayed silent and likely collected a lifelong disability pension. Instead he disclosed an old diving-board injury and forfeited the money, unwilling to let a monthly check call him a liar forever. He also cites General Billy Mitchell, court-martialed for truthfully warning about air power, vindicated only after death.

Words with backbone. Girard treats "I promise" as binding as a signed contract, not a casual IOU. Judge Myron Wahls put it plainly: if you doubt you can keep it, do not make it. The cautionary tale is Alex, a service write-up man habitually promising cars ready by four o'clock and callbacks he forgot, until he was nearly fired.

Two rules rescued him. First, force yourself, at any cost, to keep every promise already made. Second, think before making any new one, asking honestly whether you can deliver. Within a month customers were calling Alex sincere, service sales rose, and his job was safe. When circumstances genuinely shift, Girard says, phone ahead and renegotiate rather than break the promise in silence.

Warmth read first. Girard's signature story: an oil-rich sheikh at a Detroit boat show told one salesman he wanted to buy twenty million dollars of boats. The salesman, unsmiling, looked at him as if he were crazy and a time-waster. The sheikh walked to the next booth, was greeted with a radiant, welcoming smile, repeated his request, and returned the next day with a certified check. The smiling salesman reportedly made 20% and was set for life.

Cheap to give, costly to withhold. A frown uses more muscles than a smile, Girard notes, and smiles are contagious. He coaches putting a smile into your voice so phone listeners can hear it, and replacing the photographer's "cheese" with the warmer thought "I like you."

Stand in front of the product. Most salespeople treat the signature as the finish line. Girard treats it as the starting gun. He refused the common phrase "I stand behind what I sell," because no one can see you there. He stood in front of the product, positioning himself between customer and purchase so he could never be dodged when something broke.

The second-miler. When unhappy buyers stormed in, lesser salesmen hid in the washroom; Girard handled the complaint personally, sometimes spending his own money, like gifting a free wheel-alignment certificate that cost him a few dollars. The payoff was a 65% repeat-business rate, which built his record. Going the extra mile, whether asked or not, compounds into loyalty.

The Law of 250. Girard calls his chain reaction principle the Law of 250. A funeral director told him he always orders 250 memorial cards because the average funeral draws about 250 mourners; a printer reported wedding invitations average 250; auditoriums and lounges often cap at 250. So each individual sits at the hub of roughly 250 relationships.

Dominoes, good or bad. Treat one person well and praise ripples outward through their 250, each of whom has 250 more. Treat one badly and you have poisoned 250 prospects at once. Girard reframes it as a chain miracle: influence two people well per week and the math compounds into tens of thousands a year. He points to McDonald's, built on the rule that not one customer leaves dissatisfied.

Rejection as a not-yet. Girard learned his mantra from a fellow salesman: treat "no" as "maybe" and "maybe" as "yes," and you keep hanging in. His proof is Roy, a young man with no experience who wanted a sheet-metal job. Told repeatedly there were no openings, he returned every Monday at eight sharp for weeks until the company hired him partly just to end the suspense.

One step at a time. Girard invokes Edison's endless filament trials, Eastman's roll film, and a marathon runner who pushes through "the wall." The elevator to success is out of order, he says, so take the stairs one step at a time. Life is a race mainly against yourself, and finishing, not placing first, is the win.