If You Don't Have Big Breasts, Put Ribbons on Your Pigtails (7 page)

2. Meet on Monday

People don't read memos, but they'll listen to a big mouth.

Every Corcoran Group office has a Monday-morning meeting that serves multiple functions. It gets salespeople out of bed and into the office, and is the single best vehicle for communicating information, broadcasting sales, and promoting new properties. It's also the best arena to publicly recognize individual success within a peer group.

The Monday meeting is the business equivalent of my mother's kitchen table.

3. Please Do Disturb

In a real estate office, the agent at the next desk is as much a competitor as a colleague. John Bachman used his do not disturb sign to keep people out of his business and away from his desk, preventing any exchange of information and ideas. My early redirection of John with my "everyone can disturb everyone" philosophy became a cornerstone of our company's commitment to teamwork. It was also the beginning of our

company's open-door policy. Today at our Corcoran Group offices there are no locked doors or drawers, and the only walls are made of glass.

4. Pick a Number

Fair is fair. From the first day of business, I made sure not to pick favorites. Everyone needs to know what the rules are and that everyone is playing by them. In our first office, everyone was given the same opportunity to pick the "best" desk, and in subsequent offices, sales desks were picked in order of sales production, the biggest producer picking first.

Fair play is the best way in every situation. In the spring of 1998, I chaired and was host to twelve hundred corporate presidents from around the world for a business conference at the elegant Plaza Hotel. My guests were to stay at the hotel for a week and had booked their rooms at the same, although very expensive, room rate. Some of the suites had better views, some were on better floors, and some were better appointed. Instead of allowing the hotel staff to assign the rooms to the guests as they normally did, I insisted the attendees randomly pick a plastic ball out of three-foot silver goblets. Each ball was marked with a room number.

Not everyone staved in the penthouse, but everyone slept well. And as the host, I averted a week of complaints because the presidents had all picked their own rooms within the context of fair play.

5. Color Code

People misread labels and misfile the alphabet, but very few people are color-blind. The new colored listing cards and floor plan files made missing information easier to find and more difficult to hide. By 1980, the colored listing cards would become New York City's first real estate database, and by 1994 would convert again into our corcoran.com Web site, which today is the city's

leading real estate Web site, selling more than $700 million in real estate annually.

6. Write Notes/Give Flowers

Little things pave the road to loyalty.

No one is too sophisticated to appreciate a small individual expression of affection. To employees, it's money in the bank with interest. To employers, the gift is truly in the giving.

7. Make a "Good Idea" Box

My little shoebox with the yellow lightbulb drawn on top became my best source of bright ideas. Although many ideas were downright impossible, the ideas poured in and among them I found nuggets of gold.

In business, the clerical people are rarely solicited for their opinions and ideas. But our Good Idea Box was an equal-opportunity listener, giving everyone the assurance they would be heard. It allowed every individual to be a contributor, feel a part of the team, and make live bucks.

The best creative ideas often came from the clerical staff, and the best operational ideas usually came from the salespeople. The box also gave me an early "heads up" on what was about to go awry, well before it matured into a big problem.

I didn't just preach the Good Idea Box, I used it. And it guaranteed success.

The simple systems I introduced at our first Monday meeting gave The Corcoran Group the footing it needed to start building a solid company. And those good ideas can all be attributed to the simple genius of my mother's good planning.

Saturday night. The front steps.

"Who wants to go to the Dairy Queen?" Dad asked us as we gathered on the front steps.

"Me! Me!" we raised our hands and chimed in unison.

"Who wants to get a cold, chocolate Dilly Bar?" Dad continued. "Or maybe an extra-thick frozen strawberry milk shake in a big white cup with a straw to suck it all up?"

"Me! Me! I would, Dad!" every voice begged.

"Or maybe," he tempted further, "a double banana float with big scoops of chocolate, butter pecan, and strawberry ice cream, all covered with caramel syrup and a big pile of whipped cream?"

"Me! Dad, me! I would!" we all chimed in. Denise jumped up. John pushed Tommy aside so his hand could be better seen, and Ellen clambered onto Dad's lap.

Dad had our attention, and we waited with drooling mouths for his next words.

"Well, kids," Dad smiled, putting his arms around Ellen and me, "so would I. Yep, that sure would be nice, but . . . not tonight, kids. Maybe next week."

Denise sat down, John dropped his hand, and Ellen slumped against Dad's chest.

The next Saturday, though, Dad smiled and said, "So would I! Get in the car, kids!" And the chocolate Dilly Bar was even sweeter, because we'd been made to want it even more.

I thought about Dad's Dairy Queen tease and dialed the New York Times.

"Hello, are you the same operator I was just speaking to?" I asked the voice on the other end of the line. "Oh, well, anyway, I'd like to place a help wanted ad in this Sunday's paper." And I read:

Sales, Real Estate

ONE EMPTY DESK

Only one desk available for a positive, high-energy person wishing to earn large commissions. Exceptional company. No experience necessary.

The Corcoran Group. 212-355-3550

I knew the ad would work.

I opened my calendar and cleared my Monday-morning schedule. Now to deal with the next problem. When the phone started ringing, I was going to need one heck of a routine to take the calls, interview the salespeople, and hire the right ones.

Bath time. The Corcoran kitchen.

"Thank you, God,'' Mom prayed each night as she soaked in the hot water of what she called the "Holiest tub in Edgewater." "Thank you for giving me the next three minutes for myself." Exactly two minutes and fifty-eight seconds later, Mom jumped out of the tub. threw on her pink robe, and took two broad strides out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. She was ready for the bathtime routine.

She punched the talk button on the black intercom that Uncle Alan had borrowed from his job at Bell Telephone. "Kids!" her voice squawked, as it did every night on our bedroom speaker. "You have exactly five minutes to finish your homework and report to the kitchen! I repeat, five minutes. And, Eddie, leave Johnny alone!"

We all collected in the kitchen and took our place in line next to the refrigerator. Eight-year-old Denise, the oldest, then me, then Eddie, then Ellen, then Johnny holding little Tommy's hand.

Dad was in charge of washing and Mom in charge of rinsing. First up was Denise, who climbed onto the counter next to the double white porcelain sink. Dad slid her into the deep side of the sink filled to the brim with warm sudsy water. Starting with her head, he

kneaded the shampoo through her hair, down her back, over her behind, past her legs, and finally between her toes.

When Denise stepped over into the clear water of Mom's rinsing sink, Dad slid me from the counter into the washing sink and began kneading the shampoo into my hair. Mom used her black-handled aluminum pot to give Denise a warm final rinse, and then, like a baton in a relay, quickly passed Denise back off to Dad.

I stepped over into Mom's rinsing sink, and on cue my brother Eddie stepped into the washing sink, where he waited while Dad sat Denise on top of the terry-covered counter and used his big towel to speed-dry her hair. Denises job was to press her head into Dads chest as hard as she could, and try to hum " Aaaaaaah" straight through the vibration to the very end.

As Denise moved over to the kitchen table to put on the printed flannels Mom had waiting in size order, I was " aaaaaahing' n through the speed-dry, Eddie was getting Mom's final rinse, Ellen was stepping into Dads sink, and Johnny and Tommy waited in line.

By the time the calls started coming in on Sunday, I had set up a routine as squeaky-clean as Mom's to move the sales applicants in and out.

"Hello," the first caller pleasantly began, "I'm calling about your empty desk advertisement in today's paper."

Our receptionist responded with "Thank you for calling. If you would just hold a moment, I'll connect vou with our president."

As I picked up the phone, the applicant politely repeated, "I'm calling about your empty desk ad in today's paper."

"Oh, thank you for calling," I responded, "but unfortunately that position has already been filled."

"What?" the caller asked suspiciously. "How could that possibly be? It just appeared in today's paper!"

"Yes, and I'm very sorry," I explained sympathetically. "But we usually have a long list of people waiting to join our company, and

i

ilie positions are often taken before the ad even appears. Tin re;ill\ sorry to disappoint you. "

"Well . . . okay/" the caller said, "I guess I understand—"

"But." I interrupted, "positions do open up from time to time, and Fd be happy to get together with you anyway. Then at least we'd have a chance to meet one another so when another position opens, I could call you immediately."

"Oh, would you? That would be very nice of you."

"Tomorrow at ten, then?" I finished.

I narrowed twenty-seven would-be salespeople into sixteen appointments and scheduled them the next morning between 10:00 and 1:00. Each applicant was surprised to find three other people already waiting, and jockeyed for a piece of the small bench at the front of the office.

Our receptionist greeted everyone with a four-page sales application. On my instructions, she gave those who appeared well groomed and well dressed a pen. And those applicants who weren't "dressed for success," she handed a pencil. When the applicants called to follow up later, I had a surefire way to tell which callers to spend my time with.

I scanned each sales application to ferret out the applicant's personal references and home address because the information would tell me whether or not they had the contacts and customer leads I couldn't give them.

The first interview of the day was with a well-coiffed woman in her early forties. After chatting at length about her children, hobbies, and husbands. I corralled the conversation back in with "Mary, Fm so happv you've spent all this time telling me about your family and friends." I smiled and she smiled back. "But would you mind if Fm totally honest with you?

"Please, of course not," she welcomed.

"Well, Marv, after working with so many different people. I

guess I've concluded that great salespeople have a few things in common. The first is empathy. You know, the ability to get along with people. And, Mary, it's obvious to me that you're very, very good with people. Would you agree?"

Mary straightened her back, sat up proudly, and said, "Yes, of course. Yes, yes, I'm very good with people."

I smiled and then paused with obvious concern. "But," I said in a serious voice, "I've also found that the other thing great salespeople share is a real need to succeed—I'd almost call it a killer instinct. And for whatever reason, I'm just not getting it from you." Then I sat back in my chair and waited for her response.

For the next five minutes, Mary gave a monologue on how she "really was aggressive." Her words were right, but her music was all wrong.

I bade her good-bye and promised to call if a position became available. It never would.

The next applicant sashayed in with her black alligator briefcase, removed an alligator glove, and extended her manicured hand across my desk. She explained she had "four years' real estate experience" and knew all the right people in all the right places. In three short minutes, she made it perfectly clear to me she had nothing to learn. And I believed her and sent her on her way.

Thirteen applicants later, a tall woman named Emily marched confidently into my office and plopped down. She wore a hot-pink tweed suit trimmed with a contrasting taupe braid. Her suit had more buttons than I had in my whole wardrobe. They were bright gold with two raised Cs on each of them. I immediately made a mental note to imitate their design for a Corcoran Group logo.

When I got to my standard "I don't think you're aggressive ..." line, Emily was so insulted I thought she'd leap across the desk and grab my throat. And as she yap-yap-yapped in my face, I knew Emily was the gal for me.

MOM'S LESSON #7: If's there's more than one kid to wash, set up a bathtime routine.

THE LESSON LEARNED ABOUT SETTING UP GOOD ROUTINES

Although I was desperate to fill seven desks, I created the impression that desks at The Corcoran Group were in short supply. Realizing that good salespeople need to compete, I knew the adrenaline would flow when they were forced to compete for the already taken "One Empty Desk."

When they arrived, the applicants were greeted with a lengthy sales application and a job that was filled. I knew that the higher the hurdle, the more convinced salespeople would be that the other side must be a very important place. My pen-and-pencil routine quickly sorted the professional-looking applicants from the rest, and saved time when thev called to follow up.

My "I don't think you're aggressive" challenge became my surefire svstem to pick out the winners. When Emily vehemently reacted to my challenge. I didn't need to listen to her words, because her music came through loud and clear. People cant fake passion.

My hiring routine quickly filled our seven empty desks with exceptional salespeople because, like my mother's bathtime routine, it allowed me to process lots of people in a short time. My new hires gave us the early sales talent that would soon push The Corcoran Group ahead of our competitors.