What Mom Taught Me About Business
When I was in middle school, dad had a heart attack and was sidelined in his job. Mom, who needed extra cash, turned to the only career path that seemed open to her. She became a Mary Kay Lady.
And so each trip to the supermarket, she was on her game. Approaching strangers with a smile and warm eyes, offering them a “complimentary facial” to make them feel better, brighten them up. A sexy, perky brunette with a charming Czech accent – who could say no?
She’d invite them to our house and in the dining room she’d focus on them for an hour. I used to sit in the kitchen and eavesdrop on her sessions. They would sit around the dining table, each with her own mirror.
Mom would ask, “What do you like the most about yourself?” She would listen, letting them vent (women tend to talk more about what’s wrong than what’s great). And then Mom would say, “Let me tell you what I see.” And she’d point out all the ways they were beautiful. She meant every word. Eventually, slowly, she would segue into which products they could use to play up their assets.
And no one left without dropping at least $100. In the early 80’s, a holdover era of Pond’s and Oil of Olay, that was breakthrough persuasion.
I was her assistant. She and I together read up and listened to all the Mary Kay sales training materials, featuring the great lady herself. That woman had wisdom! My favorite: “Critique should be served thoughtfully in a sandwich, between two pieces of praise.”
The money wasn’t great. To really make it big, you had to build your team. But Mom loved the one-on-ones. And she tired of driving cross-county to pick up a check for a $5 mascara. Dad called it “blood money”.
When it became clear there was no pink Cadillac in her future, mom moved to bigger ticket items: real estate.
The company she joined gave her a personality test. It said she was perfectly unsuited for real estate. She said, “That’s ridiculous!” and plunged in.
It was just before the crash of ’87. A tough time to start, but a perfect time to build and hone a real estate selling machine.
The horsey real estate ladies in our area focused all tried to be like Bergdorf — getting the huge multi-million dollar listings and sitting on them for a year or two. We were not country club people, and Mom knew this was a game she’d never win. She didn’t care.
Instead, Mom was the Wal-Mart of Northern Westchester real estate. She helped young couples who were scraping their first down payment get into the cheapest house in town and get into the school district. She sought women whose marriages were falling apart, helping keep their children in the district by securing that (rare) condo. As their lives stabilized, they loyally returned to her to trade them up. They referred her to their friends. Local stats showed she had 3-4 times the number of transactions of the other top agents. She was a machine.
Strongly intuitive about trends, and fearless about being a first mover, Mom viewed the other real estate ladies as being slow and stuffy. She loved trying new things. So this was a key strategy of counterattack. Mom was the first person in the office to buy software to manage her customer list. She’d send out thousands of quarterly letters on the state of the market, which hung on every refrigerator. In high school and college breaks I must have stuffed and licked 20,000+ envelopes. Her letters were quirky, often had English language mistakes. But they told it like it was, and were endlessly endearing. Her tag line: “Let me help you. I know (almost) every single road. And I’ll make it fun!” People still mention how they loved her letters. In Seth Godin’s words, that woman could “ship”.
She was an inaugural member of Realtor.com, investing $7500/year to own the premium local zip codes, to showcase her listing prominently to web seekers. She was an early Blackberry user, to ensure she was immediately responsive to her customers and prospects. If she were alive today, no doubt she would already be a seasoned blogger, Facebooker and Twitterer.
Her colleagues marveled at how Mom could make a “silk purse out of a sow’s ear”. She could move the unmovable property, usually after her competitors tried and failed. She did it with honesty, strong analysis (and hard truth) on pricing, and creative, passionate positioning. Her buyers were invariably thrilled. And her competitors respected her. When on the other side of the negotiating table, they knew she was fair and would work hard to get the deal done.
Mom loved what she did in work, and loved her family and her community. All the while, she was a terrific mom — always there when I needed her. A dutiful wife — making dad homemade lunch everyday (which simmered in the crock pot while she played tennis). Carved out time every day to do something for herself that she loved (usually the tennis or a Loehmann’s fix). She had a massive network of wonderful friends who adored her. She was over the moon to become a grandmother. In my adult life, I loved talking business with her. We learned so much from each other – I told her things I learned at Wharton and the F500 corporate environment (which fascinated her) – and she knew everything there was to know about human nature.
In 2003 she won #1 seller in Pound Ridge. Performance-wise, it was her best year ever. It was bittersweet, though. Dad was dying and she was stretched thin. He died in early ’04, and a few weeks after, her sudden fatigue was diagnosed as terminal, fast-growth cancer. Only months later, in the hospital on machines, she looked at me plaintively and said, “Terezko, I don’t want to do this. I did everything I wanted to do. I want to die. When I die, I want you to throw a big party. Invite all my friends from Pound Ridge, and tell them that I love them all.” We threw the party. The house was packed.
There’s a voice of honest, respectful truth that Mom embodied, as a mother, and as a businesswoman. She did it more purely and yet safely than anyone I’ve ever met. I’ve come to realize I cannot live without it, and I don’t think other people should live without it, either.
When I described my plan to a friend for my start-up, which is called Honestly Now, she replied with a whisper, “That sounds just like Marta.” I hadn’t realized it, but it’s true. I’m trying to digitize my mom. I am as convinced as the day is long that the world will be better for it.
Mom, I miss having you as my “Truth Fairy”. Thank you for your endless inspiration.
February 22, 2010
New York
