I envy famous New Yorkers like Wall Street executive Patrick Batemen. He’d abruptly end the meeting saying he has to return some videotapes. American psychos may be short on manners, but I bet their appointments don’t run over. I politely wrap up the encounter and walk around the show a bit. This is the only Salon that I’ve been to in the entire world where people wear shorts.
The Ghost of Sales Calls Past
Since we’re exhibiting in the main hall, I start off there. Now that I spend most of my time in purchasing, I don’t recognize as many faces. I pass an old salesman I know who’s always polite but rarely sincere. Next up is the French section, indignantly sincere and occasionally polite. I run into Mr. Emilio Mignucci of DiBruno Brothers fame.
I first met Emilio back when I was the only salesperson at my father’s company. Those days I worked 120 hour weeks that started at 5:50 am loading the day’s deliveries. This is when Epicure only had 1 delivery van. That meant loading 2,000 to 4,000 lbs of cheese, butter and meat (assuming leaf springs had reinforced the van’s suspension). As the number of company vans increased, the 5:50 am morning loading became harder and harder.
To cut costs as the company grew, I’d open new sales territories by driving our delivery truck. That way I could deliver to existing accounts and scout for new customers along the way. My goal was for the Philly van to be ½ full by the end of the summer. That way when sales doubled during the Christmas season the cargo hold would be packed floor to ceiling. But not too much product that we’d need a second vehicle for the same route.
Next to us was a company I’d never heard of before. It was manned by the two owners, Jerry and Ben. I vaguely remember Ben saying that this was their first show. Their Vermont ice cream was a huge hit.
Sometimes though calling on nearby stores caused problems. If you sold to one retailer, their neighbor and biggest competitor would be pissed. In Philly when I was knocking on doors and getting blown off, one of the first accounts I opened up was DiBruno Brothers. This was back when they only had one store on 9thStreet in south Philly. Unlike NYC’s Little Italy, this was the real deal. Garbage cans were lit on fire in the winter. The delivery van’s logo was lightly scorched as I drove down narrow streets.
Dibruno’s was run by Emilio and his cousin New York Billy. Emilio is a stocky, second generation southern Italian. He also favors a Turkish haircut though there’s a bit grayer in it these days. They’d never heard of my father’s company. But Emilio is flat out just the nicest guy. His store was and still is right next to another Italian store called Claudio’s King of Cheese. I’d knocked on both their doors, but Claudio had a strong relationship with one of our competitors, had never heard of us, and wasn’t interested.
Emilio was open to giving us a chance. His store could buy in volume. But I’d have to give him insane prices. I did. This one account almost allowed the route to break even, making other smaller customers more profitable.
Both our business and our friendship grew. Then a year or two later I got an unusual request from another Philly