How to win friends and influence people.pdf

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How To Win Friends & Influence People

REVISED EDITION

DALE CARNEGIE

Editorial Consultant: Dorothy Carnegie

Editorial Assistance: Arthur R. Pell, Ph.D.

SIMON AND SCHUSTER

NEW YORK

Published by Simon and Schuster

A Division of Gulf & Western Corporation

Simon & Schuster Building

Rockefeller Center

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, New York 10020

SIMON AND SCHUSTER and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster

Manufactured in the United States of America

17 19 20 18

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Carnegie, Dale, 1888-1955.

How to win friends and influence people.

Includes index.

1. Success. I. Title.

BF637.S8C37 1981 158’. 1 80-28759

ISBN O-671-42517-X

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EIGHT THINGS THIS BOOK WILL HELP YOU ACHIEVE

1. Get out of a mental rut, think new thoughts, acquire new visions, discover new ambitions.

2. Make friends quickly and easily.

3. Increase your popularity.

4. Win people to your way of thinking.

5. Increase your influence, your prestige, your ability to get things done.

6. Handle complaints, avoid arguments, keep your human contacts smooth and pleasant.

7. Become a better speaker, a more entertaining conversationalist.

8. Arouse enthusiasm among your associates.

This book has done all these things for more than ten million readers in thirty-six languages.

This Book Is Dedicated to a Man

Who Doesn’t Need to Read It:

My Cherished Friend

HOMER CROY

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Content

Preface To Revised Edition.......................................................................... 4

How The Book Was Written—And Why.......................................................... 5

Nine Suggestions On How To Get The Best Of This Book.................................... 8

Part One: Fundamental Techniques In Handling People

1: If you want to gather honey, don't kick over the beehive..................................... 11

2: The big secret of dealing with people........................................................... 18

3: He who can do this has the whole world with him. He who cannot walks a lonely way 24

Part Two: Six Ways To Make People Like You

4: Do this and you'll be welcome anywhere....................................................... 34

5: A simple way to make a good impression...................................................... 40

6: If you don't do this, you are headed for trouble................................................ 44

7: An easy way to become a good conversationalist............................................. 48

8: How to interest people............................................................................ 53

9: How to make people like you instantly.......................................................... 56

Part Three: How To Win People To Your Way Of Thinking

10: You can’t win an argument..................................................................... 63

11: A sure way of making enemies—and how to avoid it....................................... 67

12: If you're wrong, admit it......................................................................... 72

13: A drop of honey................................................................................... 76

14: The secret of Socrates............................................................................ 80

15: The safety valve in handling complaints...................................................... 83

16: How To Get Cooperation........................................................................ 86

17: A formula that will work wonders for you.................................................... 89

18: What everybody wants........................................................................... 92

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19: An appeal that everybody likes................................................................. 96

20: The movies do it. TV does it. Why don't you do it?......................................... 99

21: When nothing else works, try this.............................................................. 102

Part 4: Be A Leader: How To Change People Without Giving Offence Or Arousing

Resentment

22: If you must find fault, this is the way to begin............................................... 106

23: How to criticize—and not be hated for it...................................................... 109

24: A talk about your own mistakes first.......................................................... 111

25: No one likes to take orders. ..................................................................... 114

26: Let the other person save face.................................................................. 116

27: How to spur people on to success.............................................................. 118

28: Give a dog a good name......................................................................... 121

29: Make the fault seem easy to correct............................................................ 123

30: Making people glad to do what you want..................................................... 125

A Shortcut To Distinction............................................................................ 128

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Preface To Revised Edition

How to Win Friends and Influence People was first published in 1937 in an edition of only five

thousand copies. Neither Dale Carnegie nor the publishers, Simon and Schuster, anticipated more than this

modest sale. To their amazement, the book became an overnight sensation, and edition after edition rolled off

the presses to keep up with the increasing public demand. How to Win Friends and Influence People took its

place in publishing history as one of the all-time international bestsellers. It touched a nerve and filled a human

need that was more than a faddish phenomenon of post-Depression days, as evidenced by its continued and

uninterrupted sales into the eighties, almost half a century later.

Dale Carnegie used to say that it was easier to make a million dollars than to put a phrase into the

English language. How to Win Friends and Influence People became such a phrase, quoted, paraphrased,

parodied, used in innumerable contexts from political cartoon to novels. The book itself was translated into

almost every known written language. Each generation has discovered it anew and has found it relevant.

Which brings us to the logical question: Why revise a book that has proven and continues to prove its

vigorous and universal appeal? Why tamper with success?

To answer that, we must realize that Dale Carnegie himself was a tireless reviser of his own work

during his lifetime. How to Win Friends and Influence People was written to be used as a textbook for his

courses in Effective Speaking and Human Relations and is still used in those courses today. Until his death in

1955 he constantly improved and revised the course itself to make it applicable to the evolving needs of an ever- growing public. No one was more sensitive to the changing currents of present-day life than Dale Carnegie. He

constantly improved and refined his methods of teaching; he updated his book on Effective Speaking several

times. Had he lived longer, he himself would have revised How to Win Friends and Influence People to better

reflect the changes that have taken place in the world since the thirties.

Many of the names of prominent people in the book, well known at the time of first publication, are no

longer recognized by many of today’s readers. Certain examples and phrases seem as quaint and dated in our

social climate as those in a Victorian novel. The important message and overall impact of the book is weakened

to that extent.

Our purpose, therefore, in this revision is to clarify and strengthen the book for a modern reader

without tampering with the content. We have not “changed” How to Win Friends and Influence People except to

make a few excisions and add a few more contemporary examples. The brash, breezy Carnegie style is intact—

even the thirties slang is still there. Dale Carnegie wrote as he spoke, in an intensively exuberant, colloquial,

conversational manner.

So his voice still speaks as forcefully as ever, in the book and in his work. Thousands of people all over

the world are being trained in Carnegie courses in increasing numbers each year. And other thousands are

reading and studying How to Win Friends and lnfluence People and being inspired to use its principles to better

their lives. To all of them, we offer this revision in the spirit of the honing and polishing of a finely made tool.

– Dorothy Carnegie

(Mrs. Dale Carnegie)

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How This Book Was Written—And Why

During the first thirty-five years of the twentieth century, the publishing houses of America printed

more than a fifth of a million different books. Most of them were deadly dull, and many were financial failures.

“Many,” did I say? The president of one of the largest publishing houses in the world confessed to me that his

company, after seventy-five years of publishing experience, still lost money on seven out of every eight books it

published.

Why, then, did I have the temerity to write another book? And, after I had written it, why should you

bother to read it?

Fair questions, both; and I’ll try to answer them.

I have, since 1912, been conducting educational courses for business and professional men and women

in New York. At first, I conducted courses in public speaking only—courses designed to train adults, by actual

experience, to think on their feet and express their ideas with more clarity, more effectiveness and more poise,

both in business interviews and before groups.

But gradually, as the seasons passed, I realized that as sorely as these adults needed training in effective

speaking, they needed still more training in the fine art of getting along with people in everyday business and

social contacts.

I also gradually realized that I was sorely in need of such training myself. As I look back across the

years, I am appalled at my own frequent lack of finesse and understanding. How I wish a book such as this had

been placed in my hands twenty years ago! What a priceless boon it would have been.

Dealing with people is probably the biggest problem you face, especially if you are in business. Yes,

and that is also true if you are a housewife, architect or engineer. Research done a few years ago under the

auspices of the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching uncovered a most important and

significant fact—a fact later confirmed by additional studies made at the Carnegie Institute of Technology.

These investigations revealed that even in such technical lines as engineering, about 15 percent of one’s

financial success is due to one’s technical knowledge and about 85 percent is due to skill in human engineering,

to personality and the ability to lead people.

For many years, I conducted courses each season at the Engineers’ Club of Philadelphia, and also

courses for the New York Chapter of the American Institute of Electrical Engineers. A total of probably more

than fifteen hundred engineers have passed through my classes. They came to me because they had finally

realized, after years of observation and experience, that the highest-paid personnel in engineering are frequently

not those who know the most about engineering. One can for example, hire mere technical ability in

engineering, accountancy, architecture or any other profession at nominal salaries. But the person who has

technical knowledge plus the ability to express ideas, to assume leadership, and to arouse enthusiasm among

people—that person is headed for higher earning power.

In the heyday of his activity, John D. Rockefeller said that “the ability to deal with people is as

purchasable a commodity as sugar or coffee.” “And I will pay more for that ability,” said John D., “than for any

other under the sun.”

Wouldn’t you suppose that every college in the land would conduct courses to develop the highest- priced ability under the sun? But if there is just one practical, commonsense course of that kind given for adults

in even one college in the land, it has escaped my attention up to the present writing.

The University of Chicago and the United Y.M.C.A. Schools conducted a survey to determine what

adults want to study.

That survey cost $25,000 and took two years. The last part of the survey was made in Meriden,

Connecticut. It had been chosen as a typical American town. Every adult in Meriden was interviewed and

requested to answer 156 questions—questions such as “What is your business or profession? Your education?

How do you spend your spare time? What is your income? Your hobbies? Your ambitions? Your problems?

What subjects are you most interested in studying?” And so on. That survey revealed that health is the prime

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interest of adults and that their second interest is people; how to understand and get along with people; how to

make people like you; and how to win others to your way of thinking.

So the committee conducting this survey resolved to conduct such a course for adults in Meriden. They

searched diligently for a practical textbook on the subject and found not one. Finally they approached one of the

world’s outstanding authorities on adult education and asked him if he knew of any book that met the needs of

this group. “No,” he replied, "I know what those adults want. But the book they need has never been written.”

I knew from experience that this statement was true, for I myself had been searching for years to

discover a practical, working handbook on human relations.

Since no such book existed, I have tried to write one for use in my own courses. And here it is. I hope

you like it.

In preparation for this book, I read everything that I could find on the subject—everything from

newspaper columns, magazine articles, records of the family courts, the writings of the old philosophers and the

new psychologists. In addition, I hired a trained researcher to spend one and a half years in various libraries

reading everything I had missed, plowing through erudite tomes on psychology, poring over hundreds of

magazine articles, searching through countless biographies, trying to ascertain how the great leaders of all ages

had dealt with people. We read their biographies; we read the life stories of all great leaders from Julius Caesar

to Thomas Edison. I recall that we read over one hundred biographies of Theodore Roosevelt alone. We were

determined to spare no time, no expense, to discover every practical idea that anyone had ever used throughout

the ages for winning friends and influencing people.

I personally interviewed scores of successful people, some of them world-famous inventors like

Marconi and Edison; political leaders like Franklin D. Roosevelt and James Farley; business leaders like Owen

D. Young; movie stars like Clark Gable and Mary Pickford, and explorers like Martin Johnson, and tried to

discover the techniques they used in human relations.

From all this material, I prepared a short talk. I called it “How to Win Friends and Influence People”. I

say “short.” It was short in the beginning, but it soon expanded to a lecture that consumed one hour and thirty

minutes. For years, I gave this talk each season to the adults in the Carnegie Institute courses in New York.

I gave the talk and urged the listeners to go out and test it in their business and social contacts, and then

come back to class and speak about their experiences and the results they had achieved. What an interesting

assignment! These men and women, hungry for self-improvement, were fascinated by the idea of working in a

new kind of laboratory—the first and only laboratory of human relationships for adults that had ever existed.

This book wasn’t written in the usual sense of the word. It grew as a child grows. It grew and

developed out of that laboratory, out of the experiences of thousands of adults.

Years ago, we started with a set of rules printed on a card no larger than a postcard. The next season we

printed a larger card, then a leaflet, then a series of booklets, each one expanding in size and scope. After fifteen

years of experiment and research came this book.

The rules we have set down here are not mere theories or guesswork. They work like magic. Incredible

as it sounds, I have seen the application of these principles literally revolutionize the lives of many people.

To illustrate: A man with 314 employees joined one of these courses. For years, he had driven and

criticized and condemned his employees without stint or discretion. Kindness, words of appreciation and

encouragement were alien to his lips. After studying the principles discussed in this book, this employer sharply

altered his philosophy of life. His organization is now inspired with a new loyalty, a new enthusiasm, a new

spirit of teamwork. Three hundred and fourteen enemies have been turned into 314 friends. As he proudly said

in a speech before the class: “When I used to walk through my establishment, no one greeted me. My employees

actually looked the other way when they saw me approaching. But now they are all my friends and even the

janitor calls me by my first name.”

This employer gained more profit, more leisure and—what is infinitely more important—he found far

more happiness in his business and in his home.

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Countless numbers of salespeople have sharply increased their sales by the use of these principles.

Many have opened up new accounts—accounts that they had formerly solicited in vain. Executives have been

given increased authority, increased pay. One executive reported a large increase in salary because he applied

these truths. Another, an executive in the Philadelphia Gas Works Company, was slated for demotion when he

was sixty-five because of his belligerence, because of his inability to lead people skillfully. This training not

only saved him from the demotion but brought him a promotion with increased pay.

On innumerable occasions, spouses attending the banquet given at the end of the course have told me

that their homes have been much happier since their husbands or wives started this training.

People are frequently astonished at the new results they achieve. It all seems like magic. In some cases,

in their enthusiasm, they have telephoned me at my home on Sundays because they couldn’t wait forty-eight

hours to report their achievements at the regular session of the course.

One man was so stirred by a talk on these principles that he sat far into the night discussing them with

other members of the class. At three o’clock in the morning, the others went home. But he was so shaken by a

realization of his own mistakes, so inspired by the vista of a new and richer world opening before him, that he

was unable to sleep. He didn’t sleep that night or the next day or the next night.

Who was he? A naive, untrained individual ready to gush over any new theory that came along? No, far

from it. He was a sophisticated, blasé dealer in art, very much the man about town, who spoke three languages

fluently and was a graduate of two European universities.

While writing this chapter, I received a letter from a German of the old school, an aristocrat whose

forebears had served for generations as professional army officers under the Hohenzollerns. His letter, written

from a transatlantic steamer, telling about the application of these principles, rose almost to a religious fervor.

Another man, an old New Yorker, a Harvard graduate, a wealthy man, the owner of a large carpet

factory, declared he had learned more in fourteen weeks through this system of training about the fine art of

influencing people than he had learned about the same subject during his four years in college. Absurd?

Laughable? Fantastic? Of course, you are privileged to dismiss this statement with whatever adjective you wish.

I am merely reporting, without comment, a declaration made by a conservative and eminently successful

Harvard graduate in a public address to approximately six hundred people at the Yale Club in New York on the

evening of Thursday, February 23, 1933.

“Compared to what we ought to be,” said the famous Professor William James of Harvard, “compared

to what we ought to be, we are only half awake. We are making use of only a small part of our physical and

mental resources. Stating the thing broadly, the human individual thus lives far within his limits. He possesses

powers of various sorts which he habitually fails to use.”

Those powers which you “habitually fail to use”! The sole purpose of this book is to help you discover,

develop and profit by those dormant and unused assets.

“Education,” said Dr. John G. Hibben, former president of Princeton University, “is the ability to meet

life’s situations.”

If by the time you have finished reading the first three chapters of this book, if you aren’t then a little

better equipped to meet life’s situations, then I shall consider this book to be a total failure so far as you are

concerned.

“For the great aim of education,” said Herbert Spencer, “is not knowledge but action.”

And this is an action book.

– Dale Carnegie

1936

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Nine Suggestions On How To Get The Most Out Of This Book

1. If you wish to get the most out of this book, there is one indispensable requirement, one essential infinitely

more important than any rule or technique. Unless you have this one fundamental requisite, a thousand rules

on how to study will avail little, and if you do have this cardinal endowment, then you can achieve wonders

without reading any suggestions for getting the most out of a book.

What is this magic requirement? Just this: a deep, driving desire to learn, a vigorous determination to

increase your ability to deal with people.

How can you develop such an urge? By constantly reminding yourself how important these principles are to

you. Picture to yourself how their mastery will aid you in leading a richer, fuller, happier and more

fulfilling life. Say to yourself over and over: “My popularity, my happiness and sense of worth depend to no

small extent upon my skill in dealing with people.”

2. Read each chapter rapidly at first to get a bird’s-eye view of it. You will probably be tempted then to rush

on to the next one. But don’t, unless you are reading merely for entertainment. But if you are reading

because you want to increase your skill in human relations, then go back and reread each chapter

thoroughly. In the long run, this will mean saving time and getting results.

3. Stop frequently in your reading to think over what you are reading. Ask yourself just how and when you

can apply each suggestion.

4. Read with a crayon, pencil, pen, magic marker or highlighter in your hand. When you come across a

suggestion that you feel you can use, draw a line beside it. If it is a four-star suggestion, then underscore

every sentence or highlight it, or mark it with “****”. Marking and underscoring a book makes it more

interesting, and far easier to review rapidly.

5. I knew a woman who had been office manager for a large insurance concern for fifteen years. Every month,

she read all the insurance contracts her company had issued that month. Yes, she read many of the same

contracts over month after month, year after year. Why? Because experience had taught her that that was

the only way she could keep their provisions clearly in mind.

I once spent almost two years writing a book on public speaking and yet I found I had to keep going back

over it from time to time in order to remember what I had written in my own book. The rapidity with which

we forget is astonishing.

So, if you want to get a real, lasting benefit out of this book, don’t imagine that skimming through it once

will suffice. After reading it thoroughly, you ought to spend a few hours reviewing it every month. Keep it

on your desk in front of you every day. Glance through it often. Keep constantly impressing yourself with

the rich possibilities for improvement that still lie in the offing. Remember that the use of these principles

can be made habitual only by a constant and vigorous campaign of review and application. There is no

other way.

6. Bernard Shaw once remarked, “If you teach a man anything, he will never learn.” Shaw was right. Learning

is an active process. We learn by doing. So, if you desire to master the principles you are studying in this

book, do something about them. Apply these rules at every opportunity. If you don’t you will forget them

quickly. Only knowledge that is used sticks in your mind.

You will probably find it difficult to apply these suggestions all the time. I know because I wrote the book,

and yet frequently I found it difficult to apply everything I advocated. For example, when you are

displeased, it is much easier to criticize and condemn than it is to try to understand the other person’s

viewpoint. It is frequently easier to find fault than to find praise. It is more natural to talk about what you

want than to talk about what the other person wants and so on. So, as you read this book, remember that you

are not merely trying to acquire information. You are attempting to form new habits. Ah yes, you are

attempting a new way of life. That will require time and persistence and daily application.

So refer to these pages often. Regard this as a working handbook on human relations; and whenever you are

confronted with some specific problem—such as handling a child, winning your spouse to your way of

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thinking, or satisfying an irritated customer—hesitate about doing the natural thing, the impulsive thing.

This is usually wrong. Instead, turn to these pages and review the paragraphs you have underscored. Then

try these new ways and watch them achieve magic for you.

7. Offer your spouse, your child or some business associate a dime or a dollar every time he or she catches

you violating a certain principle. Make a lively game out of mastering these rules.

8. The president of an important Wall Street bank once described, in a talk before one of my classes, a highly

efficient system he used for self-improvement. This man had little formal schooling; yet he had become one

of the most important financiers in America, and he confessed that he owed most of his success to the

constant application of his homemade system. This is what he does and I’ll put it in his own words as

accurately as I can remember.

“For years I have kept an engagement book showing all the appointments I had during the day. My family

never made any plans for me on Saturday night, for the family knew that I devoted a part of each Saturday

evening to the illuminating process of self-examination and review and appraisal. After dinner I went off by

myself, opened my engagement book, and thought over all the interviews, discussions and meetings that

had taken place during the week. I asked myself: ‘What mistakes did I make that time?’ ‘What did I do that

was right, and in what way could I have improved my performance?’ ‘What lessons can I learn from that

experience?’

“I often found that this weekly review made me very unhappy. I was frequently astonished at my own

blunders. Of course, as the years passed, these blunders became less frequent. Sometimes I was inclined to

pat myself on the back a little after one of these sessions. This system of self-analysis, self-education,

continued year after year, did more for me than any other one thing I have ever attempted.

“It helped me improve my ability to make decisions and it aided me enormously in all my contacts with

people. I cannot recommend it too highly.”

Why not use a similar system to check up on your application of the principles discussed in this book? If

you do, two things will result.

First, you will find yourself engaged in an educational process that is both intriguing and priceless. Second,

you will find that your ability to meet and deal with people will grow enormously.

9. You will find at the end of this book several blank pages on which you should record your triumphs in the

application of these principles. Be specific. Give names, dates, results. Keeping such a record will inspire

you to greater efforts; and how fascinating these entries will be when you chance upon them some evening

years from now!

In order to get the most out of this book:

a. Develop a deep, driving desire to master the principles of human relations.

b. Read each chapter twice before going on to the next one.

c. As you read, stop frequently to ask yourself how you can apply each suggestion.

d. Underscore each important idea.

e. Review this book each month.

f. Apply these principles at every opportunity. Use this volume as a working handbook to help you solve

your daily problems.

g. Make a lively game out of your learning by offering some friend a dime or a dollar every time he or she

catches you violating one of these principles.

h. Check up each week on the progress you are making. Ask yourself what mistakes you have made, what

improvement, what lessons you have learned for the future.

i. Keep notes in the back of this book showing how and when you have applied these principles.

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PART ONE

Fundamental Techniques In Handling People

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“IF YOU WANT TO GATHER HONEY, DON’T KICK OVER

THE BEEHIVE.”

On May 7, 1931, the most sensational manhunt New York City had ever known had come to its climax.

After weeks of search, “Two Gun” Crowley—the killer, the gunman who didn’t smoke or drink—was at bay,

trapped in his sweetheart’s apartment on West End Avenue.

One hundred and fifty policemen and detectives laid siege to his top-floor hideaway. They chopped

holes in the roof; they tried to smoke out Crowley, the “cop killer,” with teargas. Then they mounted their

machine guns on surrounding buildings, and for more than an hour one of New York’s fine residential areas

reverberated with the crack of pistol fire and the rut-tat-tat of machine guns. Crowley, crouching behind an

over-stuffed chair, fired incessantly at the police. Ten thousand excited people watched the battle. Nothing like

it ever been seen before on the sidewalks of New York.

When Crowley was captured, Police Commissioner E. P. Mulrooney declared that the two-gun

desperado was one of the most dangerous criminals ever encountered in the history of New York. “He will kill,”

said the Commissioner, “at the drop of a feather.”

But how did “Two Gun” Crowley regard himself? We know, because while the police were firing into

his apartment, he wrote a letter addressed “To whom it may concern, ” and, as he wrote, the blood flowing from

his wounds left a crimson trail on the paper. In this letter Crowley said, “Under my coat is a weary heart, but a

kind one—one that would do nobody any harm.”

A short time before this, Crowley had been having a necking party with his girlfriend on a country road

out on Long Island. Suddenly a policeman walked up to the car and said, “Let me see your license.”

Without saying a word, Crowley drew his gun and cut the policeman down with a shower of lead. As

the dying officer fell, Crowley leaped out of the car, grabbed the officer’s revolver, and fired another bullet into

the prostrate body. And that was the killer who said, “Under my coat is a weary heart, but a kind one—one that

would do nobody any harm.’

Crowley was sentenced to the electric chair. When he arrived at the death house in Sing Sing, did he

say, “This is what I get for killing people”? No, he said, “This is what I get for defending myself.”

The point of the story is this: “Two Gun” Crowley didn’t blame himself for anything.

Is that an unusual attitude among criminals? If you think so, listen to this:

“I have spent the best years of my life giving people the lighter pleasures, helping them have a good

time, and all I get is abuse, the existence of a hunted man.”

That’s Al Capone speaking. Yes, America’s most notorious Public Enemy—the most sinister gang

leader who ever shot up Chicago. Capone didn’t condemn himself. He actually regarded himself as a public

benefactor—an unappreciated and misunderstood public benefactor.

And so did Dutch Schultz before he crumpled up under gangster bullets in Newark. Dutch Schultz, one

of New York’s most notorious rats, said in a newspaper interview that he was a public benefactor. And he

believed it.

I have had some interesting correspondence with Lewis Lawes, who was warden of New York’s

infamous Sing Sing prison for many years, on this subject, and he declared that “few of the criminals in Sing

Sing regard themselves as bad men. They are just as human as you and I. So they rationalize, they explain. They

can tell you why they had to crack a safe or be quick on the trigger finger. Most of them attempt by a form of

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reasoning, fallacious or logical, to justify their anti-social acts even to themselves, consequently stoutly

maintaining that they should never have been imprisoned at all.”

If Al Capone, “Two Gun” Crowley, Dutch Schultz, and the desperate men and women behind prison

walls don’t blame themselves for anything—what about the people with whom you and I come in contact?

John Wanamaker, founder of the stores that bear his name, once confessed, “I learned thirty years ago

that it is foolish to scold. I have enough trouble overcoming my own limitations without fretting over the fact

that God has not seen fit to distribute evenly the gift of intelligence.”

Wanamaker learned this lesson early, but I personally had to blunder through this old world for a third

of a century before it even began to dawn upon me that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, people don’t criticize

themselves for anything, no matter how wrong it may be.

Criticism is futile because it puts a person on the defensive and usually makes him strive to justify

himself. Criticism is dangerous, because it wounds a person’s precious pride, hurts his sense of importance, and

arouses resentment.

B. F. Skinner, the world-famous psychologist, proved through his experiments that an animal rewarded

for good behavior will learn much more rapidly and retain what it learns far more effectively than an animal

punished for bad behavior. Later studies have shown that the same applies to humans. By criticizing, we do not

make lasting changes and often incur resentment.

Hans Selye, another great psychologist, said, “As much as we thirst for approval, we dread

condemnation.”

The resentment that criticism engenders can demoralize employees, family members and friends, and

still not correct the situation that has been condemned.

George B. Johnston of Enid, Oklahoma, is the safety coordinator for an engineering company. One of

his responsibilities is to see that employees wear their hard hats whenever they are on the job in the field. He

reported that whenever he came across workers who were not wearing hard hats, he would tell them with a lot of

authority of the regulation and that they must comply. As a result he would get sullen acceptance, and often after

he left, the workers would remove the hats.

He decided to try a different approach. The next time he found some of the workers not wearing their

hard hat, he asked if the hats were uncomfortable or did not fit properly. Then he reminded the men in a pleasant

tone of voice that the hat was designed to protect them from injury and suggested that it always be worn on the

job. The result was increased compliance with the regulation with no resentment or emotional upset.

You will find examples of the futility of criticism bristling on a thousand pages of history, Take, for

example, the famous quarrel between Theodore Roosevelt and President Taft—a quarrel that split the

Republican party, put Woodrow Wilson in the White House, and wrote bold, luminous lines across the First

World War and altered the flow of history. Let’s review the facts quickly. When Theodore Roosevelt stepped

out of the White House in 1908, he supported Taft, who was elected President. Then Theodore Roosevelt went

off to Africa to shoot lions. When he returned, he exploded. He denounced Taft for his conservatism, tried to

secure the nomination for a third term himself, formed the Bull Moose party, and all but demolished the G.O.P.

In the election that followed, William Howard Taft and the Republican party carried only two states—Vermont

and Utah. The most disastrous defeat the party had ever known.

Theodore Roosevelt blamed Taft, but did President Taft blame himself? Of course not. With tears in his

eyes, Taft said: “I don’t see how I could have done any differently from what I have.”

Who was to blame? Roosevelt or Taft? Frankly, I don’t know, and I don’t care. The point I am trying to

make is that all of Theodore Roosevelt’s criticism didn’t persuade Taft that he was wrong. It merely made Taft

strive to justify himself and to reiterate with tears in his eyes: “I don’t see how I could have done any differently

from what I have.”

Or, take the Teapot Dome oil scandal. It kept the newspapers ringing with indignation in the early

1920s. It rocked the nation! Within the memory of living men, nothing like it had ever happened before in

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American public life. Here are the bare facts of the scandal: Albert B. Fall, secretary of the interior in Harding’s

cabinet, was entrusted with the leasing of government oil reserves at Elk Hill and Teapot Dome—oil reserves

that had been set aside for the future use of the Navy. Did secretary Fall permit competitive bidding? No sir. He

handed the fat, juicy contract outright to his friend Edward L. Doheny. And what did Doheny do? He gave

Secretary Fall what he was pleased to call a “loan” of one hundred thousand dollars. Then, in a high-handed

manner, Secretary Fall ordered United States Marines into the district to drive off competitors whose adjacent

wells were sapping oil out of the Elk Hill reserves. These competitors, driven off their ground at the ends of

guns and bayonets, rushed into court—and blew the lid off the Teapot Dome scandal. A stench arose so vile that

it ruined the Harding Administration, nauseated an entire nation, threatened to wreck the Republican party, and

put Albert B. Fall behind prison bars.

Fall was condemned viciously—condemned as few men in public life have ever been. Did he repent?

Never! Years later Herbert Hoover intimated in a public speech that President Harding’s death had been due to

mental anxiety and worry because a friend had betrayed him. When Mrs. Fall heard that, she sprang from her

chair, she wept, she shook her fists at fate and screamed, “What! Harding betrayed by Fall? No! My husband

never betrayed anyone. This whole house full of gold would not tempt my husband to do wrong. He is the one

who has been betrayed and led to the slaughter and crucified.”

There you are; human nature in action, wrongdoers, blaming everybody but themselves. We are all like

that. So when you and I are tempted to criticize someone tomorrow, let’s remember Al Capone, “Two Gun”

Crowley and Albert Fall. Let’s realize that criticisms are like homing pigeons. They always return home. Let’s

realize that the person we are going to correct and condemn will probably justify himself or herself, and

condemn us in return; or, like the gentle Taft, will say, “I don’t see how I could have done any differently from

what I have.”

On the morning of April 15, 1865, Abraham Lincoln lay dying in a hall bedroom of a cheap lodging

house directly across the street from Ford’s Theater, where John Wilkes Booth had shot him. Lincoln’s long

body lay stretched diagonally across a sagging bed that was too short for him. A cheap reproduction of Rosa

Bonheur’s famous painting The Horse Fair hung above the bed, and a dismal gas jet flickered yellow light.

As Lincoln lay dying, Secretary of War Stanton said, “There lies the most perfect ruler of men that the

world has ever seen.”

What was the secret of Lincoln’s success in dealing with people? I studied the life of Abraham Lincoln

for ten years and devoted all of three years to writing and rewriting a book entitled Lincoln the Unknown. I

believe I have made as detailed and exhaustive a study of Lincoln’s personality and home life as it is possible

for any being to make. I made a special study of Lincoln’s method of dealing with people. Did he indulge in

criticism? Oh, yes. As a young man in the Pigeon Creek Valley of Indiana, he not only criticized but he wrote

letters and poems ridiculing people and dropped these letters on the country roads where they were sure to be

found. One of these letters aroused resentments that burned for a lifetime.

Even after Lincoln had become a practicing lawyer in Springfield, Illinois, he attacked his opponents

openly in letters published in the newspapers. But he did this just once too often.

In the autumn of 1842 he ridiculed a vain, pugnacious politician by the name of James Shields. Lincoln

lambasted him through an anonymous letter published in Springfield Journal. The town roared with laughter.

Shields, sensitive and proud, boiled with indignation. He found out who wrote the letter, leaped on his horse,

started after Lincoln, and challenged him to fight a duel. Lincoln didn’t want to fight. He was opposed to

dueling, but he couldn’t get out of it and save his honor. He was given the choice of weapons. Since he had very

long arms, he chose cavalry broadswords and took lessons in sword fighting from a West Point graduate; and,

on the appointed day, he and Shields met on a sandbar in the Mississippi River, prepared to fight to the death;

but, at the last minute, their seconds interrupted and stopped the duel.

That was the most lurid personal incident in Lincoln’s life. It taught him an invaluable lesson in the art

of dealing with people. Never again did he write an insulting letter. Never again did he ridicule anyone. And

from that time on, he almost never criticized anybody for anything.

Time after time, during the Civil War, Lincoln put a new general at the head of the Army of the

Potomac, and each one in turn—McClellan, Pope, Burnside, Hooker, Meade—blundered tragically and drove

Lincoln to pacing the floor in despair. Half the nation savagely condemned these incompetent generals, but

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Lincoln, “with malice toward none, with charity for all,” held his peace. One of his favorite quotations was

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.”

And when Mrs. Lincoln and others spoke harshly of the southern people, Lincoln replied, “Don’t

criticize them; they are just what we would be under similar circumstances.”

Yet if any man ever had occasion to criticize, surely it was Lincoln. Let’s take just one illustration:

The Battle of Gettysburg was fought during the first three days of July 1863. During the night of July 4,

Lee began to retreat southward while storm clouds deluged the country with rain. When Lee reached the

Potomac with his defeated army, he found a swollen, impassable river in front of him, and a victorious Union

Army behind him. Lee was in a trap. He couldn’t escape. Lincoln saw that. Here was a golden, heaven-sent

opportunity—the opportunity to capture Lee’s army and end the war immediately. So, with a surge of high

hope, Lincoln ordered Meade not to call a council of war but to attack Lee immediately. Lincoln telegraphed his

orders and then sent a special messenger to Meade demanding immediate action.

And what did General Meade do? He did the very opposite of what he was told to do. He called a

council of war in direct violation of Lincoln’s orders. He hesitated. He procrastinated. He telegraphed all

manner of excuses. He refused point-blank to attack Lee. Finally the waters receded and Lee escaped over the

Potomac with his forces.

Lincoln was furious, “ What does this mean?” Lincoln cried to his son Robert. “Great God! What does

this mean? We had them within our grasp, and had only to stretch forth our hands and they were ours; yet

nothing that I could say or do could make the army move. Under the circumstances, almost any general could

have defeated Lee. If I had gone up there, I could have whipped him myself.”

In bitter disappointment, Lincoln sat down and wrote Meade this letter. And remember, at this period

of his life Lincoln was extremely conservative and restrained in his phraseology. So this letter coming from

Lincoln in 1863 was tantamount to the severest rebuke.

“My dear General,

I do not believe you appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in Lee’s escape. He was

within our easy grasp, and to have closed upon him would, in connection with our other late successes, have

ended the war. As it is, the war will be prolonged indefinitely. If you could not safely attack Lee last Monday,

how can you possibly do so south of the river, when you can take with you very few—no more than two-thirds

of the force you then had in hand? It would be unreasonable to expect and I do not expect that you can now

effect much. Your golden opportunity is gone, and I am distressed immeasurably because of it.”

What do you suppose Meade did when he read the letter?

Meade never saw that letter. Lincoln never mailed it. It was found among his papers after his death.

My guess is—and this is only a guess—that after writing that letter, Lincoln looked out of the window

and said to himself, “Just a minute. Maybe I ought not to be so hasty. It is easy enough for me to sit here in the

quiet of the White House and order Meade to attack; but if I had been up at Gettysburg, and if I had seen as

much blood as Meade has seen during the last week, and if my ears had been pierced with the screams and

shrieks of the wounded and dying, maybe I wouldn’t be so anxious to attack either. If I had Meade’s timid

temperament, perhaps I would have done just what he had done. Anyhow, it is water under the bridge now. If I

send this letter, it will relieve my feelings, but it will make Meade try to justify himself. It will make him

condemn me. It will arouse hard feelings, impair all his further usefulness as a commander, and perhaps force

him to resign from the army.”

So, as I have already said, Lincoln put the letter aside, for he had learned by bitter experience that sharp

criticisms and rebukes almost invariably end in futility.

Theodore Roosevelt said that when he, as President, was confronted with a perplexing problem, he

used to lean back and look up at a large painting of Lincoln which hung above his desk in the White House and

ask himself, “What would Lincoln do if he were in my shoes? How would he solve this problem?”

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possess, and the way to develop the best that is in a person is by appreciation and encouragement.

“There is nothing else that so kills the ambitions of a person as criticisms from superiors. I never

criticize anyone. I believe in giving a person incentive to work. So I am anxious to praise but loath to find fault.

If I like anything, I am hearty in my approbation and lavish in my praise.”

That is what Schwab did. But what do average people do? The exact opposite. If they don’t like a

thing, they bawl out their subordinates; if they do like it, they say nothing. As the old couplet says: “Once I did

bad and that I heard ever/Twice I did good, but that I heard never.”

“In my wide association in life, meeting with many and great people in various parts of the world,”

Schwab declared, “I have yet to find the person, however great or exalted his station, who did not do better

work and put forth greater effort under a spirit of approval than he would ever do under a spirit of criticism.”

That he said, frankly, was one of the outstanding reasons for the phenomenal success of Andrew

Carnegie. Carnegie praised his associates publicly as well as privately.

Carnegie wanted to praise his assistants even on his tombstone. He wrote an epitaph for himself which

read: “Here lies one who knew how to get around him men who were cleverer than himself.”

Sincere appreciation was one of the secrets of the first John D. Rockefeller’s success in handling men.

For example, when one of his partners, Edward T. Bedford, lost a million dollars for the firm by a bad buy in

South America, John D. might have criticized; but he knew Bedford had done his best, and the incident was

closed. So Rockefeller found something to praise; he congratulated Bedford because he had been able to save

60 percent of the money he had invested. “That’s splendid,” said Rockefeller. “We don’t always do as well as

that upstairs.”

I have among my clippings a story that I know never happened, but it illustrates a truth, so I’ll repeat it:

According to this silly story, a farmwoman, at the end of a heavy day’s work, set before her menfolks a

heaping pile of hay. And when they indignantly demanded whether she had gone crazy, she replied: “Why, how

did I know you’d notice? I’ve been cooking for you men for the last twenty years and in all that time I ain’t

heard no word to let me know you wasn’t just eating hay.”

When a study was made a few years ago on runaway wives, what do you think was discovered to be

the main reason wives ran away? It was “lack of appreciation”. And I’d bet that a similar study made of

runaway husbands would come out the same way. We often take our spouses so much for granted that we never

let them know we appreciate them.

A member of one of our classes told of a request made by his wife. She and a group of other women in

her church were involved in a self-improvement program. She asked her husband to help her by listing six

things he believed she could do to help herself become a better wife. He reported to the class, “I was surprised

by such a request. Frankly, it would have been easy for me to list six things I would like to change about her—

my heavens, she could have listed a thousand things she would like to change about me—but I didn’t. I said to

her, ‘Let me think about it and give you an answer in the morning.’

“The next morning I got up very early and called the florist and had them send six red roses to my wife

with a note saying: ‘I can’t think of six things I would like to change about you. I love you the way you are.’

“When I arrived at home that evening, who do you think greeted me at the door: That’s right. My wife!

She was almost in tears. Needless to say, I was extremely glad I had not criticized her as she had requested.

“The following Sunday at church, after she had reported the results of her assignment, several women

with whom she had been studying came up to me and said, ‘That was the most considerate thing I have ever

heard.’ It was then I realized the power of appreciation.”

Florenz Ziegfeld, the most spectacular producer who ever dazzled Broadway, gained his reputation by

his subtle ability to “glorify the American girl”. Time after time, he took drab little creatures that no one ever

looked at twice and transformed them on the stage into glamorous visions of mystery and seduction. Knowing

the value of appreciation and confidence, he made women feel beautiful by the sheer power of his gallantry and

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To illustrate: His sister-in-law was worried sick over her two boys. They were at Yale, and they were

so busy with their own affairs that they neglected to write home and paid no attention whatever to their mother’s

frantic letters.

Then Carnegie offered to wager a hundred dollars that he could get an answer by return mail, without

even asking for it. Someone called his bet, so he wrote his nephews a chatty letter, mentioning casually in a

post-script that he was sending each one a five-dollar bill.

He neglected, however, to enclose the money.

Back came replies by return mail thanking “Dear Uncle Andrew” for his kind note and...you can finish

the sentence yourself.

Another example of persuading comes from Stan Novak of Cleveland, Ohio, a participant in our

course. Stan came home from work one evening to find his youngest son, Tim, kicking and screaming on the

living room floor. He was to start kindergarten the next day and was protesting that he would not go. Stan’s

normal reaction would have been to banish the child to his room and tell him he’d just better make up his mind

to go. He had no choice. But tonight, recognizing that this would not really help Tim start kindergarten in the

best frame of mind, Stan sat down and thought, “If I were Tim, why would I be excited about going to

kindergarten?” He and his wife made a list of all the fun things Tim would do such as finger painting, singing

songs, making new friends. Then they put them into action. “We all started finger-painting on the kitchen

table—my wife, Lil, my other son Bob, and myself, all having fun. Soon Tim was peeping around the corner.

Next he was begging to participate. ‘Oh, no! You have to go to kindergarten first to learn how to finger-paint.’

With all the enthusiasm I could muster I went through the list talking in terms he could understand, telling him

all the fun he would have in kindergarten. The next morning, I thought I was the first one up. I went downstairs

and found Tim sitting sound asleep in the living room chair. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘I’m waiting to

go to kindergarten. I don’t want to be late.’ The enthusiasm of our entire family had aroused in Tim an eager

want that no amount of discussion or threat could have possibly accomplished.”

Tomorrow you may want to persuade somebody to do something. Before you speak, pause and ask

yourself: “How can I make this person want to do it?”

That question will stop us from rushing into a situation heedlessly, with futile chatter about our desires.

At one time I rented the grand ballroom of a certain New York hotel for twenty nights in each season in

order to hold a series of lectures.

At the beginning of one season, I was suddenly informed that I should have to pay almost three times

as much rent as formerly. This news reached me after the tickets had been printed and distributed and all

announcements had been made.

Naturally, I didn’t want to pay the increase, but what was the use of talking to the hotel about what I

wanted? They were interested only in what they wanted. So a couple of days later I went to see the manager.

“I was a bit shocked when I got your letter,” I said, “but I don’t blame you at all. If I had been in your

position, I should probably have written a similar letter myself. Your duty as the manager of the hotel is to make

all the profit possible. If you don’t do that, you will be fired and you ought to be fired. Now, let’s take a piece of

paper and write down the advantages and the disadvantages that will accrue to you, if you insist on this increase

in rent.”

Then I took a letterhead and ran a line through the center and headed one column ‘Advantages’ and the

other column ‘Disadvantages’.

I wrote down under the head ‘Advantages’ these words: “Ballroom free”. Then I went on to say, “You

will have the advantage of having the ballroom free to rent for dances and conventions. That is a big advantage,

for affairs like that will pay you much more than you can get for a series of lectures. If I tie your ballroom up for

twenty nights during the course of the season, it is sure to mean a loss of some very profitable business to you.

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This agency’s national advertising accounts were the bulwark of the network. Our subsequent

clearances of station time have kept us at the top of agencies year after year.

[You are big and rich and right at the top, are you? So what? I don’t give two whoops in Hades if you are as big

as General Motors and General Electric and the General Staff of the U.S. Army all combined. If you had as

much sense as a half-witted hummingbird, you would realize that I am interested in how big I am, not how big

you are. All this talk about your enormous success makes me feel small and unimportant.]

We desire to service our accounts with the last word on radio station information.

[You desire! You desire. You unmitigated ass. I’m not interested in what you desire or what the President of the

United States desires. Let me tell you once and for all that I am interested in what I desire, and you haven’t said

a word about that yet in this absurd letter of yours.]

Will you, therefore, put the ---------- company on your preferred list for weekly station information

every single detail that will be useful to an agency in intelligently booking time.

[Preferred list! You have your nerve! You make me feel insignificant by your big talk about your company and

then you ask me to put you on a ‘preferred’ list, and you don’t even say ‘please’ when you ask it.]

A prompt acknowledgment of this letter, giving us your latest ‘doings’, will be mutually helpful.

[You fool! You mail me a cheap form letter—a letter scattered far and wide like the autumn leaves—and you

have the gall to ask me, when I am worried about the mortgage and the hollyhocks and my blood pressure, to sit

down and dictate a personal note acknowledging your form letter, and you ask me to do it ‘promptly’. What do

you mean, ‘promptly’? Don’t you know I am just as busy as you are—or, at least, I like to think I am. And while

we are on the subject, who gave you the lordly right to order me around? You say it will be ‘mutually helpful’.

At last, at last, you have begun to see my viewpoint. But you are vague about how it will be to my advantage.]

Very truly yours,

John Doe

Manager Radio Department

P.S. The enclosed reprint from the Blankville Journal will be of interest to you, and you may want to broadcast

it over your station.

[Finally, down here in the postscript, you mention something that may help me solve one of my problems. Why

didn’t you begin your letter with, but what’s the use? Any advertising man who is guilty of perpetrating such

drivel as you have sent me has something wrong with his medulla oblongata. You don’t need a letter giving our

latest doings. What you need is a quart of iodine in your thyroid gland.]

Now, if people who devote their lives to advertising and who pose as experts in the art of influencing

people to buy, if they write a letter like that, what can we expect from the butcher and baker or the auto

mechanic?

Here is another letter, written by the superintendent of a large freight terminal to a student of this

course, Edward Vermylen. What effect did this letter have on the man to whom it was addressed? Read it and

then I’ll tell you.

A. Zerega’s Sons, Inc.

28 Front St.

Brooklyn, N.Y. 11201

Attention: Mr. Edward Vermylen

Gentlemen,

The operations at our outbound-rail-receiving station are handicapped because a material percentage of

the total business is delivered us in the late afternoon. This condition results in congestion, overtime on the part

of our forces, delays to trucks, and in some cases delays to freight. On November 10, we received from your

company a lot of 510 pieces, which reached here at 4:20 P.M.

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“IF YOU DON’T DO THIS, YOU ARE HEADED FOR

TROUBLE.”

Back in 1898, a tragic thing happened in Rockland County, New York. A child had died, and on this

particular day the neighbors were preparing to go to the funeral.

Jim Farley went out to the barn to hitch up his horse. The ground was covered with snow, the air was

cold and snappy; the horse hadn’t been exercised for days; and as he was led out to the watering trough, he

wheeled playfully, kicked both his heels high in the air, and killed Jim Farley. So the little village of Stony Point

had two funerals that week instead of one.

Jim Farley left behind him a widow and three boys, and a few hundred dollars in insurance.

His oldest boy, Jim, was ten, and he went to work in a brickyard, wheeling sand and pouring it into the

molds and turning the brick on edge to be dried by the sun. This boy Jim never had a chance to get much

education. But with his natural geniality, he had a flair for making people like him, so he went into politics, and

as the years went by, he developed an uncanny ability for remembering people’s names.

He never saw the inside of a high school; but before he was forty-six years of age, four colleges had

honored him with degrees and he had become chairman of the Democratic National Committee and Postmaster

General of the United States.

I once interviewed Jim Farley and asked him the secret of his success. He said, “Hard work,” and I

said, “Don’t be funny.”

He then asked me what I thought was the reason for his success. I replied, "I understand you can call

ten thousand people by their first names.”

“No. You are wrong, " he said. “I can call fifty thousand people by their first names.”

Make no mistake about it. That ability helped Mr. Farley put Franklin D. Roosevelt in the White House

when he managed Roosevelt’s campaign in 1932.

During the years that Jim Farley traveled as a salesman for a gypsum concern, and during the years that

he held office as town clerk in Stony Point, he built up a system for remembering names.

In the beginning, it was a very simple one. Whenever he met a new acquaintance, he found out his or

her complete name and some facts about his or her family, business and political opinions. He fixed all these

facts well in mind as part of the picture, and the next time he met that person, even if it was a year later, he was

able to shake hands, inquire after the family, and ask about the hollyhocks in the backyard. No wonder he

developed a following!

For months before Roosevelt’s campaign for President began, Jim Farley wrote hundreds of letters a

day to people all over the western and northwestern states. Then he hopped onto a train and in nineteen days

covered twenty states and twelve thousand miles, traveling by buggy, train, automobile and boat. He would drop

into town, meet his people at lunch or breakfast, tea or dinner, and give them a “heart-to-heart talk.” Then he’d

dash off again on another leg of his journey.

As soon as he arrived back East, he wrote to one person in each town he had visited, asking for a list of

all the guests to whom he had talked. The final list contained thousands and thousands of names; yet each

person on that list was paid the subtle flattery of getting a personal letter from James Farley. These letters began

“Dear Bill” or “Dear Jane,” and they were always signed “Jim”.

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Jim Farley discovered early in life that the average person is more interested in his or her own name

than in all the other names on earth put together. Remember that name and call it easily, and you have paid a

subtle and very effective compliment. But forget it or misspell it—and you have placed yourself at a sharp

disadvantage. For example, I once organized a public-speaking course in Paris and sent form letters to all the

American residents in the city. French typists with apparently little knowledge of English filled in the names and

naturally they made blunders. One man, the manager of a large American bank in Paris, wrote me a scathing

rebuke because his name had been misspelled.

Sometimes it is difficult to remember a name, particularly if it is hard to pronounce. Rather than even

try to learn it, many people ignore it or call the person by an easy nickname. Sid Levy called on a customer for

some time whose name was Nicodemus Papadoulos. Most people just called him “Nick.” Levy told us, “I made

a special effort to say his name over several times to myself before I made my call. When I greeted him by his

full name, ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Nicodemus Papadoulos,’ he was shocked. For what seemed like several

minutes there was no reply from him at all. Finally, he said with tears rolling down his cheeks, ‘Mr. Levy, in all

the fifteen years I have been in this country, nobody has ever made the effort to call me by my right name.’”

What was the reason for Andrew Carnegie’s success?

He was called the Steel King; yet he himself knew little about the manufacture of steel. He had

hundreds of people working for him who knew far more about steel than he did.

But he knew how to handle people, and that is what made him rich. Early in life, he showed a flair for

organization, a genius for leadership. By the time he was ten, he too had discovered the astounding importance

people place on their own name. And he used that discovery to win cooperation. To illustrate: When he was a

boy back in Scotland, he got hold of a rabbit, a mother rabbit. Presto! He soon had a whole nest of little

rabbits—and nothing to feed them. But he had a brilliant idea. He told the boys and girls in the neighborhood

that if they would go out and pull enough clover and dandelions to feed the rabbits, he would name the bunnies

in their honor.

The plan worked like magic, and Carnegie never forgot it.

Years later, he made millions by using the same psychology in business. For example, he wanted to sell

steel rails to the Pennsylvania Railroad. J. Edgar Thomson was the president of the Pennsylvania Railroad then.

So Andrew Carnegie built a huge steel mill in Pittsburgh and called it the “Edgar Thomson Steel Works”.

Here is a riddle. See if you can guess it. When the Pennsylvania Railroad needed steel rails, where do

you suppose J. Edgar Thomson bought them...from Sears, Roebuck? No. No. You’re wrong. Guess again.

When Carnegie and George Pullman were battling each other for supremacy in the railroad sleeping-car

business, the Steel King again remembered the lesson of the rabbits.

The Central Transportation Company, which Andrew Carnegie controlled, was fighting with the

company that Pullman owned. Both were struggling to get the sleeping-car business of the Union Pacific

Railroad, bucking each other, slashing prices, and destroying all chance of profit. Both Carnegie and Pullman

had gone to New York to see the board of directors of the Union Pacific. Meeting one evening in the St.

Nicholas Hotel, Carnegie said, “Good evening, Mr. Pullman, aren’t we making a couple of fools of ourselves?”

“What do you mean?" Pullman demanded.

Then Carnegie expressed what he had on his mind—a merger of their two interests. He pictured in

glowing terms the mutual advantages of working with, instead of against, each other. Pullman listened

attentively, but he was not wholly convinced. Finally he asked, “What would you call the new company?” and

Carnegie replied promptly, “Why, the Pullman Palace Car Company, of course.”

Pullman’s face brightened. “Come into my room,” he said. “Let’s talk it over.” That talk made

industrial history.

This policy of remembering and honoring the names of his friends and business associates was one of

the secrets of Andrew Carnegie’s leadership. He was proud of the fact that he could call many of his factory

workers by their first names, and he boasted that while he was personally in charge, no strike ever disturbed his

flaming steel mills.

Page 58 of 136

So let’s obey the Golden Rule, and give unto others what we would have others give unto us, How?

When? Where? The answer is: All the time, everywhere.

David G. Smith of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, told one of our classes how he handled a delicate situation

when he was asked to take charge of the refreshment booth at a charity concert, “The night of the concert I

arrived at the park and found two elderly ladies in a very bad humor standing next to the refreshment stand.

Apparently each thought that she was in charge of this project. As I stood there pondering what to do, me of the

members of the sponsoring committee appeared and handed me a cashbox and thanked me for taking over the

project. She introduced Rose and Jane as my helpers and then ran off.

“A great silence ensued. Realizing that the cash box was a symbol of authority (of sorts), I gave the box

to Rose and explained that I might not be able to keep the money straight and that if she took care of it I would

feel better. I then suggested to Jane that she show two teenagers who had been assigned to refreshments how to

operate the soda machine, and I asked her to be responsible for that part of the project.

“The evening was very enjoyable with Rose happily counting the money, Jane supervising the

teenagers, and me enjoying the concert.”

You don’t have to wait until you are ambassador to France or chairman of the Clambake Committee of

your lodge before you use this philosophy of appreciation. You can work magic with it almost every day.

If, for example, the waitress brings us mashed potatoes when we have ordered French fries, let’s say,

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but I prefer French fries.” She’ll probably reply, “No trouble at all” and will be glad

to change the potatoes, because we have shown respect for her.

Little phrases such as “I’m sorry to trouble you,” “Would you be so kind as to...?” “Won't you

please?” “Would you mind?” “Thank you”—little courtesies like these oil the cogs of the monotonous grind of

everyday life—and, incidentally, they are the hallmark of good breeding.

Let’s take another illustration. Hall Caine’s novels—The Christian, The Deemster, The Manxman,

among them—were all best-sellers in the early part of this century. Millions of people read his novels, countless

millions. He was the son of a blacksmith. He never had more than eight years’ schooling in his life; yet when he

died he was the richest literary man of his time.

The story goes like this: Hall Caine loved sonnets and ballads; so he devoured all of Dante Gabriel

Rossetti’s poetry. He even wrote a lecture chanting the praises of Rossetti’s artistic achievement and sent a copy

to Rossetti himself. Rossetti was delighted. “Any young man who has such an exalted opinion of my ability,”

Rossetti probably said to himself, “must be brilliant,” So Rossetti invited this blacksmith’s son to come to

London and act as his secretary. That was the turning point in Hall Caine’s life; for, in his new position, he met

the literary artists of the day. Profiting by their advice and inspired by their encouragement, he launched upon a

career that emblazoned his name across the sky.

His home, Greeba Castle, on the Isle of Man, became a Mecca for tourists from the far corners of the

world, and he left a multimillion-dollar estate. Yet—who knows—he might have died poor and unknown had he

not written an essay expressing his admiration for a famous man.

Such is the power, the stupendous power, of sincere, heartfelt appreciation.

Rossetti considered himself important. That is not strange, Almost everyone considers himself

important, very important.

The life of many a person could probably be changed if only someone would make him feel important.

Ronald J. Rowland, who is one of the instructors of our course in California, is also a teacher of arts and crafts.

He wrote to us about a student named Chris in his beginning crafts class:

“Chris was a very quiet, shy boy lacking in self-confidence, the kind of student that often does not

receive the attention he deserves. I also teach an advanced class that had grown to be somewhat of a status

symbol and a privilege for a student to have earned the right to be in it. On Wednesday, Chris was diligently

working at his desk. I really felt there was a hidden fire deep inside him. I asked Chris if he would like to be in

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the advanced class. How I wish I could express the look in Chris’s face, the emotions in that shy fourteen-year- old boy, trying to hold back his tears.”

“Who me, Mr. Rowland? Am I good enough?”

“Yes, Chris, you are good enough.”

I had to leave at that point because tears were coming to my eyes. As Chris walked out of class that

day, seemingly two inches taller, he looked at me with bright blue eyes and said in a positive voice, “Thank you,

Mr. Rowland.”

Chris taught me a lesson I will never forget—our deep desire to feel important. To help me never forget

this rule, I made a sign which reads “YOU ARE IMPORTANT." This sign hangs in the front of the classroom

for all to see and to remind me that each student I face is equally important.

The unvarnished truth is that almost all the people you meet feel themselves superior to you in some

way, and a sure way to their hearts is to let them realize in some subtle way that you recognize their importance,

and recognize it sincerely.

Remember what Emerson said, “Every man I meet is my superior in some way. In that, I learn of him.”

And the pathetic part of it is that frequently those who have the least justification for a feeling of

achievement bolster up their egos by a show of tumult and conceit which is truly nauseating. As Shakespeare

put it, “...man, proud man,/Dress in a little brief authority,/...Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven/As

make the angels weep.”

I am going to tell you how business people in my own courses have applied these principles with

remarkable results. Let’s take the case of a Connecticut attorney (because of his relatives he prefers not to have

his name mentioned).

Shortly after joining the course, Mr. R----- drove to Long Island with his wife to visit some of her

relatives. She left him to chat with an old aunt of hers and they rushed off by herself to visit some of the younger

relatives. Since he soon had to give a speech professionally on how he applied the principles of appreciation, he

thought he would gain some worthwhile experience talking with the elderly lady. So he looked around the house

to see what he could honestly admire.

“This house was built about 1890, wasn’t it?” he inquired.

“Yes,” she replied, “that is precisely the year it was built.”

“It reminds me of the house I was born in,” he said. “It’s beautiful. Well built. Roomy. You know, they

don’t build houses like this anymore.”

“You’re right,” the old lady agreed. “The young folks nowadays don’t care for beautiful homes. All

they want is a small apartment, and then they go off gadding about in their automobiles.

“This is a dream house,” she said in a voice vibrating with tender memories. “This house was built with

love. My husband and I dreamed about it for years before we built it. We didn’t have an architect. We planned it

all ourselves.”

She showed Mr. R----- about the house, and he expressed his hearty admiration for the beautiful

treasures she had picked up in her travels and cherished over a lifetime—paisley shawls, an old English tea set,

Wedgwood china, French beds and chairs, Italian paintings, and silk draperies that had once hung in a French

chateau.

After showing Mr. R----- through the house, she took him out to the garage. There, jacked up on

blocks, was a Packard car—in mint condition.

“My husband bought that car for me shortly before he passed on,” she said softly. “I have never ridden

in it since his death...You appreciate nice things, and I’m going to give this car to you.”

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“Why, aunty,” he said, “you overwhelm me. I appreciate your generosity, of course; but I couldn’t

possibly accept it. I’m not even a relative of yours. I have a new car, and you have many relatives that would

like to have that Packard.”

“Relatives!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I have relatives who are just waiting till I die so they can get that car.

But they are not going to get it.”

“If you don’t want to give it to them, you can very easily sell it to a secondhand dealer,” he told her.

“Sell it!” she cried. “Do you think I would sell this car? Do you think I could stand to see strangers

riding up and down the street in that car—that car that my husband bought for me? I wouldn’t dream of selling

it. I’m going to give it to you. You appreciate beautiful things."

He tried to get out of accepting the car, but he couldn’t without hurting her feelings.

This lady, left all alone in a big house with her paisley shawls, her French antiques, and her memories,

was starving for a little recognition, She had once been young and beautiful and sought after. She had once built

a house warm with love and had collected things from all over Europe to make it beautiful. Now, in the isolated

loneliness of old age, she craved a little human warmth, a little genuine appreciation—and no one gave it to her.

And when she found it, like a spring in the desert, her gratitude couldn’t adequately express itself with anything

less than the gift of her cherished Packard.

Let’s take another case: Donald M. McMahon, who was superintendent of Lewis and Valentine,

nurserymen and landscape architects in Rye, New York, related this incident:

“Shortly after I attended the talk on ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People,’ I was landscaping the

estate of a famous attorney. The owner came out to give me a few instructions about where he wished to plant a

mass of rhododendrons and azaleas.

“I said, ‘Judge, you have a lovely hobby. I’ve been admiring your beautiful dogs. I understand you win

a lot of blue ribbons every year at the show in Madison Square Garden.’

“The effect of this little expression of appreciation was striking.

“‘Yes,’ the judge replied, ‘I do have a lot of fun with my dogs. Would you like to see my kennel?’

“He spent almost an hour showing me his dogs and the prizes they had won. He even brought out their

pedigrees and explained about the bloodlines responsible for such beauty and intelligence.

“Finally, turning to me, he asked, ‘Do you have any small children?’

“‘Yes, I do,’ I replied, ‘I have a son.’

“‘Well, wouldn’t he like a puppy?’ the judge inquired.

“‘Oh, yes, he’d be tickled pink.’

“‘All right, I’m going to give him one,’ the judge announced.

“He started to tell me how to feed the puppy. Then he paused. ‘You’ll forget it if I tell you. I’ll write it

out.’ So the judge went in the house, typed out the pedigree and feeding instructions, and gave me a puppy

worth several hundred dollars and one hour and fifteen minutes of his valuable time largely because I had

expressed my honest admiration for his hobby and achievements.”

George Eastman, of Kodak fame, invented the transparent film that made motion pictures possible,

amassed a fortune of a hundred million dollars, and made himself one of the most famous businessmen on earth.

Yet in spite of all these tremendous accomplishments, he craved little recognitions even as you and I.

To illustrate: When Eastman was building the Eastman School of Music and also Kilbourn Hall in

Rochester, James Adamson, then president of the Superior Seating Company of New York, wanted to get the

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order to supply the theater chairs for these buildings. Phoning the architect, Mr. Adamson made an appointment

to see Mr. Eastman in Rochester.

When Adamson arrived, the architect said, “I know you want to get this order, but I can tell you right

now that you won’t stand a ghost of a show if you take more than five minutes of George Eastman’s time. He is

a strict disciplinarian. He is very busy. So tell your story quickly and get out.”

Adamson was prepared to do just that.

When he was ushered into the room he saw Mr. Eastman bending over a pile of papers at his desk.

Presently, Mr. Eastman looked up, removed his glasses, and walked toward the architect and Mr. Adamson,

saying, “Good morning, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

The architect introduced them, and then Mr. Adamson said, “While we’ve been waiting for you, Mr.

Eastman, I’ve been admiring your office. I wouldn’t mind working in a room like this myself. I’m in the

interior-woodworking business, and I never saw a more beautiful office in all my life.”

George Eastman replied, “You remind me of something I had almost forgotten. It is beautiful, isn’t it? I

enjoyed it a great deal when it was first built. But I come down here now with a lot of other things on my mind

and sometimes don’t even see the room for weeks at a time.”

Adamson walked over and rubbed his hand across a panel. “This is English oak, isn’t it? A little

different texture from Italian oak.”

“Yes,” Eastman replied. “Imported English oak. It was selected for me by a friend who specializes in

fine woods.”

Then Eastman showed him about the room, commenting on the proportions, the coloring, the hand

carving and other effects he had helped to plan and execute.

While drifting about the room, admiring the woodwork, they paused before a window, and George

Eastman, in his modest, soft-spoken way, pointed out some of the institutions through which he was trying to

help humanity: the University of Rochester, the General Hospital, the Homeopathic Hospital, the Friendly

Home, the Children’s Hospital. Mr. Adamson congratulated him warmly on the idealistic way he was using his

wealth to alleviate the sufferings of humanity. Presently, George Eastman unlocked a glass case and pulled out

the first camera he had ever owned—an invention he had bought from an Englishman.

Adamson questioned him at length about his early struggles to get started in business, and Mr. Eastman

spoke with real feeling about the poverty of his childhood, telling how his widowed mother had kept a

boardinghouse while he clerked in an insurance office. The terror of poverty haunted him day and night, and he

resolved to make enough money so that his mother wouldn’t have to work, Mr. Adamson drew him out with

further questions and listened, absorbed, while he related the story of his experiments with dry photographic

plates. He told how he had worked in an office all day, and sometimes experimented all night, taking only brief

naps while the chemicals were working, sometimes working and sleeping in his clothes for seventy-two hours at

a stretch.

James Adamson had been ushered into Eastman’s office at ten-fifteen and had been warned that he

must not take more than five minutes; but an hour had passed, then two hours passed. And they were still

talking. Finally, George Eastman turned to Adamson and said, “The last time I was in Japan I bought some

chairs, brought them home, and put them in my sun porch. But the sun peeled the paint, so I went downtown the

other day and bought some paint and painted the chairs myself. Would you like to see what sort of a job I can do

painting chairs? All right. Come up to my home and have lunch with me and I’ll show you.”

After lunch, Mr. Eastman showed Adamson the chairs he had brought from Japan. They weren’t worth

more than a few dollars, but George Eastman, now a multimillionaire, was proud of them because he himself

had painted them.

The order for the seats amounted to $90,000. Who do you suppose got the order—James Adamson or

one of his competitors?

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From the time of this story until Mr. Eastman’s death, he and James Adamson were close friends.

Claude Marais, a restaurant owner in Rouen, France, used this principle and saved his restaurant the

loss of a key employee. This woman had been in his employ for five years and was a vital link between M.

Marais and his staff of twenty-one people. He was shocked to receive a registered letter from her advising him

of her resignation.

M. Marais reported, “I was very surprised and, even more, disappointed, because I was under the

impression that I had been fair to her and receptive to her needs. Inasmuch as she was a friend as well as an

employee, I probably had taken her too much for granted and maybe was even more demanding of her than of

other employees.

“I could not, of course, accept this resignation without some explanation. I took her aside and said,

‘Paulette, you must understand that I cannot accept your resignation. You mean a great deal to me and to this

company, and you are as important to the success of this restaurant as I am.’ I repeated this in front of the entire

staff, and I invited her to my home and reiterated my confidence in her with my family present.

“Paulette withdrew her resignation, and today I can rely on her as never before. I frequently reinforce

this by expressing my appreciation for what she does and showing her how important she is to me and to the

restaurant.”

“Talk to people about themselves,” said Disraeli, one of the shrewdest men who ever ruled the British

Empire. “Talk to people about themselves and they will listen for hours.”

PRINCIPLE 6

Make the other person feel important—and do it sincerely.

In a Nutshell

SIX WAYS TO MAKE PEOPLE LIKE YOU

PRINCIPLE 1

Become genuinely interested in other people.

PRINCIPLE 2

Smile.

PRINCIPLE 3

Remember that a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.

PRINCIPLE 4

Be a good listener. Encourage others to talk about themselves.

PRINCIPLE 5

Talk in terms of the other person’s interests.

PRINCIPLE 6

Make the other person feel important—and do it sincerely.

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PART THREE

How To Win People To Your Way Of Thinking

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“YOU CAN’T WIN AN ARGUMENT.”

Shortly after the close of World War I, I learned an invaluable lesson one night in London. I was

manager at the time for Sir Ross Smith. During the war, Sir Ross had been the Australian ace out in Palestine;

and shortly after peace was declared, he astonished the world by flying halfway around it in thirty days. No such

feat had ever been attempted before. It created a tremendous sensation. The Australian government awarded him

fifty thousand dollars; the King of England knighted him; and, for a while, he was the most talked-about man

under the Union Jack. I was attending a banquet one night given in Sir Ross’s honor; and during the dinner, the

man sitting next to me told a humorous story which hinged on the quotation “There’s a divinity that shapes our

ends, rough-hew them how we will.”

The raconteur mentioned that the quotation was from the Bible. He was wrong. I knew that, I knew it

positively. There couldn’t be the slightest doubt about it. And so, to get a feeling of importance and display my

superiority, I appointed myself as an unsolicited and unwelcome committee of one to correct him. He stuck to

his guns. What? From Shakespeare? Impossible! Absurd! That quotation was from the Bible. And he knew it.

The storyteller was sitting on my right; and Frank Gammond, an old friend of mine, was seated at my

left. Mr. Gammond had devoted years to the study of Shakespeare, So the storyteller and I agreed to submit the

question to Mr. Gammond. Mr. Gammond listened, kicked me under the table, and then said: “Dale, you are

wrong. The gentleman is right. It is from the Bible.”

On our way home that night, I said to Mr. Gammond, “Frank, you knew that quotation was from

Shakespeare,”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, “Hamlet, Act Five, Scene Two. But we were guests at a festive occasion,

my dear Dale. Why prove to a man he is wrong? Is that going to make him like you? Why not let him save his

face? He didn’t ask for your opinion. He didn’t want it. Why argue with him? Always avoid the acute angle.”

The man who said that taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. I not only had made the storyteller uncomfortable,

but had put my friend in an embarrassing situation. How much better it would have been had I not become

argumentative.

It was a sorely needed lesson because I had been an inveterate arguer. During my youth, I had argued

with my brother about everything under the Milky Way. When I went to college, I studied logic and

argumentation and went in for debating contests. Talk about being from Missouri, I was born there. I had to be

shown. Later, I taught debating and argumentation in New York; and once, I am ashamed to admit, I planned to

write a book on the subject. Since then, I have listened to, engaged in, and watched the effect of thousands of

arguments. As a result of all this, I have come to the conclusion that there is only one way under high heaven to

get the best of an argument—and that is to avoid it.

Avoid it as you would avoid rattlesnakes and earthquakes.

Nine times out of ten, an argument ends with each of the contestants more firmly convinced than ever

that he is absolutely right.

You can’t win an argument. You can’t because if you lose it, you lose it; and if you win it, you lose it.

Why? Well, suppose you triumph over the other man and shoot his argument full of holes and prove that he is

non compos mentis. Then what? You will feel fine. But what about him? You have made him feel inferior. You

have hurt his pride. He will resent your triumph. And...

A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still.

Years ago Patrick J. O’Haire joined one of my classes. He had had little education, and how he loved a

scrap! He had once been a chauffeur, and he came to me because he had been trying, without much success, to

sell trucks. A little questioning brought out the fact that he was continually scrapping with and antagonizing the

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very people he was trying to do business with. If a prospect said anything derogatory about the trucks he was

selling, Pat saw red and was right at the customer’s throat. Pat won a lot of arguments in those days. As he said

to me afterward, “I often walked out of an office saying, ‘I told that bird something.’ Sure I had told him

something, but I hadn’t sold him anything.”

Mv first problem was not to teach Patrick J. O’Haire to talk. My immediate task was to train him to

refrain from talking and to avoid verbal fights.

Mr. O’Haire became one of the star salesmen for the White Motor Company in New York. How did he

do it? Here is his story in his own words: “If I walk into a buyer’s office now and he says, ‘What? A White

truck? They’re no good! I wouldn’t take one if you gave it to me. I’m going to buy the Whose-It truck,’ I say,

‘The Whose-It is a good truck. If you buy the Whose-It, you’ll never make a mistake. The Whose-Its are made

by a fine company and sold by good people.’

“He is speechless then. There is no room for an argument. If he says the Whose-It is best and I say sure

it is, he has to stop. He can’t keep on all afternoon saying, ‘It’s the best’ when I’m agreeing with him. We then

get off the subject of Whose-It and I begin to talk about the good points of the White truck.

“There was a time when a remark like his first one would have made me see scarlet and red and orange.

I would start arguing against the Whose-It; and the more I argued against it, the more my prospect argued in

favor of it; and the more he argued, the more he sold himself on my competitor’s product.

“As I look back now I wonder how I was ever able to sell anything. I lost years of my life in scrapping

and arguing. I keep my mouth shut now. It pays.”

As wise old Ben Franklin used to say: If you argue and rankle and contradict, you may achieve a

victory sometimes; but it will be an empty victory because you will never get your opponent’s goodwill.

So figure it out for yourself. Which would you rather have, an academic, theatrical victory or a person’s

good will? You can seldom have both.

The Boston Transcript once printed this bit of significant doggerel:

Here lies the body of William Jay, .

Who died maintaining his right of way—

He was right, dead right, as he sped along,

But he’s just as dead as if he were wrong.

You may be right, dead right, as you speed along in your argument; but as far as changing another’s

mind is concerned, you will probably be just as futile as if you were wrong.

Frederick S. Parsons, an income tax consultant, had been disputing and wrangling for an hour with a

government tax inspector. An item of nine thousand dollars was at stake. Mr. Parsons claimed that this nine

thousand dollars was in reality a bad debt, that it would never be collected, that it ought not to be taxed. “Bad

debt, my eye!” retorted the inspector. “It must be taxed.”

“This inspector was cold, arrogant and stubborn,” Mr. Parsons said as he told the story to the class.

“Reason was wasted and so were facts...The longer we argued, the more stubborn he became. So I decided to

avoid argument, change the subject, and give him appreciation.

“I said, ‘I suppose this is a very petty matter in comparison with the really important and difficult

decisions you’re required to make. I’ve made a study of taxation myself. But I’ve had to get my knowledge from

books. You are getting yours from the firing line of experience. I sometime wish I had a job like yours. It would

teach me a lot.’ I meant every word I said.

“Well.” The inspector straightened up in his chair, leaned back, and talked for a long time about his

work, telling me of the clever frauds he had uncovered. His tone gradually became friendly, and presently he

was telling me about his children. As he left, he advised me that he would consider my problem further and give

me his decision in a few days.

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“He called at my office three days later and informed me that he had decided to leave the tax return

exactly as it was filed.”

This tax inspector was demonstrating one of the most common of human frailties. He wanted a feeling

of importance; and as long as Mr. Parsons argued with him, he got his feeling of importance by loudly asserting

his authority. But as soon as his importance was admitted and the argument stopped and he was permitted to

expand his ego, he became a sympathetic and kindly human being.

Buddha said, “Hatred is never ended by hatred but by love,” and a misunderstanding is never ended by

an argument but by tact, diplomacy, conciliation and a sympathetic desire to see the other person’s viewpoint.

Lincoln once reprimanded a young army officer for indulging in a violent controversy with an

associate. “No man who is resolved to make the most of himself,” said Lincoln, “can spare time for personal

contention. Still less can he afford to take the consequences, including the vitiation of his temper and the loss of

self-control. Yield larger things to which you show no more than equal rights; and yield lesser ones though

clearly your own. Better give your path to a dog than be bitten by him in contesting for the right. Even killing

the dog would not cure the bite.”

In an article in Bits and Pieces*, some suggestions are made on how to keep a disagreement from

becoming an argument:

Welcome the disagreement. Remember the slogan, “When two partners always agree, one of them is

not necessary.” If there is some point you haven’t thought about, be thankful if it is brought to your attention.

Perhaps this disagreement is your opportunity to be corrected before you make a serious mistake.

Distrust your first instinctive impression. Our first natural reaction in a disagreeable situation is to be

defensive. Be careful. Keep calm and watch out for your first reaction. It may be you at your worst, not your

best.

Control your temper. Remember, you can measure the size of a person by what makes him or her

angry.

Listen first. Give your opponents a chance to talk. Let them finish. Do not resist, defend or debate. This

only raises barriers. Try to build bridges of understanding. Don’t build higher barriers of misunderstanding.

Look for areas of agreement. When you have heard your opponents out, dwell first on the points and

areas on which you agree.

Be honest, Look for areas where you can admit error and say so. Apologize for your mistakes. It will

help disarm your opponents and reduce defensiveness.

Promise to think over your opponents’ ideas and study them carefully. And mean it. Your opponents

may be right. It is a lot easier at this stage to agree to think about their points than to move rapidly ahead and

find yourself in a position where your opponents can say, “We tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

Thank your opponents sincerely for their interest. Anyone who takes the time to disagree with you is

interested in the same things you are. Think of them as people who really want to help you, and you may turn

your opponents into friends.

Postpone action to give both sides time to think through the problem. Suggest that a new meeting be

held later that day or the next day, when all the facts may be brought to bear. In preparation for this meeting, ask

yourself some hard questions:

Could my opponents be right? Partly right? Is there truth or merit in their position or argument? Is my

reaction one that will relieve the problem, or will it just relieve any frustration? Will my reaction drive my

opponents further away or draw them closer to me? Will my reaction elevate the estimation good people have of

me? Will I win or lose? What price will I have to pay if I win? If I am quiet about it, will the disagreement blow

over? Is this difficult situation an opportunity for me?

* Bits and Pieces, published by The Economics Press, Fairfield, N.J.

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Opera tenor Jan Peerce, after he was married nearly fifty years, once said, “My wife and I made a pact

a long time ago, and we’ve kept it no matter how angry we’ve grown with each other. When one yells, the other

should listen, because when two people yell, there is no communication, just noise and bad vibrations.”

PRINCIPLE 1

The only way to get the best of an argument is to avoid it.

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“A SURE WAY OF MAKING ENEMIES—AND HOW TO

AVOID IT.”

When Theodore Roosevelt was in the White House, he confessed that if he could be right 75 percent of

the time, he would reach the highest measure of his expectation.

If that was the highest rating that one of the most distinguished men of the twentieth century could

hope to obtain, what about you and me?

If you can be sure of being right only 55 percent of the time, you can go down to Wall Street and make

a million dollars a day. If you can’t be sure of being right even 55 percent of the time, why should you tell other

people they are wrong?

You can tell people they are wrong by a look or an intonation or a gesture just as eloquently as you can

in words—and if you tell them they are wrong, do you make them want to agree with you? Never! For you have

struck a direct blow at their intelligence, judgment, pride and self-respect. That will make them want to strike

back. But it will never make them want to change their minds. You may then hurl at them all the logic of a Plato

or an Immanuel Kant, but you will not alter their opinions, for you have hurt their feelings.

Never begin by announcing “I am going to prove so-and-so to you.” That’s bad. That’s tantamount to

saying, “I’m smarter than you are, I’m going to tell you a thing or two and make you change your mind.”

That is a challenge. It arouses opposition and makes the listener want to battle with you before you

even start.

It is difficult, under even the most benign conditions, to change people’s minds. So why make it

harder? Why handicap yourself?

If you are going to prove anything, don’t let anybody know it. Do it so subtly, so adroitly, that no one

will feel that you are doing it. This was expressed succinctly by Alexander Pope: Men must be taught as if you

taught them not, and things unknown proposed as things forgot.

Over three hundred years ago Galileo said, “You cannot teach a man anything; you can only help him

to find it within himself.”

As Lord Chesterfield said to his son, “Be wiser than other people if you can, but do not tell them so.”

Socrates said repeatedly to his followers in Athens, “One thing only I know, and that is that I know

nothing.”

Well, I can’t hope to be any smarter than Socrates, so I have quit telling people they are wrong. And I

find that it pays.

If a person makes a statement that you think is wrong—yes, even that you know is wrong—isn’t it

better to begin by saying, “Well, now, look, I thought otherwise, but I may be wrong. I frequently am. And if I

am wrong, I want to be put right. Let’s examine the facts.”

There’s magic, positive magic, in such phrases as, “I may be wrong. I frequently am. Let’s examine the

facts.”

Nobody in the heavens above or on earth beneath or in the waters under the earth will ever object to

your saying, “I may be wrong. Let’s examine the facts.”

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One of our class members who used this approach in dealing with customers was Harold Reinke, a

Dodge dealer in Billings, Montana. He reported that because of the pressures of the automobile business, he was

often hard-boiled and callous when dealing with customers’ complaints. This caused flared tempers, loss of

business and general unpleasantness.

He told his class, “Recognizing that this was getting me nowhere fast, I tried a new tack. I would say

something like this, ‘Our dealership has made so many mistakes that I am frequently ashamed. We may have

erred in your case. Tell me about it.’

“This approach becomes quite disarming, and by the time the customer releases his feelings, he is

usually much more reasonable when it comes to settling the matter. In fact, several customers have thanked me

for having such an understanding attitude. And two of them have even brought in friends to buy new cars. In

this highly competitive market, we need more of this type of customer, and I believe that showing respect for all

customers’ opinions and treating them diplomatically and courteously will help beat the competition.”

You will never get into trouble by admitting that you may be wrong. That will stop all argument and

inspire your opponent to be just as fair and open and broad-minded as you are. It will make him want to admit

that he, too, may be wrong.

If you know positively that a person is wrong, and you bluntly tell him or her so, what happens? Let me

illustrate. Mr. S---- a young New York attorney, once argued a rather important case before the United States

Supreme Court (Lustgarten v. Fleet Corporation 280 U.S. 320). The case involved a considerable sum of money

and an important question of law. During the argument, one of the Supreme Court justices said to him, “The

statute of limitations in admiralty law is six years, is it not?”

Mr. S---- stopped, stared at the Justice for a moment, and then said bluntly, “Your Honor, there is no

statute of limitations in admiralty.”

“A hush fell on the court,” said Mr. S---- as he related his experience to one of the author’s classes,

“and the temperature in the room seemed to drop to zero. I was right. Justice—was wrong. And I had told him

so. But did that make him friendly? No. I still believe that I had the law on my side. And I know that I spoke

better than I ever spoke before. But I didn’t persuade. I made the enormous blunder of telling a very learned and

famous man that he was wrong.”

Few people are logical. Most of us are prejudiced and biased. Most of us are blighted with

preconceived notions, with jealousy, suspicion, fear, envy and pride. And most citizens don’t want to change

their minds about their religion or their haircut or communism or their favorite movie star. So, if you are

inclined to tell people they are wrong, please read the following paragraph every morning before breakfast. It is

from James Harvey Robinson’s enlightening book The Mind in the Making.

We sometimes find ourselves changing our minds without any resistance or heavy emotion, but if we

are told we are wrong, we resent the imputation and harden our hearts. We are incredibly heedless in the

formation of our beliefs, but find ourselves filled with an illicit passion for them when anyone proposes to rob

us of their companionship. It is obviously not the ideas themselves that are dear to us, but our self-esteem which

is threatened...The little word ‘my’ is the most important one in human affairs, and properly to reckon with it is

the beginning of wisdom. It has the same force whether it is ‘my’ dinner, ‘my’ dog, and ‘my’ house, or ‘my’

father, ‘my’ country, and ‘my’ God. We not only resent the imputation that our watch is wrong, or our car

shabby, but that our conception of the canals of Mars, of the pronunciation of “Epictetus”, of the medicinal

value of salicin, or of the date of Sargon I is subject to revision. We like to continue to believe what we have

been accustomed to accept as true, and the resentment aroused when doubt is cast upon any of our assumptions

leads us to seek every manner of excuse for clinging to it. The result is that most of our so-called reasoning

consists in finding arguments for going on believing as we already do.

Carl Rogers, the eminent psychologist, wrote in his book On Becoming a Person:

I have found it of enormous value when I can permit myself to understand the other person. The way in

which I have worded this statement may seem strange to you. Is it necessary to permit oneself to understand

another? I think it is. Our first reaction to most of the statements (which we hear from other people) is an

evaluation or judgment, rather than an understanding of it. When someone expresses some feeling, attitude or

belief, our tendency is almost immediately to feel “that’s right,” or “that’s stupid,” “that’s abnormal,” “that’s

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unreasonable,” “that’s incorrect,” “that’s not nice.” Very rarely do we permit ourselves to understand precisely

what the meaning of the statement is to the other person.*

* Adapted from Carl R. Rogers, On Becoming a Person (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1961), pp. 18ff.

I once employed an interior decorator to make some draperies for my home. When the bill arrived, I

was dismayed.

A few days later, a friend dropped in and looked at the draperies. The price was mentioned, and she

exclaimed with a note of triumph, “What? That’s awful. I am afraid he put one over on you.”

True? Yes, she had told the truth, but few people like to listen to truths that reflect on their judgment.

So, being human, I tried to defend myself. I pointed out that the best is eventually the cheapest, that one can’t

expect to get quality and artistic taste at bargain-basement prices, and so on and on.

The next day another friend dropped in, admired the draperies, bubbled over with enthusiasm, and

expressed a wish that she could afford such exquisite creations for her home. My reaction was totally different.

“Well, to tell the truth,” I said, “I can’t afford them myself. I paid too much. I’m sorry I ordered them,”

When we are wrong, we may admit it to ourselves. And if we are handled gently and tactfully, we may

admit it to others and even take pride in our frankness and broad-mindedness. But not if someone else is trying

to ram the unpalatable fact down our esophagus.

Horace Greeley, the most famous editor in America during the time of the Civil War, disagreed

violently with Lincoln’s policies. He believed that he could drive Lincoln into agreeing with him by a campaign

of argument, ridicule and abuse. He waged this bitter campaign month after month, year after year. In fact, he

wrote a brutal, bitter, sarcastic and personal attack on President Lincoln the night Booth shot him.

But did all this bitterness make Lincoln agree with Greeley? Not at all. Ridicule and abuse never do. If

you want some excellent suggestions about dealing with people and managing yourself and improving your

personality, read Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography—one of the most fascinating life stories ever written, one

of the classics of American literature. Ben Franklin tells how he conquered the iniquitous habit of argument and

transformed himself into one of the most able, suave and diplomatic men in American history.

One day, when Ben Franklin was a blundering youth, an old Quaker friend took him aside and lashed

him with a few stinging truths, something like this:

Ben, you are impossible. Your opinions have a slap in them for everyone who differs with you. They

have become so offensive that nobody cares for them. Your friends find they enjoy themselves better when you

are not around. You know so much that no man can tell you anything. Indeed, no man is going to try, for the

effort would lead only to discomfort and hard work. So you are not likely ever to know any more than you do

now, which is very little.

One of the finest things I know about Ben Franklin is the way he accepted that smarting rebuke. He

was big enough and wise enough to realize that it was true, to sense that he was headed for failure and social

disaster. So he made a right-about-face. He began immediately to change his insolent, opinionated ways.

“I made it a rule,” said Franklin, “to forbear all direct contradiction to the sentiment of others, and all

positive assertion of my own, I even forbade myself the use of every word or expression in the language that

imported a fix’d opinion, such as ‘certainly,’ ‘undoubtedly,’ etc., and I adopted, instead of them, ‘I conceive,’ ‘I

apprehend,’ or ‘I imagine’ a thing to be so or so, or ‘it so appears to me at present.’ When another asserted

something that I thought an error, I deny’d myself the pleasure of contradicting him abruptly, and of showing

immediately some absurdity in his proposition: and in answering I began by observing that in certain cases or

circumstances his opinion would be right, but in the present case there appear’d or seem’d to me some

difference, etc. I soon found the advantage of this change in my manner; the conversations I engag’d in went on

more pleasantly. The modest way in which I propos’d my opinions procur’d them a readier reception and less

contradiction; I had less mortification when I was found to be in the wrong, and I more easily prevaile’d with

others to give up their mistakes and join with me when I happened to be in the right.

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“And this mode, which I at first put on with some violence to natural inclination, became at length so

easy, and so habitual to me, that perhaps for these fifty years past no one has ever heard a dogmatical expression

escape me. And to this habit (after my character of integrity) I think it principally owing that I had earned so

much weight with my fellow citizens when I proposed new institutions, or alterations in the old, and so much

influence in public councils when I became a member; for I was but a bad speaker, never eloquent, subject to

much hesitation in my choice of words, hardly correct in language, and yet I generally carried my points.”

How do Ben Franklin’s methods work in business? Let’s take two examples.

Katherine A, Allred of Kings Mountain, North Carolina, is an industrial engineering supervisor for a

yarn-processing plant. She told one of our classes how she handled a sensitive problem before and after taking

our training:

“Part of my responsibility,” she reported, “deals with setting up and maintaining incentive systems and

standards for our operators so they can make more money by producing more yarn. The system we were using

had worked fine when we had only two or three different types of yarn, but recently we had expanded our

inventory and capabilities to enable us to run more than twelve different varieties. The present system was no

longer adequate to pay the operators fairly for the work being performed and give them an incentive to increase

production. I had worked up a new system which would enable us to pay the operator by the class of yam she

was running at any one particular time. With my new system in hand, I entered the meeting determined to prove

to the management that my system was the right approach. I told them in detail how they were wrong and

showed where they were being unfair and how I had all the answers they needed. To say the least, I failed

miserably! I had become so busy defending my position on the new system that I had left them no opening to

graciously admit their problems on the old one. The issue was dead.

“After several sessions of this course, I realized all too well where I had made my mistakes. I called

another meeting and this time I asked where they felt their problems were. We discussed each point, and I asked

them their opinions on which was the best way to proceed. With a few low-keyed suggestions, at proper

intervals, I let them develop my system themselves. At the end of the meeting when I actually presented my

system, they enthusiastically accepted it.

“I am convinced now that nothing good is accomplished and a lot of damage can be done if you tell a

person straight out that he or she is wrong. You only succeed in stripping that person of self-dignity and making

yourself an unwelcome part of any discussion.”

Let’s take another example—and remember these cases I am citing are typical of the experiences of

thousands of other people. R. V. Crowley was a salesman for a lumber company in New York. Crowley

admitted that he had been telling hard-boiled lumber inspectors for years that they were wrong. And he had won

the arguments too. But it hadn’t done any good. “For these lumber inspectors,” said Mr. Crowley, "are like

baseball umpires. Once they make a decision, they never change it.”

Mr. Crowley saw that his firm was losing thousands of dollars through the arguments he won. So while

taking my course, he resolved to change tactics and abandon arguments. With what results? Here is the story as

he told it to the fellow members of his class:

“One morning the phone rang in my office. A hot and bothered person at the other end proceeded to

inform me that a car of lumber we had shipped into his plant was entirely unsatisfactory. His firm had stopped

unloading and requested that we make immediate arrangements to remove the stock from their yard. After about

one-fourth of the car had been unloaded, their lumber inspector reported that the lumber was running 55 percent

below grade. Under the circumstances, they refused to accept it.

“I immediately started for his plant and on the way turned over in my mind the best way to handle the

situation. Ordinarily, under such circumstances, I should have quoted grading rules and tried, as a result of my

own experience and knowledge as a lumber inspector, to convince the other inspector that the lumber was

actually up to grade, and that he was misinterpreting the rules in his inspection. However, I thought I would

apply the principles learned in this training.

“When I arrived at the plant, I found the purchasing agent and the lumber inspector in a wicked humor,

both set for an argument and a fight. We walked out to the car that was being unloaded, and I requested that they

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continue to unload so that I could see how things were going. I asked the inspector to go right ahead and lay out

the rejects, as he had been doing, and to put the good pieces in another pile.

“After watching him for a while it began to dawn on me that his inspection actually was much too strict

and that he was misinterpreting the rules. This particular lumber was white pine, and I knew the inspector was

thoroughly schooled in hard woods but not a competent, experienced inspector on white pine. White pine

happened to be my own strong suit, but did I offer any objection to the way he was grading the lumber? None

whatever. I kept on watching and gradually began to ask questions as to why certain pieces were not

satisfactory. I didn’t for one instant insinuate that the inspector was wrong. I emphasized that my only reason for

asking was in order that we could give his firm exactly what they wanted in future shipments.

“By asking questions in a very friendly, cooperative spirit, and insisting continually that they were right

in laying out boards not satisfactory to their purpose, I got him warmed up, and the strained relations between us

began to thaw and melt away. An occasional carefully put remark on my part gave birth to the idea in his mind

that possibly some of these rejected pieces were actually within the grade that they had bought, and that their

requirements demanded a more expensive grade. I was very careful, however, not to let him think I was making

an issue of this point.

“Gradually his whole attitude changed. He finally admitted to me that he was not experienced on white

pine and began to ask me questions about each piece as it came out of the car, I would explain why such a piece

came within the grade specified, but kept on insisting that we did not want him to take it if it was unsuitable for

their purpose. He finally got to the point where he felt guilty every time he put a piece in the rejected pile. And

at last he saw that the mistake was on their part for not having specified as good a grade as they needed.

“The ultimate outcome was that he went through the entire carload again after I left, accepted the whole

lot, and we received a check in full.

“In that one instance alone, a little tact, and the determination to refrain from telling the other man he

was wrong, saved my company a substantial amount of cash, and it would be hard to place a money value on the

good will that was saved.”

Martin Luther King was asked how, as a pacifist, he could be an admirer of Air Force General Daniel

“Chappie” James, then the nation’s highest-ranking black officer. Dr. King replied, “I judge people by their own

principles—not by my own.”

In a similar way, General Robert E. Lee once spoke to the president of the Confederacy, Jefferson

Davis, in the most glowing terms about a certain officer under his command. Another officer in attendance was

astonished. “General,” he said, “do you not know that the man of whom you speak so highly is one of your

bitterest enemies who misses no opportunity to malign you?” “Yes,” replied General Lee, “but the president

asked my opinion of him; he did not ask for his opinion of me.”

By the way, I am not revealing anything new in this chapter. Two thousand years ago, Jesus said:

“Agree with thine adversary quickly.”

And 2,200 years before Christ was born, King Akhtoi of Egypt gave his son some shrewd advice -

advice that is sorely needed today. “Be diplomatic,” counseled the King. “It will help you gain your point.”

In other words, don’t argue with your customer or your spouse or your adversary. Don’t tell them they

are wrong, don’t get them stirred up. Use a little diplomacy.

PRINCIPLE 2

Show respect for the other person’s opinions. Never say, “You're wrong.”

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“IF YOU’RE WRONG, ADMIT IT.”

Within a minute’s walk of my house there was a wild stretch of virgin timber, where the blackberry

thickets foamed white in the springtime, where the squirrels nested and reared their young, and the horseweeds

grew as tall as a horse’s head. This unspoiled woodland was called Forest Park—and it was a forest, probably

not much different in appearance from what it was when Columbus discovered America. I frequently walked in

this park with Rex, my little Boston bulldog. He was a friendly, harmless little hound; and since we rarely met

anyone in the park, I took Rex along without a leash or a muzzle.

One day we encountered a mounted policeman in the park, a policeman itching to show his authority.

“‘What do you mean by letting that dog run loose in the park without a muzzle and leash?” he

reprimanded me. “Don’t you know it’s against the law?”

“Yes, I know it is,” I replied softy, “but I didn’t think he would do any harm out here.”

“You didn’t think! You didn’t think! The law doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about what you think. That

dog might kill a squirrel or bite a child. Now, I’m going to let you off this time; but if I catch this dog out here

again without a muzzle and a leash, you’ll have to tell it to the judge.”

I meekly promised to obey.

And I did obey—for a few times. But Rex didn’t like the muzzle, and neither did I; so we decided to

take a chance. Everything was lovely for a while, and then we struck a snag. Rex and I raced over the brow of a

hill one afternoon and there, suddenly—to my dismay—I saw the majesty of the law, astride a bay horse. Rex

was out in front, heading straight for the officer.

I was in for it. I knew it. So I didn’t wait until the policeman started talking. I beat him to it. I said:

“Officer, you’ve caught me red-handed. I’m guilty. I have no alibis, no excuses. You warned me last week that

if I brought the dog out here again without a muzzle you would fine me.”

“Well, now,” the policeman responded in a soft tone. “I know it’s a temptation to let a little dog like

that have a run out here when nobody is around.”

“Sure it’s a temptation,” I replied, “but it is against the law.”

“Well, a little dog like that isn’t going to harm anybody,” the policeman remonstrated.

“No, but he may kill squirrels,” I said.

“Well now, I think you are taking this a bit too seriously,” he told me. “I’ll tell you what you do. You

just let him run over the hill there where I can’t see him—and we’ll forget all about it.”

That policeman, being human, wanted a feeling of importance; so when I began to condemn myself,

the only way he could nourish his self-esteem was to take the magnanimous attitude of showing mercy.

But suppose I had tried to defend myself—well, did you ever argue with a policeman?

But instead of breaking lances with him, I admitted that he was absolutely right and I was absolutely

wrong; I admitted it quickly, openly, and with enthusiasm. The affair terminated graciously in my taking his

side and his taking my side. Lord Chesterfield himself could hardly have been more gracious than this mounted

policeman, who, only a week previously, had threatened to have the law on me.

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If we know we are going to be rebuked anyhow, isn’t it far better to beat the other person to it and do it

ourselves? Isn’t it much easier to listen to self-criticism than to bear condemnation from alien lips?

Say about yourself all the derogatory things you know the other person is thinking or wants to say or

intends to say—and say them before that person has a chance to say them. The chances are a hundred to one that

a generous, forgiving attitude will be taken and your mistakes will be minimized just as the mounted policeman

did with me and Rex.

Ferdinand E. Warren, a commercial artist, used this technique to win the good will of a petulant,

scolding buyer of art.

“It is important, in making drawings for advertising and publishing purposes, to be precise and very

exact,” Mr. Warren said as he told the story.

“Some art editors demand that their commissions be executed immediately; and in these cases, some

slight error is liable to occur. I knew one art director in particular who was always delighted to find fault with

some little thing. I have often left his office in disgust, not because of the criticism, but because of his method of

attack. Recently I delivered a rush job to this editor, and he phoned me to call at his office immediately. He said

something was wrong. When I arrived, I found just what I had anticipated—and dreaded. He was hostile,

gloating over his chance to criticize. He demanded with heat why I had done so and so. My opportunity had

come to apply the self-criticism I had been studying about. So I said, ‘Mr. So-and-so, if what you say is true, I

am at fault and there is absolutely no excuse for my blunder. I have been doing drawings for you long enough to

know better. I’m ashamed of myself.’

“Immediately he started to defend me. ‘Yes, you’re right, but after all, this isn’t a serious mistake. It is

only...’

“I interrupted him. ‘Any mistake,’ I said, ‘may be costly and they are all irritating.’

“He started to break in, but I wouldn’t let him. I was having a grand time. For the first time in my life, I

was criticizing myself—and I loved it.

“‘I should have been more careful,’ I continued. ‘You give me a lot of work, and you deserve the best;

so I’m going to do this drawing all over.’

“‘No! No!’ he protested. ‘I wouldn’t think of putting you to all that trouble.’ He praised my work,

assured me that he wanted only a minor change and that my slight error hadn’t cost his firm any money; and,

after all, it was a mere detail—not worth worrying about.

“My eagerness to criticize myself took all the fight out of him. He ended up by taking me to lunch; and

before we parted, he gave me a check and another commission.”

There is a certain degree of satisfaction in having the courage to admit one’s errors. It not only clears

the air of guilt and defensiveness, but often helps solve the problem created by the error.

Bruce Harvey of Albuquerque, New Mexico, had incorrectly authorized payment of full wages to an

employee on sick leave. When he discovered his error, he brought it to the attention of the employee and

explained that to correct the mistake he would have to reduce his next paycheck by the entire amount of the

overpayment. The employee pleaded that as that would cause him a serious financial problem, could the money

be repaid over a period of time? In order to do this, Harvey explained, he would have to obtain his supervisor’s

approval. “And this I knew,” reported Harvey, “would result in a boss-type explosion. While trying to decide

how to handle this situation better, I realized that the whole mess was my fault and I would have to admit it to

my boss.

“I walked into his office, told him that I had made a mistake and then informed him of the complete

facts. He replied in an explosive manner that it was the fault of the personnel department. I repeated that it was

my fault. He exploded again about carelessness in the accounting department. Again I explained it was my fault.

He blamed two other people in the office. But each time I reiterated it was my fault. Finally, he looked at me

and said, ‘Okay, it was your fault. Now straighten it out.’ The error was corrected and nobody got into trouble. I

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felt great because I was able to handle a tense situation and had the courage not to seek alibis. My boss has had

more respect for me ever since.”

Any fool can try to defend his or her mistakes—and most fools do—but it raises one above the herd

and gives one a feeling of nobility and exultation to admit one’s mistakes. For example, one of the most

beautiful things that history records about Robert E. Lee is the way he blamed himself and only himself for the

failure of Pickett’s charge at Gettysburg.

Pickett’s charge was undoubtedly the most brilliant and picturesque attack that ever occurred in the

Western world. General George E. Pickett himself was picturesque. He wore his hair so long that his auburn

locks almost touched his shoulders; and, like Napoleon in his Italian campaigns, he wrote ardent love letters

almost daily while on the battlefield. His devoted troops cheered him that tragic July afternoon as he rode off

jauntily toward the Union lines, his cap set at a rakish angle over his right ear. They cheered and they followed

him, man touching man, rank pressing rank, with banners flying and bayonets gleaming in the sun. It was a

gallant sight. Daring. Magnificent. A murmur of admiration ran through the Union lines as they beheld it.

Pickett’s troops swept forward at any easy trot, through orchard and cornfield, across a meadow and

over a ravine. All the time, the enemy’s cannon was tearing ghastly holes in their ranks, But on they pressed,

grim, irresistible.

Suddenly the Union infantry rose from behind the stonewall on Cemetery Ridge where they had been

hiding and fired volley after volley into Pickett's onrushing troops. The crest of the hill was a sheet of flame, a

slaughterhouse, a blazing volcano. In a few minutes, all of Pickett’s brigade commanders except one were

down, and four-fifths of his five thousand men had fallen.

General Lewis A. Armistead, leading the troops in the final plunge, ran forward, vaulted over the

stonewall, and, waving his cap on the top of his sword, shouted: “Give ‘em the steel, boys!”

They did. They leaped over the wall, bayoneted their enemies, smashed skulls with clubbed muskets,

and planted the battle flags of the South on Cemetery Ridge. The banners waved there only for a moment. But

that moment, brief as it was, recorded the high-water mark of the Confederacy.

Pickett’s charge—brilliant, heroic—was nevertheless the beginning of the end. Lee had failed. He

could not penetrate the North. And he knew it.

The South was doomed.

Lee was so saddened, so shocked, that he sent in his resignation and asked Jefferson Davis, the

president of the Confederacy, to appoint “a younger and abler man”. If Lee had wanted to blame the disastrous

failure of Pickett’s charge on someone else, he could have found a score of alibis. Some of his division

commanders had failed him. The cavalry hadn’t arrived in time to support the infantry attack. This had gone

wrong and that had gone awry.

But Lee was far too noble to blame others. As Pickett’s beaten and bloody troops struggled back to the

Confederate lines, Robert E. Lee rode out to meet them all alone and greeted them with a self-condemnation that

was little short of sublime. “All this has been my fault,” he confessed. “I and I alone have lost this battle.”

Few generals in all history have had the courage and character to admit that.

Michael Cheung, who teaches our course in Hong Kong, told of how the Chinese culture presents some

special problems and how sometimes it is necessary to recognize that the benefit of applying a principle may be

more advantageous than maintaining an old tradition. He had one middle-aged class member who had been

estranged from his son for many years. The father had been an opium addict, but was now cured. In Chinese

tradition an older person cannot take the first step. The father felt that it was up to his son to take the initiative

toward a reconciliation. In an early session, he told the class about the grandchildren he had never seen and how

much he desired to be reunited with his son. His classmates, all Chinese, understood his conflict between his

desire and long-established tradition. The father felt that young people should have respect for their elders and

that he was right in not giving in to his desire, but to wait for his son to come to him.

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Toward the end of the course the father again addressed his class. “I have pondered this problem,” he

said. “Dale Carnegie says, ‘If you are wrong, admit it quickly and emphatically.’ It is too late for me to admit it

quickly, but I can admit it emphatically. I wronged my son. He was right in not wanting to see me and to expel

me from his life. I may lose face by asking a younger person’s forgiveness, but I was at fault and it is my

responsibility to admit this.” The class applauded and gave him their full support. At the next class he told how

he went to his son’s house, asked for and received forgiveness and was now embarked on a new relationship

with his son, his daughter-in-law and the grandchildren he had at last met.

Elbert Hubbard was one of the most original authors who ever stirred up a nation, and his stinging

sentences often aroused fierce resentment. But Hubbard with his rare skill for handling people frequently turned

his enemies into friends.

For example, when some irritated reader wrote in to say that he didn’t agree with such and such an

article and ended by calling Hubbard this and that, Elbert Hubbard would answer like this:

“Come to think it over, I don’t entirely agree with it myself. Not everything I wrote yesterday appeals

to me today. I am glad to learn what you think on the subject. The next time you are in the neighborhood you

must visit us and we’ll get this subject threshed out for all time. So here is a handclasp over the miles, and I am,

Yours sincerely,

Elbert Hubbard”

What could you say to a man who treated you like that?

When we are right, let’s try to win people gently and tactfully to our way of thinking, and when we are

wrong—and that will be surprisingly often, if we are honest with ourselves—let’s admit our mistakes quickly

and with enthusiasm. Not only will that technique produce astonishing results; but, believe it or not, it is a lot

more fun, under the circumstances, than trying to defend oneself.

Remember the old proverb: “By fighting you never get enough, but by yielding you get more than you

expected.”

PRINCIPLE 3

If you are wrong, admit it quickly and emphatically.

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“A DROP OF HONEY.”

If your temper is aroused and you tell ‘em a thing or two, you will have a fine time unloading your

feelings. But what about the other person? Will he share your pleasure? Will your belligerent tones, your hostile

attitude, make it easy for him to agree with you?

“If you come at me with your fists doubled,” said Woodrow Wilson, “I think I can promise you that

mine will double as fast as yours; but if you come to me and say, ‘Let us sit down and take counsel together, and,

if we differ from each other, understand why it is that we differ, just what the points at issue are,’ we will

presently find that we are not so far apart after all, that the points on which we differ are few and the points on

which we agree are many, and that if we only have the patience and the candor and the desire to get together, we

will get together.”

Nobody appreciated the truth of Woodrow Wilson’s statement more than John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Back

in 1915, when Rockefeller was the most fiercely despised man in Colorado, one of the bloodiest strikes in the

history of American industry had been shocking the state for two terrible years. Irate, belligerent miners were

demanding higher wages from the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company; Rockefeller controlled that company.

Property had been destroyed; troops had been called out. Blood had been shed. Strikers had been shot, their

bodies riddled with bullets.

At a time like that, with the air seething with hatred, Rockefeller wanted to win the strikers to his way

of thinking. And he did it. How? Here’s the story. After weeks spent in making friends, Rockefeller addressed

the representatives of the strikers. This speech, in its entirety, is a masterpiece. It produced astonishing results. It

calmed the tempestuous waves of hate that threatened to engulf Rockefeller. It won him a host of admirers. It

presented facts in such a friendly manner that the strikers went back to work without saying another word about

the increase in wages for which they had fought so violently.

The opening of that remarkable speech follows. Note how it fairly glows with friendliness. Rockefeller,

remember, was talking to men who, a few days previously, had wanted to hang him by the neck to a sour apple

tree; yet he couldn’t have been more gracious, more friendly if he had addressed a group of medical

missionaries. His speech was radiant with such phrases as “I am proud to be here”, “having visited in your

homes”, “met many of your wives and children,” “we meet here not as strangers, but as friends”, “spirit of

mutual friendship”, “our common interests”, “it is only by your courtesy that I am here”, etc.

“This is a red-letter day in my life,” Rockefeller began. “It is the first time I have ever had the good

fortune to meet the representatives of the employees of this great company, its officers and superintendents,

together, and I can assure you that I am proud to be here, and that I shall remember this gathering as long as I

live. Had this meeting been held two weeks ago, I should have stood here a stranger to most of you, recognizing

a few faces. Having had the opportunity last week of visiting all the camps in the southern coal field and of

talking individually with practically all of the representatives, except those who were away; having visited in

your homes, met many of your wives and children, we meet here not as strangers, but as friends, and it is in that

spirit of mutual friendship that I am glad to have this opportunity to discuss with you our common interests.

“Since this is a meeting of the officers of the company and the representatives of the employees, it is

only by your courtesy that I am here, for I am not so fortunate as to be either one or the other; and yet I feel that

I am intimately associated with you men, for, in a sense, I represent both the stockholders and the directors.”

Isn’t that a superb example of the fine art of making friends out of enemies?

Suppose Rockefeller had taken a different tack. Suppose he had argued with those miners and hurled

devastating facts in their faces. Suppose he had told them by his tones and insinuations that they were wrong.

Suppose that, by all the rules of logic, he had proved that they were wrong. What would have happened? More

anger would have been stirred up, more hatred, more revolt.

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If a man's heart is rankling with discord and ill feeling toward you, you can’t win him to your way of

thinking with all the logic in Christendom. Scolding parents and domineering bosses and husbands and nagging

wives ought to realize that people don’t want to change their minds. They can’t be forced or driven to agree

with you or me. But they may possibly be led to, if we are gentle and friendly, ever so gentle and ever so friendly.

Lincoln said that, in effect, over a hundred years ago. Here are his words: “It is an old and true maxim

that ‘a drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall’. So with men, if you would win a man to your

cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend. Therein is a drop of honey that catches his heart; which,

say what you will, is the great high road to his reason.”

Business executives have learned that it pays to be friendly to strikers. For example, when 2,500

employees in the White Motor Company’s plant struck for higher wages and a union shop, Robert F. Black, then

president of the company, didn’t lose his temper and condemn and threaten and talk of tyranny and Communists.

He actually praised the strikers. He published an advertisement in the Cleveland papers, complimenting them on

“the peaceful way in which they laid down their tools”. Finding the strike pickets idle, he bought them a couple

of dozen baseball bats and gloves and invited them to play ball on vacant lots. For those who preferred bowling,

he rented a bowling alley.

This friendliness on Mr. Black’s part did what friendliness always does: it begot friendliness. So the

strikers borrowed brooms, shovels, and rubbish carts, and began picking up matches, papers, cigarette stubs, and

cigar butts around the factory. Imagine it! Imagine strikers tidying up the factory grounds while battling for

higher wages and recognition of the union. Such an event had never been heard of before in the long,

tempestuous history of American labor wars. That strike ended with a compromise settlement within a week- ended without any ill feeling or rancor.

Daniel Webster, who looked like a god and talked like Jehovah, was one of the most successful

advocates who ever pleaded a case; yet he ushered in his most powerful arguments with such friendly remarks

as: “It will be for the jury to consider,” “This may perhaps be worth thinking of,” “Here are some facts that I

trust you will not lose sight of,” or “You, with your knowledge of human nature, will easily see the significance

of these facts.” No bulldozing. No high-pressure methods. No attempt to force his opinions on others. Webster

used the soft-spoken, quiet, friendly approach, and it helped to make him famous.

You may never be called upon to settle a strike or address a jury, but you may want to get your rent

reduced. Will the friendly approach help you then? Let’s see.

O. L. Straub, an engineer, wanted to get his rent reduced. And he knew his landlord was hard-boiled. “I

wrote him,” Mr. Straub said in a speech before the class, “notifying him that I was vacating my apartment as

soon as my lease expired. The truth was, I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay if I could get my rent reduced.

But the situation seemed hopeless. Other tenants had tried—and failed. Everyone told me that the landlord was

extremely difficult to deal with. But I said to myself, ‘I am studying a course in how to deal with people, so I’ll

try it on him—and see how it works.’

“He and his secretary came to see me as soon as he got my letter. I met him at the door with a friendly

greeting. I fairly bubbled with good will and enthusiasm. I didn’t begin talking about how high the rent was. I

began talking about how much I liked his apartment house. Believe me, I was ‘hearty in my approbation and

lavish in my praise.’ I complimented him on the way he ran the building and told him I should like so much to

stay for another year but I couldn’t afford it.

“He had evidently never had such a reception from a tenant. He hardly knew what to make of it.

“Then he started to tell me his troubles. Complaining tenants. One had written him fourteen letters,

some of them positively insulting. Another threatened to break his lease unless the landlord kept the man on the

floor above from snoring. ‘What a relief it is,’ he said, ‘to have a satisfied tenant like you.’ And then, without

my even asking him to do it, he offered to reduce my rent a little. I wanted more, so I named the figure I could

afford to pay, and he accepted without a word.

“As he was leaving, he turned to me and asked, ‘What decorating can I do for you?’

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“If I had tried to get the rent reduced by the methods the other tenants were using, I am positive I

should have met with the same failure they encountered. It was the friendly, sympathetic, appreciative approach

that won.”

Dean Woodcock of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, is the superintendent of a department of the local electric

company. His staff was called upon to repair some equipment on top of a pole. This type of work had formerly

been performed by a different department and had only recently been transferred to Woodcock’s section.

Although his people had been trained in the work, this was the first time they had ever actually been called upon

to do it. Everybody in the organization was interested in seeing if and how they could handle it. Mr. Woodcock,

several of his subordinate managers, and members of other departments of the utility went to see the operation.

Many cars and trucks were there, and a number of people were standing around watching the two lone men on

top of the pole.

Glancing around, Woodcock noticed a man up the street getting out of his car with a camera. He began

taking pictures of the scene. Utility people are extremely conscious of public relations, and suddenly Woodcock

realized what this setup looked like to the man with the camera—overkill, dozens of people being called out to

do a two-person job. He strolled up the street to the photographer.

“I see you’re interested in our operation.”

“Yes, and my mother will be more than interested. She owns stock in your company. This will be an

eye-opener for her. She may even decide her investment was unwise. I’ve been telling her for years there’s a lot

of waste motion in companies like yours. This proves it. The newspapers might like these pictures, too.”

“It does look like it, doesn’t it? I’d think the same thing in your position. But this is a unique

situation...” and Dean Woodcock went on to explain how this was the first job of this type for his department

and how everybody from executives down was interested. He assured the man that under normal conditions two

people could handle the job. The photographer put away his camera, shook Woodcock’s hand, and thanked him

for taking the time to explain the situation to him.

Dean Woodcock’s friendly approach saved his company much embarrassment and bad publicity.

Another member of one of our classes, Gerald H. Winn of Littleton, New Hampshire, reported how by

using a friendly approach, he obtained a very satisfactory settlement on a damage claim.

“Early in the spring,” he reported, “before the ground had thawed from the winter freezing, there was

an unusually heavy rainstorm and the water, which normally would have run off to nearby ditches and storm

drains along the road, took a new course onto a building lot where I had just built a new home.

“Not being able to run off, the water pressure built up around the foundation of the house. The water

forced itself under the concrete basement floor, causing it to explode, and the basement filled with water. This

ruined the furnace and the hot-water heater. The cost to repair this damage was in excess of two thousand

dollars. I had no insurance to cover this type of damage.

“However, I soon found out that the owner of the subdivision had neglected to put in a storm drain near

the house which could have prevented this problem I made an appointment to see him. During the twenty-five- mile trip to his office, I carefully reviewed the situation and, remembering the principles I learned in this course,

I decided that showing my anger would not serve any worthwhile purpose, When I arrived, I kept very calm and

started by talking about his recent vacation to the West Indies; then, when I felt the timing was right, I

mentioned the ‘little’ problem of water damage. He quickly agreed to do his share in helping to correct the

problem.

“A few days later he called and said he would pay for the damage and also put in a storm drain to

prevent the same thing from happening in the future.

“Even though it was the fault of the owner of the subdivision, if I had not begun in a friendly way,

there would have been a great deal of difficulty in getting him to agree to the total liability.”

Years ago, when I was a barefoot boy walking through the woods to a country school out in northwest

Missouri, I read a fable about the sun and the wind. They quarreled about which was the stronger, and the wind

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said, “I’ll prove I am. See the old man down there with a coat? I bet I can get his coat off him quicker than you

can.”

So the sun went behind a cloud, and the wind blew until it was almost a tornado, but the harder it blew,

the tighter the old man clutched his coat to him.

Finally, the wind calmed down and gave up, and then the sun came out from behind the clouds and

smiled kindly on the old man. Presently, he mopped his brow and pulled off his coat. The sun then told the wind

that gentleness and friendliness were always stronger than fury and force.

The use of gentleness and friendliness is demonstrated day after day by people who have learned that a

drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall. F. Gale Connor of Lutherville, Maryland, proved this

when he had to take his four-month-old car to the service department of the car dealer for the third time. He told

our class, “It was apparent that talking to, reasoning with or shouting at the service manager was not going to

lead to a satisfactory resolution of my problems.

“I walked over to the showroom and asked to see the agency owner, Mr. White. After a short wait, I

was ushered into Mr. White’s office. I introduced myself and explained to him that I had bought my car from his

dealership because of the recommendations of friends who had had previous dealings with him. I was told that

his prices were very competitive and his service was outstanding. He smiled with satisfaction as he listened to

me. I then explained the problem I was having with the service department. ‘I thought you might want to be

aware of any situation that might tarnish your fine reputation,’ I added. He thanked me for calling this to his

attention and assured me that my problem would be taken care of. Not only did he personal get involved, but he

also lent me his car to use while mine was being repaired.”

Aesop was a Greek slave who lived at the court of Croesus and spun immortal fables six hundred years

before Christ. Yet the truths he taught about human nature are just as true in Boston and Birmingham now as

they were twenty-six centuries ago in Athens. The sun can make you take off your coat more quickly than the

wind; and kindliness, the friendly approach and appreciation can make people change their minds more readily

than all the bluster and storming in the world.

Remember what Lincoln said, “A drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall.”

PRINCIPLE 4

Begin in a friendly way.

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“THE SECRET OF SOCRATES.”

In talking with people, don’t begin by discussing the things on which you differ. Begin by

emphasizing—and keep on emphasizing—the things on which you agree. Keep emphasizing, if possible, that

you are both striving for the same end and that your only difference is one of method and not of purpose.

Get the other person saying “Yes, yes” at the outset. Keep your opponent, if possible, from saying

“No.” A “No” response, according to Professor Overstreet,* is a most difficult handicap to overcome. When you

have said “No,” all your pride of personality demands that you remain consistent with yourself. You may later

feel that the “No” was ill-advised; nevertheless, there is your precious pride to consider! Once having said a

thing, you feel you must stick to it. Hence it is of the very greatest importance that a person be started in the

affirmative direction.

* Harry A. Overstreet, lnfluencing Human Behavior (New York: Norton, 1925).

The skillful speaker gets, at the outset, a number of “Yes” responses. This sets the psychological

process of the listeners moving in the affirmative direction. It is like the movement of a billiard ball. Propel in

one direction, and it takes some force to deflect it; far more force to send it back in the opposite direction.

The psychological patterns here are quite clear. When a person says “No” and really means it, he or she

is doing far more than saying a word of two letters. The entire organism—glandular, nervous, muscular—

gathers itself together into a condition of rejection. There is, usually in minute but sometimes in observable

degree, a physical withdrawal or readiness for withdrawal. The whole neuromuscular system, in short, sets itself

on guard against acceptance. When, to the contrary, a person says “Yes,” none of the withdrawal activities takes

place. The organism is in a forward—moving, accepting, open attitude. Hence the more “Yeses” we can, at the

very outset, induce, the more likely we are to succeed in capturing the attention for our ultimate proposal.

It is a very simple technique—this “yes” response. And yet, how much it is neglected! It often seems as

if people get a sense of their own importance by antagonizing others at the outset.

Get a student to say “No” at the beginning, or a customer, child, husband, or wife, and it takes the

wisdom and the patience of angels to transform that bristling negative into an affirmative.

The use of this “yes, yes” technique enabled James Eberson, who was a teller in the Greenwich Savings

Bank, in New York City, to secure a prospective customer who might otherwise have been lost.

“This man came in to open an account,” said Mr. Eberson, “and I gave him our usual form to fill out.

Some of the questions he answered willingly, but there were others he flatly refused to answer.

“Before I began the study of human relations, I would have told this prospective depositor that if he

refused to give the bank this information, we should have to refuse to accept this account. I am ashamed that I

have been guilty of doing that very thing in the past. Naturally, an ultimatum like that made me feel good. I had

shown who was boss, that the bank’s rules and regulations couldn’t be flouted. But that sort of attitude certainly

didn’t give a feeling of welcome and importance to the man who had walked in to give us his patronage.

“I resolved this morning to use a little horse sense. I resolved not to talk about what the bank wanted

but about what the customer wanted. And above all else, I was determined to get him saying ‘yes, yes’ from the

very start. So I agreed with him. I told him the information he refused to give was not absolutely necessary.

“‘However,’ I said, ‘suppose you have money in this bank at your death. Wouldn’t you like to have the

bank transfer it to your next of kin, who is entitled to it according to law?’

“‘Yes, of course,’ he replied.

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“‘Don’t you think,’ I continued, ‘that it would be a good idea to give us the name of your next of kin so

that, in the event of your death, we could carry out your wishes without error or delay?’

“Again he said, ‘Yes.’

“The young man’s attitude softened and changed when he realized that we weren’t asking for this

information for our sake but for his sake. Before leaving the bank, this young man not only gave me complete

information about himself but he opened, at my suggestion, a trust account, naming his mother as the

beneficiary for his account, and he had gladly answered all the questions concerning his mother also.

“I found that by getting him to say ‘yes, yes’ from theoutset, he forgot the issue at stake and was happy

to do all the things I suggested.”

Joseph Allison, a sales representative for Westinghouse Electric Company, had this story to tell: “There

was a man in my territory that our company was most eager to sell to. My predecessor had called on him for ten

years without selling anything. When I took over the territory, I called steadily for three years without getting an

order. Finally, after thirteen years of calls and sales talk, we sold him a few motors. If these proved to be all

right, an order for several hundred more would follow. Such was my expectation, right? I knew they would be

all right. So when I called three weeks later, I was in high spirits.

“The chief engineer greeted me with this shocking announcement: ‘Allison, I can’t buy the remainder

of the motors from you.’

“‘Why?’ I asked in amazement. ‘Why?’

“‘Because your motors are too hot. I can’t put my hand on them,’

“I knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue. I had tried that sort of thing too long. So I thought of getting

the ‘yes, yes’ response.

“‘Well, now look, Mr. Smith,’ I said. ‘I agree with you a hundred percent; if those motors are running

too hot, you ought not to buy any more of them. You must have motors that won’t run any hotter than standards

set by the National Electrical Manufacturers Association. Isn’t that so?’

“He agreed it was. I had gotten my first ‘yes.’

“‘The Electrical Manufacturers Association regulations say that a properly designed motor may have a

temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit above room temperature. Is that correct?’

“‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘That’s quite correct. But your motors are much hotter.’

“I didn’t argue with him. I merely asked, ‘How hot is the mill room?’

“‘Oh,’ he said, ‘about 75 degrees Fahrenheit.’

“‘Well,’ I replied, ‘if the mill room is 75 degrees and you add 72 to that, that makes a total of 147

degrees Fahrenheit. Wouldn’t you scald your hand if you held it under a spigot of hot water at a temperature of

147 degrees Fahrenheit?’

“Again he had to say ‘yes.’

“‘Well,’ I suggested, ‘wouldn’t it he a good idea to keep your hands off those motors?’

“‘Well, I guess you’re right,’ he admitted. We continued to chat for a while. Then he called his

secretary and lined up approximately $35,000 worth of business for the ensuing month.

“It took me years and cost me countless thousands of dollars in lost business before I finally learned

that it doesn’t pay to argue, that it is much more profitable and much more interesting to look at things from the

other person’s viewpoint and try to get that person saying ‘yes, yes.’”

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Eddie Snow, who sponsors our courses in Oakland, California, tells how he became a good customer of

a shop because the proprietor got him to say “yes, yes.” Eddie had become interested in bow hunting and had

spent considerable money in purchasing equipment and supplies from a local bow store. When his brother was

visiting him he wanted to rent a bow for him from this store. The sales clerk told him they didn’t rent bows, so

Eddie phoned another bow store. Eddie described what happened:

“A very pleasant gentleman answered the phone. His response to my question for a rental was

completely different from the other place. He said he was sorry but they no longer rented bows because they

couldn’t afford to do so. He then asked me if I had rented before. I replied, ‘Yes, several years ago.’ He

reminded me that I probably paid $25 to $30 for the rental. I said ‘yes’ again. He then asked if I was the kind of

person who liked to save money. Naturally, I answered ‘yes.’ He went on to explain that they had bow sets with

all the necessary equipment on sale for $34.95. I could buy a complete set for only $4.95 more than I could rent

one. He explained that is why they had discontinued renting them. Did I think that was reasonable? My ‘yes’

response led to a purchase of the set, and when I picked it up I purchased several more items at this shop and

have since become a regular customer.”

Socrates, “the gadfly of Athens,” was one of the greatest philosophers the world has ever known. He

did something that only a handful of men in all history have been able to do: he sharply changed the whole

course of human thought; and now, twenty-four centuries after his death, he is honored as one of the wisest

persuaders who ever influenced this wrangling world.

His method? Did he tell people they were wrong? Oh, no, not Socrates. He was far too adroit for that.

His whole technique, now called the ‘Socratic method’, was based upon getting a “yes, yes” response. He asked

questions with which his opponent would have to agree. He kept on winning one admission after another until

he had an armful of yeses. He kept on asking questions until finally, almost without realizing it, his opponents

found themselves embracing a conclusion they would have bitterly denied a few minutes previously.

The next time we are tempted to tell someone he or she is wrong, let’s remember old Socrates and ask a

gentle question—a question that will get the “yes, yes” response.

The Chinese have a proverb pregnant with the age-old wisdom of the Orient: “He who treads softly

goes far.”

They have spent five thousand years studying human nature, those cultured Chinese, and they have

garnered a lot of perspicacity: “He who treads softly goes far.”

PRINCIPLE 5

Get the other person saying “yes, yes” immediately.

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“THE SAFETY VALVE IN HANDLING COMPLAINTS.”

Most people trying to win others to their way of thinking do too much talking themselves? Let the

other people talk themselves out. They know more about their business and problems than you do. So ask them

questions. Let them tell you a few things.

If you disagree with them you may be tempted to interrupt. But don’t. It is dangerous. They won’t pay

attention to you while they still have a lot of ideas of their own crying for expression. So listen patiently and

with an open mind. Be sincere about it. Encourage them to express their ideas fully.

Does this policy pay in business? Let’s see. Here is the story of a sales representative who was forced

to try it.

One of the largest automobile manufacturers in the United States was negotiating for a year’s

requirements of upholstery fabrics. Three important manufacturers had worked up fabrics in sample bodies.

These had all been inspected by the executives of the motor company, and notice had been sent to each

manufacturer saying that, on a certain day, a representative from each supplier would be given an opportunity to

make a final plea for the contract.

G.B.R., a representative of one manufacturer, arrived in town with a severe attack of laryngitis. “When

it came my turn to meet the executives in conference,” Mr. R---- said as he related the story before one of my

classes, “I had lost my voice. I could hardly whisper. I was ushered into a room and found myself face to face

with the textile engineer, the purchasing agent, the director of sales and the president of the company. I stood up

and made a valiant effort to speak, but I couldn’t do anything more than squeak.

“They were all seated around a table, so I wrote on a pad of paper: ‘Gentlemen, I have lost my voice. I

am speechless.’

“‘I’ll do the talking for you,’ the president said. He did. He exhibited my samples and praised their

good points. A lively discussion arose about the merits of my goods. And the president, since he was talking for

me, took the position I would have had during the discussion. My sole participation consisted of smiles, nods

and a few gestures.

“As a result of this unique conference, I was awarded the contract, which called for over half a million

yards of upholstery fabrics at an aggregate value of $1,600,000—the biggest order I had ever received.

“I know I would have lost the contract if I hadn’t lost my voice, because I had the wrong idea about the

whole proposition. I discovered, quite by accident, how richly it sometimes pays to let the other person do the

talking.’

Letting the other person do the talking helps in family situations as well as in business. Barbara

Wilson’s relationship with her daughter, Laurie, was deteriorating rapidly. Laurie, who had been a quiet,

complacent child, had grown into an uncooperative, sometimes belligerent teenager. Mrs. Wilson lectured her,

threatened her and punished her, but all to no avail.

“One day,” Mrs. Wilson told one of our classes, “I just gave up. Laurie had disobeyed me and had left

the house to visit her girl friend before she had completed her chores. When she returned I was about to scream

at her for the ten-thousandth time, but I just didn’t have the strength to do it. I just looked at her and said sadly,

‘Why, Laurie, Why?’

“Laurie noted my condition and in a calm voice asked, ‘Do you really want to know?’ I nodded and

Laurie told me, first hesitantly, and then it all flowed out. I had never listened to her. I was always telling her to

do this or that. When she wanted to tell me her thoughts, feelings, ideas, I interrupted with more orders. I began

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to realize that she needed me—not as a bossy mother, but as a confidante, an outlet for all her confusion about

growing up. And all I had been doing was talking when I should have been listening. I never heard her.

“From that time on I let her do all the talking she wanted. She tells me what is on her mind, and our

relationship has improved immeasurably. She is again a cooperative person.”

A large advertisement appeared on the financial page of a New York newspaper calling for a person

with unusual ability and experience. Charles T. Cubellis answered the advertisement, sending his reply to a box

number. A few days later, he was invited by letter to call for an interview. Before he called, he spent hours in

Wall Street finding out everything possible about the person who had founded the business. During the

interview, he remarked, “I should be mighty proud to be associated with an organization with a record like yours.

I understand you started twenty-eight years ago with nothing but desk room and one stenographer. Is that true?”

Almost every successful person likes to reminisce about his early struggles. This man was no exception.

He talked for a long time about how he had started with $450 in cash and an original idea. He told how he had

fought against discouragement and battled against ridicule, working Sundays and holidays, twelve to sixteen

hours a day; how he had finally won against all odds until now the most important executives on Wall Street

were coming to him for information and guidance. He was proud of such a record. He had a right to be, and he

had a splendid time telling about it. Finally, he questioned Mr. Cubellis briefly about his experience, then called

in one of his vice presidents and said, “I think this is the person we are looking for.”

Mr. Cubellis had taken the trouble to find out about the accomplishments of his prospective employer.

He showed an interest in the other person and his problems. He encouraged the other person to do most of the

talking—and made a favorable impression.

Roy G. Bradley of Sacramento, California, had the opposite problem. He listened as a good prospect

for a sales position talked himself into a job with Bradley’s firm, Roy reported:

“Being a small brokerage firm, we had no fringe benefits, such as hospitalization, medical insurance

and pensions. Every representative is an independent agent. We don’t even provide leads for prospects, as we

cannot advertise for them as our larger competitors do.

“Richard Pryor had the type of experience we wanted for this position, and he was interviewed first by

my assistant, who told him about all the negatives related to this job. He seemed slightly discouraged when he

came into my office. I mentioned the one benefit of being associated with my firm, that of being an independent

contractor and therefore virtually being self-employed.

“As he talked about these advantages to me, he talked himself out of each negative thought he had

when he came in for the interview. Several times it seemed as though he was half talking to himself as he was

thinking through each thought. At times I was tempted to add to his thoughts; however, as the interview came to

a close I felt he had convinced himself, very much on his own, that he would like to work for my firm.

“Because I had been a good listener and let Dick do most of the talking, he was able to weigh both

sides fairly in his mind, and he came to the positive conclusion, which was a challenge he created for himself.

We hired him and he has been an outstanding representative for our firm.”

Even our friends would much rather talk to us about their achievements than listen to us boast about

ours. La Rochefoucauld, the French philosopher, said, “If you want enemies, excel your friends; but if you want

friends, let your friends excel you.”

Why is that true? Because when our friends excel us, they feel important; but when we excel them,

they—or at least some of them—will feel inferior and envious.

By far the best-liked placement counselor in the Mid-town Personnel Agency in New York City was

Henrietta G ----. It hadn’t always been that way. During the first few months of her association with the agency,

Henrietta didn’t have a single friend among her colleagues. Why? Because every day she would brag about the

placements she had made, the new accounts she had opened, and anything else she had accomplished.

“I was good at my work and proud of it,” Henrietta told one of our classes. “But instead of my

colleagues sharing my triumphs, they seemed to resent them. I wanted to be liked by these people. I really

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wanted them to be my friends. After listening to some of the suggestions made in this course, I started to talk

about myself less and listen more to my associates. They also had things to boast about and were more excited

about telling me about their accomplishments than about listening to my boasting. Now, when we have some

time to chat, I ask them to share their joys with me, and I only mention my achievements when they ask.”

PRINCIPLE 6

Let the other person do a great deal of the talking.

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“HOW TO GET COOPERATION.”

Don’t you have much more faith in ideas that you discover for yourself than in ideas that are handed to

you on a silver platter? If so, isn’t it bad judgment to try to ram your opinions down the throats of other people?

Isn’t it wiser to make suggestions—and let the other person think out the conclusion?

Adolph Seltz of Philadelphia, sales manager in an automobile showroom and a student in one of my

courses, suddenly found himself confronted with the necessity of injecting enthusiasm into a discouraged and

disorganized group of automobile salespeople. Calling a sales meeting, he urged his people to tell him exactly

what they expected from him. As they talked, he wrote their ideas on the blackboard. He then said, “I’ll give

you all these qualities you expect from me. Now I want you to tell me what I have a right to expect from you.”

The replies came quick and fast: loyalty, honesty, initiative, optimism, teamwork, eight hours a day of

enthusiastic work. The meeting ended with a new courage, a new inspiration—one salesperson volunteered to

work fourteen hours a day—and Mr. Seltz reported to me that the increase of sales was phenomenal.

“The people had made a sort of moral bargain with me,” said Mr. Seltz, “and as long as I lived up to

my part in it, they were determined to live up to theirs. Consulting them about their wishes and desires was just

the shot in the arm they needed.”

No one likes to feel that he or she is being sold something or told to do a thing. We much prefer to feel

that we are buying of our own accord or acting on our own ideas. We like to be consulted about our wishes, our

wants, our thoughts.

Take the case of Eugene Wesson. He lost countless thousands of dollars in commissions before he

learned this truth. Mr. Wesson sold sketches for a studio that created designs for stylists and textile

manufacturers. Mr. Wesson had called on one of the leading stylists in New York once a week, every week for

three years. “He never refused to see me,” said Mr. Wesson, “but he never bought. He always looked over my

sketches very carefully and then said, ‘No, Wesson, I guess we don’t get any today.’”

After 150 failures, Wesson realized he must be in a mental rut, so he resolved to devote one evening a

week to the study of influencing human behavior, to help him develop new ideas and generate new enthusiasm.

He decided on this new approach. With half a dozen unfinished artists’ sketches under his arm, he

rushed over to the buyer’s office. “I want you to do me a little favor, if you will,” he said. “Here are some

uncompleted sketches. Won’t you please tell me how we could finish them up in such a way that you could use

them?”

The buyer looked at the sketches for a while without uttering a word. Finally he said, “Leave these with

me for a few days, Wesson, and then come back and see me.”

Wesson returned three days later, got his suggestions, took the sketches back to the studio and had

them finished according to the buyer’s ideas. The result? All accepted.

After that, this buyer ordered scores of other sketches from Wesson, all drawn according to the buyer’s

ideas. “I realized why I had failed for years to sell him,” said Mr. Wesson. “I had urged him to buy what I

thought he ought to have. Then I changed my approach completely. I urged him to give me his ideas. This made

him feel that he was creating the designs. And he was. I didn’t have to sell him. He bought.”

Letting the other person feel that the idea is his or hers not only works in business and politics, it works

in family life as well. Paul M. Davis of Tulsa, Oklahoma, told his class how he applied this principle:

“My family and I enjoyed one of the most interesting sightseeing vacation trips we have ever taken. I

had long dreamed of visiting such historic sites as the Civil War battlefield in Gettysburg, Independence Hall in

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Philadelphia, and our nation’s capital. Valley Forge, Jamestown and the restored colonial village of

Williamsburg were high on the list of things I wanted to see.

“In March my wife, Nancy, mentioned that she had ideas for our summer vacation which included a

tour of the western states, visiting points of interest in New Mexico, Arizona, California and Nevada. She had

wanted to make this trip for several years. But we couldn’t obviously make both trips.

“Our daughter, Anne, had just completed a course in U.S. history in junior high school and had become

very interested in the events that had shaped our country’s growth. I asked her how she would like to visit the

places she had learned about on our next vacation. She said she would love to.

“Two evenings later as we sat around the dinner table, Nancy announced that if we all agreed, the

summer’s vacation would be to the eastern states, that it would he a great trip for Anne and thrilling for all of us.

We all concurred.”

This same psychology was used by an X-ray manufacturer to sell his equipment to one of the largest

hospitals in Brooklyn This hospital was building an addition and preparing to equip it with the finest X-ray

department in America. Dr. L----, who was in charge of the X-ray department, was overwhelmed with sales

representatives, each caroling the praises of his own company’s equipment.

One manufacturer, however, was more skillful. He knew far more about handling human nature than

the others did. He wrote a letter something like this:

“Our factory has recently completed a new line of X-ray equipment. The first shipment of these

machines has just arrived at our office. They are not perfect. We know that, and we want to improve them. So

we should be deeply obligated to you if you could find time to look them over and give us your ideas about how

they can be made more serviceable to your profession. Knowing how occupied you are, I shall be glad to send

my car for you at any hour you specify.

“I was surprised to get that letter,” Dr. L ---- said as he related the incident before the class. “I was both

surprised and complimented. I had never had an X-ray manufacturer seeking my advice before. It made me feel

important. I was busy every night that week, but I canceled a dinner appointment in order to look over the

equipment. The more I studied it, the more I discovered for myself how much I liked it.

“Nobody had tried to sell it to me. I felt that the idea of buying that equipment for the hospital was my

own. I sold myself on its superior qualities and ordered it installed.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson in his essay “Self-Reliance” stated, “In every work of genius we recognize our

own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.”

Colonel Edward M. House wielded an enormous influence in national and international affairs while

Woodrow Wilson occupied the White House. Wilson leaned upon Colonel House for secret counsel and advice

more than he did upon even members of his own cabinet.

What method did the Colonel use in influencing the President? Fortunately, we know, for House

himself revealed it to Arthur D. Howden Smith, and Smith quoted House in an article in The Saturday Evening

Post:

“‘After I got to know the President,’ House said, ‘I learned the best way to convert him to an idea was

to plant it in his mind casually, but so as to interest him in it—so as to get him thinking about it on his own

account. The first time this worked it was an accident. I had been visiting him at the White House and urged a

policy on him which he appeared to disapprove. But several days later, at the dinner table, I was amazed to hear

him trot out my suggestion as his own.’”

Did House interrupt him and say, “That’s not your idea. That’s mine”? Oh, no. Not House. He was too

adroit for that. He didn’t care about credit. He wanted results. So he let Wilson continue to feel that the idea was

his. House did even more than that. He gave Wilson public credit for these ideas.

Let’s remember that everyone we come in contact with is just as human as Woodrow Wilson. So let’s

use Colonel House’s technique.

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A man up in the beautiful Canadian province of New Brunswick used this technique on me and won

my patronage. I was planning at the time to do some fishing and canoeing in New Brunswick. So I wrote the

tourist bureau for information. Evidently my name and address were put on a mailing list, for I was immediately

overwhelmed with scores of letters and booklets and printed testimonials from camps and guides. I was

bewildered. I didn’t know which to choose. Then one camp owner did a clever thing. He sent me the names and

telephone numbers of several New York people who had stayed at his camp and he invited me to telephone

them and discover for myself what he had to offer.

I found to my surprise that I knew one of the men on his list. I telephoned him, found out what his

experience had been, and then wired the camp the date of my arrival.

The others had been trying to sell me on their service, but one let me sell myself. That organization

won. Twenty-five centuries ago, Lao-tse, a Chinese sage, said some things that readers of this book might use

today:

“The reason why rivers and seas receive the homage of a hundred mountain streams is that they keep

below them. Thus they are able to reign over all the mountain streams. So the sage, wishing to be above men,

putteth himself below them; wishing to be before them, he putteth himself behind them. Thus, though his place

be above men, they do not feel his weight; though his place be before them, they do not count it an injury.”

PRINCIPLE 7

Let the other person feel that the idea is his or hers.