In the transit lounge for the flight to the GREAT BEYOND

Geoff WIJESINGHE

A few mornings ago, I was reclining on my armchair drinking deep of the beauty of nature. The bright sunshine that bathed the flowers and the foliage, the clear blue sky, a gentle caressing breeze wafting in from the sea which gave me an uninhibited feeling of freedom, filled me with that oft elusive peace of mind that passeth all understanding.

I was thanking God for all things bright and beautiful and quietly slipping into the Land of Nod when suddenly I was jolted awake from my reverie by a loud banging on my gate.

I soon found that the disturbance had been caused by two door-to-door insurance salesmen. They had arrived on motorcycles, which they had parked on the top of the road and set out on their house calls.

One of the insurance men, obviously the senior of the two, was middle aged, while the other was a trainee. Both were well dressed in long-sleeved shirts buttoned at the wrist, trousers and tie, undoubtedly to create a sense of confidence in their prospective client.

Insurance business

Of course, I told them that I was too old for insurance and was now in the transit lounge waiting to board my flight to the Great Beyond, as my good friend former Royal College Cricket Captain in 1954 T. Nirmalingam had commented when I gave him the sad news that Ranjit Weerasinghe, who captained the Thomians that year, had passed away in Australia. He said, "We are all in the transit lounge, Machang".

The insurance business is highly competitive these days and there is a surfeit of them selling all manner of policies with a whole load of incentives.

What is door-to-door insurance salesmen were engaged in is professionally known as "cold canvassing". Here, the salesman calls on a prospect without knowing who he is, what his status in life and that of his finances are and a whole host of information which, if known at the time of the call, will help greatly in making it a success. A door-to-door salesman trying to sell insurance to a prospect is like a pilot flying blind, and is one hell of a tough task. I had a mild flirtation with selling insurance when Hardy Jayasundara, a senior insurance agent who spent the day between playing billiards at the Central YMCA, Fort and engaging in his profession, made me one of his sub agents. I was in no way inclined to sell insurance, but Hardy was of the view that he could exploit the fact that I was a fairly well known cricketer at the time.

Well, after six months of going around selling insurance with Hardy, I had not secured a single policy of any description. I well remember calling on my good friend and classmate Ranjit Wijewardene who was Chairman of Lake House and trying to sell him insurance. Of course, Hardy did all the talking and Ranjit listened while I was a mere accoutrement.

A few months after leaving college at the age of 19, my father very correctly found that I was getting too fond of all the pleasures that go with leisure.

And, clutching to the nearest straw he found, he had me join the country's first advertising agency located on Galle Road adjoining the police station at Bambalapitiya. I was taken as a trainee Account Executive with a monthly allowance of twenty rupees. At the time, I was playing for the Sinhalese Sports Club (SSC) and finding the seniors carrying tins of Capstan, Gold Flake, Players and du Maurier cigarettes (50 in each) which were a kind of status symbol in those days particularly for executives and businessmen, I, being of an impressionable age, started smoking Peacock, the cheapest fag in the market, by the tin.

Ad agency

I had got used to this cigarette when at Miller House in the college boarding. A ring of us used to smoke Capstan in a disused bathroom, and found that our fags were being filched. So, we decided to smoke Peacock, known as a planter's cigarette, which was very strong and equally raw and untreated tobacco. A cigarette cost only three cents and a tin only 1.50 rupees.

So, there I was in my first job as an advertising Account Executive, sharing a table with a director, with a tin of cigarettes placed on the table and puffing away like a chimney. All part of a game of make believe. Part of my training was in sales. The managing partner of the ad agency was a superb salesman and he had a fine collection of books on salesmanship. One of them was by Frank Bettger.

America's No. 1 insurance salesman, who earned an average commission of one million dollars a year. One of the things he emphasized was that when a prospect says "no", it is the time to really begin your canvass or sales pitch. This was positive thinking. Bettger also gave detailed guidelines on how a salesman should prepare himself for an interview with a prospect. Before he met one, he always made a deep study of the prospect's financial standing, the type of employment he was engaged in, the number of children he had, what his favouarite games were, his strengths, his weaknesses, in short, everything about the prospect.

It was only then that Bettger made his appointment, after carefully planning out what he would say at the interview with his prospect, showing him benefits accruing from the insurance policy he was being sold. A successful insurance salesman builds a lifelong friendship with his clients.

Well, my flight has still not arrived, and I am still hanging to my boarding card.