Business Correspondence, Anonymous [classic reads .txt] 📗

tobacco?” No great mental exertion is required for such introductions, yet they have a personal touch, and while they might be used over and over again they strike the reader as being original, addressed to him personally.

Everyone is familiar with the conventional letter sent out by investment concerns: “In response to your inquiry, we take pleasure in sending you herewith a booklet descriptive of the White Cloud Investment Company.” Cut and dried—there is nothing that jars us out of our indifference; nothing to tempt us to read the proposition that follows. Here is a letter that is certain to interest the reader because it approaches him with an original idea:

 

“You will receive a copy of the Pacific Coast Gold Book under separate cover. Don’t look for a literary product because that’s not its purpose. Its object is to give you the actual facts and specific figures in reference to the gold-mining industry.”

 

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A correspondence school that has got past the stage where it writes, “We beg to call attention to our catalogue which is mailed under separate cover,” injects originality into its letter in this way:

 

“Take the booklet we have mailed you and examine the side notes on Drawing for Profit and Art Training that apply to you individually and then go back over them carefully.”

 

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The reader, even though he may have had nothing more than the most casual interest is certain to finish that letter.

Here is the way a paper manufacturer puts convincing argument into his letter, making it original and personal:

 

“Take the sheet of paper on which this letter is written and apply to it every test you have ever heard of for proving quality. You will find it contains not a single trace of wood pulp or fillers but is strong, tough, long-fiber linen. Take your pen and write a few words on it. You will find the point glides so smoothly that writing is a pleasure. Then erase a word or two and write them again—do it twice, three or four times—repeated erasures, and still you will find the ink does not blot or spread in the least. This proves the hard body and carefully prepared finish.”

 

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Even if a person felt sure that this same letter went to ten-thousand other men, there would be an individuality about it, a vividness that makes the strongest kind of appeal.

In a town in central Indiana two merchants suffered losses from fire. A few days later, one sent out this announcement to his customers:

 

“We beg to announce that temporary quarters have been secured at 411 Main Street, where we will be glad to see you and will endeavor to handle your orders promptly.”

 

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The second firm wrote to its customers:

 

Dear Mr. Brown:

Yes, it was a bad fire but it will not cripple the business. Our biggest asset is not the merchandise in the store but the good-will of our customers—something that fires cannot damage.

Our store does not look attractive. It won’t until repairs are made and new decorations are in, but the bargains are certainly attractive—low prices to move the stock and make room for the new goods that have been ordered. Everything has gone on the bargain tables; some of the goods slightly damaged by water, but many of the suits have nothing the matter with them except a little odor of smoke that will disappear in a couple of days. Come in and look at these goods. See the original prioe mark—you can have them at just one-half the amount.

Very truly yours, [Signature: Smith and Deene] 82

 

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Here is originality; emphasis is laid on “good will” in a way that will strengthen this “asset.” The merchant put a personal element into the letter; gave it an original appeal that made it not only a clever bit of advertising, but proclaimed him a live-wire business man.

Here is the letter sent out by a store fixture manufacturer:

 

“If one of your salesmen should double his sales slips tomorrow you would watch to see how he did it. If he kept up this pace you would be willing to double his wages, wouldn’t you? He would double his sales if he could display all his goods to every customer. That’s the very thing which the Derwin Display Fixture does—it shows all the goods for your salesman, yet you don’t have to pay him a higher salary.”

 

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A merchant cannot read this letter without stopping to think about it. The appeal strikes home. He may have read a hundred advertisements of the Derwin fixture, but this reaches him because of the originality of expression, the different twist that is given to the argument. There are no hackneyed expressions, no involved phrases, no unfamiliar words, no selfish motives.

And then comes the man-to-man attitude, the letter in which the writer wins the reader’s confidence by talking about “you and me.” A western firm handling building materials of all kinds entered the mailorder field. One cannot conceive a harder line of goods to sell by mail, but this firm has succeeded by putting this man-to-man attitude into its letters:

 

“If you could sit at my desk for an hour—if you might listen a few minutes to the little intimate things that men and women tell me— their hopes, their plans for the home that will protect their families—their little secret schemes to make saved-up money stretch out over the building cost; if you could hear and see these sides of our business you would understand why we give our customers more than mere quality merchandise. We plan for you and give expert advice along with the material.”

 

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There is nothing cold or distant in this letter; it does not flavor of a soulless corporation. It is intimate, it is so personal that we feel we are acquainted with the writer. We would not need an introduction—and what is more, we trust him, believe in him. Make the man feel that you and he are friends.

Write to the average college or university for a catalogue and it will be sent promptly with a stereotyped letter: “We are pleased to comply with your request,” and so forth. But a little school in central Iowa makes the prospective student feel a personal interest in the school and in its officers by this letter:

 

My dear Sir:

The catalogue was mailed to you this morning. We have tried to make it complete and I believe it covers every important point. But I wish you could talk with me personally for half an hour—I wish you might go over our institution with me that I might point out to you the splendid equipment, the convenient arrangement, the attractive rooms, the ideal surroundings and the homelike places for room and board.

Won’t you drop me a line and let me know what you think about our school? Tell me what courses you are interested in and let me know if I cannot be of some personal assistance to you in making your plans.

I hope to see you about the middle of September when our fall term opens.

Very cordially yours, [Signature: Wallace E. Lee] President.

 

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This letter, signed by the president of the institution, is a heart-to-heart talk that induces many students to attend that school in preference to larger, better-equipped colleges.

A large suit house manufacturing women’s garments uses this paragraph in a letter in response to a request for a catalogue:

 

“And now as you look through this book we wish we could be privileged to sit there with you as you turn its pages. We would like to read aloud to you every word printed on pages 4, 5 and 6. Will you turn to those pages, please? Sometimes we think the story told there of the making of a suit is the most interesting thing ever written about clothes—but then, we think Columbia suits are the most wonderful garments in the world.”

 

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The letter creates a feeling of intimacy, of confidence in the writer, that no formal arguments, logical reasons or special inducements could ever secure.

Important as these two attitudes are—the personal appeal and the man-to-man appeal—they can be strengthened manifold by making use of that other essential, the “you” element in letters. The mistake of so many writers is that they think of their interests in the transaction rather than the interests of the men to whom they are writing. It is “we” this and “we” that. Yet this “we” habit is a violation of the first rule of business correspondence. “We are very desirous of receiving an order from you.” Of course; the reader knows that. Why call his attention to so evident a fact and give emphasis to the profit that you are going to make on the deal? To get his interest, show him where he will gain through this proposition—precious little he cares how anxious you are to make a sale.

 

Mr. Station Agent—

Brother Railroader:

As soon as you have told the fellow at the ticket window that the noon train is due at twelve o’clock and satisfied the young lady that her telegram will be sent at once and O.S.‘d the way freight and explained to the Grand Mogul at the other end of the wire what delayed ‘em, I’d like to chat with you just a minute.

It’s about a book—to tell the truth, just between you and me, I don’t suppose it’s a bit better book than you could write yourself if you had time. I simply wrote it because I’m an old railroad man and telegrapher myself and had time to write it.

The title of the book is “At Finnegan’s Cigar Store,” and the hero of the fourteen little stories which the booklet contains is Mr Station Agent. The first story in the book, “How Finnegan Bought Himself a Diamond,” is worth the price of that tencent cigar you’re smoking, and that’s all the book will cost you.

I know you’ll like it—I liked it myself. I’m so sure of it I am enclosing a tencent coin card for you to use in ordering it. A dime in the card and postage stamp on the letter will bring you the book by first mail. “Nuff said.”

 

“73”

E. N. RICHARDSON.

P. S.—I am enclosing another card for your night operator, if you have one—I’d hate to have him feel that I had slighted him.

 

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This letter, sent out under a one-cent stamp to 80,000 agents, pulled 22,000 replies with the money. The writer did not address them individually, but he knew how to flag the interest of a station agent—by working in familiar allusions he at once found the point of contact and made the letter so personal that it pulled enormous results

 

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No other appeal is so direct, so effective, as that which is summed up in the words “you,” “your business,” “your profits,” “your welfare.” “It costs you too much to sell crockery, but your selling expense can be cut down by utilizing your space to better advantage;” “Your easiest profits are those you make by saving expense;” “Did you ever figure up the time that is wasted in your mailing department by sealing and stamping one letter at a time?”— these are the