Chapter Thirty-Three

It’s strange how things happen in life. A new Len was emerging and deep down I knew him. He was an extension of the Len who wouldn’t work at the plumbers shop and an extension of the Len who loved selling for the greengrocer and chatting up the housewives. I was right on top of the sales game, but the offerings on the side were causing trouble. Increasingly Glenda was aware of them. In local parlance she was ‘giving me gyp’. The employee position was getting too small for me and I was thinking of branching out on my own in a similar business. I was considering an improved stock range and some other selling methods. The new Len, a real chancer, was emerging. The genie had been let out of the bottle.

I walked into Michael’s office and told him I was leaving to start my own outfit. I had put aside enough money to launch it. He tried talking me out of it with offers of shares in the business and bonuses. His blandishments fell on deaf ears. I was off and ready to start my own business. Surprisingly, Mary readily agreed with my plan. I arranged a tenant for our house who would cover the mortgage and I moved us to a really nice luxury apartment in an inner city suburb. It was stylish, modern and had parking for the van I would need. It was the perfect location for the business and a young couple on the way up in life. This new pathway engineered the final split with Glenda.

Looking back, the time spent working with Michael, even with the distractions and dangers of the fling, was a stepping-stone that had to be experienced. So there it is, getting off of that bus, chancing my arm with the sales job. The Glenda affair was like many other steps, I believe it was all part of a mapped out journey.

A month later I was the proud possessor of a caravan fitted out as a mobile shop. British readers will know what I was up to. I was about to introduce the tallyman to New Zealand. Instead of battling my way into people’s households with cases and display racks, I would pull up outside and invite guests into my regally appointed caravan where the goods were professionally displayed. Purchasers loved it from the novelty to the privacy. It worked so well that I extended the stock into general clothing. I bought end runs of stock from local manufacturers very cheaply and always paid in cash. Occasionally some really well priced stock would fall off the back of a truck for me. Business was booming despite the odd fracas with an indignant boyfriend who felt the fitting process had strayed into inappropriate areas. I provided credit facilities and sometimes the interest on deferred payments brought me more than the sales. I had a few bad debts but nothing unmanageable. I decided to put a second van on the road, but made the mistake of giving it to a relative of Mary’s, an American brother-in-law who couldn’t sell to save his soul. Eventually I got rid of him and put a sharp little operator in charge of the van.

I don’t know whether it’s been luck or shrewdness, but I’ve always been able to spot storm clouds well ahead of their arrival in my life. The stock that ‘fell off the back of a lorry’ was a regular part of the business, but I would only deal through contacts of the Bay boys. I never dealt directly with the seller of this type of stock. I knew that no matter what happened the Bay boys would never disclose to the police or anyone else who the end purchaser of the stock was. On more than one occasion this cautious habit of keeping a middleman between me and any illegality proved to be a life saver. However even working through the Bay boys I still began to meet a few really shady characters. I wasn’t naive about what they were and did, but I found it an attractive and exciting world, or more appropriately, underworld. Some of them seemed to be clones of dear old Ernie, the Rag and Bone man, but there were some darker figures in the mix.

I had the business for three years and made some very good money, but I decided to get out and I arranged to sell it to Solly Lipman, a Jewish trader who ran a similar business in South Auckland. I had no aspirations to break into the South Auckland market. It was tough territory out there. It had been a strong working class area built around the factories, but a wave of immigration from the Pacific Islands and the drift of rural Maoris to the city looking for factory work were changing the social make up of South Auckland. New suburbs like Otara were springing up, consisting of almost entirely State Housing and low rental accommodation. If you pushed too hard over late payments out there you were taking your life into your hands. Solly was a tough operator and he paid me in cash and didn’t ask for a receipt. It wasn’t a fortune, but I was pleased to have the money and to get out. It had been a good experience and I believe every venture you go into in life is a necessary preparation for what you’ll encounter later.

I decided to take some time out and decide what to do next. I was cashed up and in no hurry. The old public golf course at Chamberlain Park out on the Great North Road saw a lot of me over the next six weeks. I hadn’t joined a private golf club yet, but there were always plenty of work shy, keen golfers looking for someone to play with. And it was at the golf course that I met Ken, who gave me the idea for my next business venture, which was selling fire extinguishers. I know that doesn’t sound like a very exciting or dangerous line of work, but as you’ll see I have a knack of taking even the simplest business and giving it an interesting twist. As always a couple of slightly shady characters got drawn into the mix and the exercise ended with a major fraud investigation that I was lucky not to be dragged into.

I had always fancied myself as a pretty hot salesman and whenever there was nothing more rewarding on the horizon, or I didn’t have the readies to set up with a new product, I would look around to find something that I could get out there with and quickly pull in some money with no capital invested. Ken had just been accepted into the Auckland Fire Brigade. It was a very hard selection process and you considered yourself safe in the job for life if you were accepted. Ken, who to his credit, had given up a life of carousing, drinking and brawling etc. was a real tough guy. This was a seismic life change for him. To try and tread the straight-and-narrow in such a disciplined calling would be a bridge too far for him, I thought. Ken, however, was absolutely taken by his new respectable career move and was enjoying the first flush of success. I used to meet him for drinks and the odd game of golf.

One afternoon I had just finished a round of golf and was sitting in what passed for a bar having a cold drink, when Ken walked in with one of his new fire brigade mates. They joined me with their drinks and we started chatting about the usual subjects. You know the ones; girls, rugby and past achievements; a bit of male bragging and bonding really. I naturally asked Ken how he was enjoying his new respectable life. Well that was like taking the top off of the fizzy lemonade bottle. He just erupted; he had been out on a couple of major shouts and was really enjoying the job. I think the risks and a bit of danger really suited his personality. He was the sort of guy who had no problem putting himself on the line. As I said, he was a rough and tough Kiwi and they don’t come much tougher in my experience, though the Aussies can give them a close run.

While on that subject, it’s interesting that whenever the Aussies play New Zealand at any sport it really is full on, no quarter asked or given. They both lift themselves and perform better than they normally can. Particularly New Zealand, as they’re cast in the role of the poor cousins. That being true to a certain extent as Australia is certainly richer and supports a better and more affluent lifestyle, but that’s not always the best way to measure things. Whatever the motive is for that intense competition, believe me it exists at all levels. It is most evident in sport, politics, entertainment and believe it or not, even amongst criminals. I know that’s a strange one, but it’s very true, though I think the Aussies had a definite advantage in that one, like racehorses, it’s all in the breeding.

“Len, do you know that most fires could be stopped before they go too far if ordinary fire extinguishers were kept handy?” asked Ken, airing his new found knowledge.

“Yes mate, I can see that would be the case,” I said. Ken had just been on a big call-out for a major fire in Auckland’s largest department store, The Farmers Trading Company. Rumours were rife around the town that it had been deliberately lit to cover a major shortfall in its furniture stock inventory. Funnily enough I knew a couple of the guys who worked in the furniture department. Their lifestyle seemed to be a bit exotic for average wage earners. They were always to be seen in the trendy restaurants and top bars. I was inclined to believe there may well have been a bit of truth in it, but it’s just conjecture, even though most of the town larrikins seemed to have had their homes refurnished very nicely prior to the fire. Ken had also been a merchant seaman, working on both the Australian and New Zealand coasts where he had developed a certain reputation. Like many others, I was very surprised at his choice of career and was waiting with interest for the inevitable explosion; this guy was the original loose cannon. I knew there had been a bit of string pulling to get him into that job. Bob, his long-suffering father-in-law, was the local Labour party representative. He was a leading light in Freemans Bay. He was a JP and looked up to by all in Freemans Bay and his position carried a fair bit of clout.

“So Ken, are you still happy with the straight and narrow?”

“I bloody love it,” said Ken very enthusiastically, “good money, plenty of time off and they’ve given me one of those cottages attached to the fire station, how about that? And what about this, the missus and the in-laws are talking to me again.”
Miracles may well happen, but they don’t always last.

Pete, who was with Ken and also a fireman, hadn’t been saying too much, so I thought I’d better bring him into the conversation.
“How about you, Pete, do you like the job?”
“Yes, who wants another beer?”
Pete was a man of few words, but Ken wasn’t.
“We had a call out for a little corner shop in Grey Lynn the other day. It was only half a mile from the station and we got there in bloody quick time, but it was too late to save it. All we could do was to stop it spreading. The dopey bastard was too mean to have a little fire extinguisher handy. It could have saved his business. My boss gave him a right bollocking. They’re all the same,” says Ken very righteously and warming to the subject, “too mean or too bloody stupid to buy the right equipment and have it handy. They should all be pinched.”
The laconic Pete growled his approval.

At home the next day the conversation with Ken was tripping through my mind. ‘There has to be an angle here,’ I thought to myself. ‘You had better have a look into this and it could be very timely.’ I went straight to the yellow pages, an essential part of a budding entrepreneur’s kit. The good old reliable yellow pages had it all, as simple as you like, under F for fire extinguishers. The main manufacturer was based in Christchurch, but fortunately they maintained a distribution office in Auckland. I phoned and made an appointment to meet the manager. He turned out to be a nice accommodating chap. He was middle aged and approaching retirement. I think he had lost any snap he may have possessed and was just filling in time, hoping for a peaceful life, but he needed to put some runs on the board and sales were desperately needed. It is generally the case in any company, you can have the best accountants, the best managers, the best product, the best premises, but they all come to nothing without that most essential of all ingredients for success, good sales staff. Without good sales people they might as well all stay at home, without the sellers nothing really happens and the top bosses know that.

Playing on that, it hadn’t been hard to convince the manager Roy that we needed each other. I persuaded him to grant me an agency in writing for his products at a handsomely discounted rate. I in turn guaranteed him a certain amount of monthly purchases, which would keep his bosses of his back and keep him on track for his happy retirement. I had noted the half empty scotch bottle in his desk drawer and his over red complexion; it was a timely liaison all round. Once again lady luck was sitting on my shoulder, but I had gone out to help her, she doesn’t just come into the living room.

The next move was to get out there and do a bit of test marketing, to sort out the objections and to find the most suitable products and price points; in other words how far could I load the prices up? Whenever opportunities like this arose I always went out there myself and did the initial work in the trenches. In fact I always stayed involved when it came to the selling. I was good at that, but poor on administration; it always helps to know your weaknesses. I had purchased some stock from Roy, mainly to use for demonstration purposes and to familiarize myself with the products and what they could do. Armed with a couple of the smaller units I stepped out into the great unknown of fire prevention. I had to pass myself of as an expert; easy enough I thought. I had taken the time to study some literature from Roy, which he had to dig out from one of his voluminous cupboards. They were covered in dust and fairly old, not having seen the light of day for quite some time. As you can probably tell the support material wasn’t exactly cutting edge, but the units themselves were absolutely brilliant and bore the relevant safety standard markings required under safety regulations. I would be making a great play on those.

I shall never forget my forays and sales calls made on that first day. I was highly positive and motivated. Having spent most of the funds from the last venture I was nearly broke and that was always a good motivation for me. Well, what a surprise; it was an absolute flop, no matter what I tried and that included my absolute best lines of patter. I just got a stony silence and acres of negativity. I made eight calls, mainly on shops where I knew I would be dealing with the decision maker who could write the cheque. I managed to make one sale and it was bloody hard work. It was back to the drawing board, but I wasn’t one to give up easily. In fact there were many occasions on other products and schemes when I should have done so, but I always found that very hard to do. I knew I needed a gimmick. I had been thinking about it since that first meeting with Ken and Pete. I had always had it in mind that I needed to be seen as an official and connected to the Fire Service in some form or another. I knew I would be treading on dangerous ground and had to step very carefully. But I had a plan formulating in my mind. It was tricky, a touch dangerous, but would prove to be very effective and I just couldn’t resist it.

I knew from Ken that his station had a Sunday rugby team and social club. I had been to a couple of their Sunday games and they were always short of players so I offered to play for them the next Sunday. I wasn’t any great shakes as a player, but they just needed the numbers. I had a drink with them all after the game as was the custom and after a couple of weeks of that I became one of the boys. I had casually told Ken and Pete about my new venture. They were very eager to help and air their superior knowledge so I was bombarded with technical information about compounds and different methods and equipment used for fighting different fires. Fat fires, electrical fires, petrol fires. I expressed admiration and gratefulness to them for sharing their skills and knowledge with me. I was successfully drawing them in ever closer to what I really wanted. At that time the Auckland Fire Brigade station was situated in the city on the corner of Pitt and Vincent Streets. I rented a room in a bed and breakfast type place in Pitt Street within a few doors of the fire station. This little manoeuvre gave me an address that was synonymous with the Fire Brigade. I had been given a Fire Brigade lapel badge while having a tipsy drink with the boys after one of the Sunday rugby games. This simple possession proved to be a little gem. I had also acquired an official tie of the firemen’s social club.

The next bit of the plan was slightly trickier. I had purchased a number of small red suitcases, which I intended to emboss in gold leaf with an official looking title. I knew that just placing those on a counter or desk would save a lot of questions and create the required respectful and compliant attitude I was looking for. I researched the official operating name of the Fire Brigade as it was referred to in those days. I wanted something sounding official and looking close enough to pass light scrutiny. I came up with “The New Zealand Fire Safety Service”. I couldn’t find anything exactly like that, so it became the official title of my new enterprise. I had this name embossed very conservatively on the small suitcases. I then ran off some stationery featuring the Pitt Street address and particulars. I think this whole process had taken about a month from that first meeting and I was now ready for my next move.

Whilst familiarising myself with the extinguishers, I had discovered what proved to be a cute selling trick. On Ken’s advice I had bought some white spirit. I would put a little of it in a small metal container and set it alight. The results were spectacular, the flames just leapt up. I would let it burn for a few seconds and then a quick squirt from an extinguisher and it went straight out. It was very impressive and there was no smoke damage, as white spirit doesn’t create that. I knew I had the secret, the perfect demonstration exercise in the prospect’s office or premises. I must stress that the white spirit when lit just shot up in flames very impressively and would look quite dangerous to the uninitiated. In reality however it only took a light blast of the extinguisher to snub it out. But as I said it looked very frightening. We all have a strong instinctive fear of fire. What a sales weapon that turned out to be.

I had brought on board a very good telephone salesman, ‘a blower’ as they were known in the trade. He had been around a bit and knew the rules. I put him on a good deal. His task was to phone potential customers and make appointments. His pitch was for: “one of our Pitt Street chaps to come out and do a safety inspection on the premises which we note is now due.”

Calls would invariably go like this:

“Good morning, Sir, Roger Butler here from New Zealand Fire Safety Service Retail Inspections Unit. I need to speak with the manager or proprietor re your annual fire safety check which is a bit overdue.”

“Is it really Roger?”

“I’m afraid so, Sir.”

“Oh, okay then, what do we do next?”

“Well that’s why we called you, Sir. We try to avoid problems and penalty payments. One of our chaps from Pitt Street has an inspection near you tomorrow morning if that’s convenient.”

And invariably it was.

If there had been a fire, we would phone prospects in that locality. The results were amazing. Roger would open up with his normal pattern of introducing himself and getting the punter nervous, but on side. After he had set the scene he would then go on to say: “Because of the recent unfortunate fire out your way, which between you and me Sir, could have been avoided, we are running some retail safety checks on fire equipment to see if it matches the regulations.” Regulations! That word really got the punters attention and then more references to “not liking to create problems or penalty payments” and the advice that one of the ‘Pitt St. Boys’ would be in that area the next day and an appointment was made.

Roger was one of the great ‘blowers’ and proud of his craft. He made very good money. He got a payment for every appointment made, plus a percentage of any sale concluded. He made a very good living working two or three hours a day, for two, or sometimes three, days a week. As I said he was good at what he did, but as importantly he had a close mouth and was recognised for that priceless talent by those who valued it. I certainly did. Over the years he worked on other projects for me and was always reliable, but I think he performed best on this one. Through watching him and observing the pleasure on his face as he secured the appointments, I was convinced he enjoyed it. He was a pro. He was a strange man in many ways. He really adopted the high moral ground in his dialogue with punters. I think it was his way of justifying his calling in life. Naturally I was the bloke from the Fire Safety Service who was going to be in their area tomorrow. I was hot to trot.

I will always remember my first call after the change of tactics. It was to one of the medium sized factory shops that were springing up at that time. The owner ran it himself with his wife and a small staff. I arrived dressed in a pair of black, sharply creased trousers; black, highly polished shoes; a white military-styled shirt with two buttoned down patch pockets, my fireman’s social club tie and all topped off with my little lapel badge. Roger always got the Christian name and surname of the prospect, plus other snippets of information that might be handy or have a bearing on the sale. Consequently I was well armed for whatever might arise.

“Hello there, Warren. How are you going? Busy today I hope.”

I introduced myself, shook hands and made Warren feel comfortable with me, leading off with a quick chat about some local issue, probably sport related. I would be completely clued up on the local rugby club and golf club. I would also know a bit about the local council and councillors in case that was needed. I was generally offered a cuppa at this stage; however I would put it off and suggest we had it after we had concluded the inspection.
“Have you got time for us to do this inspection now Warren? It shouldn’t take long.”
I made sure he could see the copy of the Shop and Factory Fire Safety Regulations I carried in a red folder. Warren was eager to please and to get this over and avoid any problems or unnecessary costs.
“I’m in your hands, Len.”
“You certainly are,” I thought.
“Warren, just before we do the assessment, I think it advisable to do a little demonstration showing how effective it is to have the correct extinguishers in the correct positions; it can be lifesaving.”
“Okay, can you do it here and shall I get one or two of my staff to observe it?”
“Good thinking, Warren.”

I laid out my metal pan and tipped a little white spirit in to it. I looked up in my best professional manner and requested that Warren and the staff all move back a little. I dropped a lighted match into the white spirit. Whoosh! Flames leapt up about six feet high. Everybody was startled and jumped back. A female staff member screamed and I thought Warren was going to have an accident. I hesitated and looked at him.
“Put it out for fucks’ sake,” he shouted.
I heroically and nonchalantly stepped forward and with one spurt from the small four-pound hand extinguisher, I doused the flame. I turned to him and his staff and said:

“I hope that didn’t alarm you too much, but it’s the policy of the Department to clearly show the danger of a flash fire and the need to have the recommended protection readily at hand.”

Warren invited me to do the assessment ‘post haste’. I walked around the premises with him accompanying me. I had studied the recommended and indeed the required extinguisher positions. And pointed out to Warren the considerable number of extinguishers he’d need. One by the fuse boxes, one in stairways, one or two upstairs, one in the kitchen and a few more here and there for good measure. Some of them were small four-pound units and a couple of the larger eight-pound types and two twelve pound models, which I strongly recommended. I had prepared an official looking diagram, which I filled in and made notes on. I assured Warren that I could readily sort out his problem.

“What about that cup of tea now, Warren?”

Well we had our tea and some very nice biscuits, over which we had a general talk about the regulations and once again the penalties. I impressed upon him that we tried not to be too heavy handed in these matters. We thought it more productive if somebody was a bit short on equipment to give the right advice on the correct requirements and put right the situation without recourse to further official corrective action, to which he gratefully nodded. The upshot was that Warren needed eight units of varying sizes to keep him within the regulations. We could, of course, organise it straightaway for safety’s sake, not forgetting it would be a significant help with his insurance premiums. I also pointed out that having the correct equipment installed would be particularly helpful if he was ever unfortunate enough to have to lodge a claim for fire damage. Warren, who had winced at the cost he was facing, suddenly looked a little brighter. It’s been said many times, there is no such thing as a completely honest man.

As time went on and I made more calls my patter became irresistible. Every call was a sale and every one of them remarked on how refreshing it was to deal with such a helpful chap. Nothing like the official grilling they’d expected. I was selling more and more units and making really good money. I had put on another salesman and he was coming along nicely. I was happy, Roger the ‘blower’ was happy, the State Advances mortgage company was happy, my wife and newly arrived baby daughter were happy and one of my customers became particularly happy. This next story shows just how wicked and dishonest some people can be and demonstrates how you should always be on your guard against these types.

Roger the ‘blower’ had been happily blowing away now for a month or so and like me his patter was now unstoppable. We were a great team and getting the results. Early one fine summer’s morning I was feeling very satisfied with the business and the world in general, which of course is just when complacency can creep in. I had breezed into the Pitt Street office to pick up my appointments for the day. I could easily do four or five calls in a day now. To keep things motoring smoothly along and to avoid build ups I had Gary Duffty, one of the Freemans Bay boys, trained up to do the deliveries and also to do the attachments of the extinguishers to the walls where necessary. Gary charged the clients a fee for this service, which he kept for himself and did very nicely thank you. Roger kept the administration moving. He understood it left me free to do that most important function of any business, straight or otherwise and that is to make the sales. Nothing works without those. He knew his commissions were the better for it, so he made sure I wasn’t tied down.

I have a lifetime habit and indulgence, which I intend never to stop. Wherever I am in the world or whatever I am doing, I always start the day in a coffee bar, hotel lounge, or dining room, where I leisurely read the paper, have a nice breakfast and then plan my day. It’s a great pleasure in my life; I prefer it to pubs and restaurant dinners. I have never been able to stand around in pubs and chat and drink, that’s never been my way of relaxing.

This particular day found me just finishing a lovely breakfast of salmon and scrambled eggs in my favourite hotel. I was in the upstairs guest dining room of De Brett’s Hotel. Old world hotels like that have become very hard to find now. I noticed that one of my appointments for the day was out in the industrial suburb of Onehunga. I checked the notes Roger had prepared. The client’s name was there and the address and name of the business. I thought this could be interesting as it was a well-known wool store and they would generally have been well up to speed as to their fire safety requirements. I drove out to Onehunga, which only took about fifteen minutes, given that traffic was relatively quiet at that time of the day. I drove up to the rundown premises and pulled into the parking area.

The building was one of those erected by, or for, the American Marines who were based in New Zealand during the Pacific campaign of the Second World War. New Zealand had been a staging, training and rest and recreation post for the Marines during that bitter conflict with the Japanese. The Pacific theatre was fought for control of the Pacific Islands airfields and shipping lanes, which were essential for the Japanese expansion plans. Though the Aussies fought in that theatre with the Americans, most of the New Zealand forces were otherwise engaged at the time with a certain Mr. Montgomery and a Mr. Rommel in North Africa and then Italy, where they acquitted themselves very well, according to both the above-named gentlemen.

‘Office’, was scrawled in white marker paint on a piece of black board balanced in the window of a small lean-to building, attached to what appeared to be a very large storage unit with huge double sliding doors on the front and rear of the structure. It had seen better days. It had in the past been painted black but this had now faded badly and the corrugated iron sheeting with which it had been constructed was failing. Into the office I strolled, dressed in my usual official-looking uniform. There was a very beautiful and stylishly dressed lady sitting behind the reception counter, trying to look busy. She flashed a dazzling smile at me; a lesser man would have fainted. I introduced myself and stated I was there to see Mr. A about fire safety. “Oh, he’s busy for ten minutes or so, but would like you to have a cup of tea or coffee, while you’re waiting?”

She returned with the tea and we exchanged pleasantries. Whilst this was going on I was making a detailed observation and health check on her well exposed cleavage and not giving great thought to fire extinguishers. The door into the reception area suddenly opened and I was greeted by Mr. A, a short chubby man wearing a pair of thick horn rimmed glasses. He was balding, aged about forty, but looking more like fifty. I noticed he was wearing a white silk shirt and sporting a pair of bright red braces needed to stop his trousers slipping below his rather large girth. Looking at him I knew he was a man used to the finer things in life.

“Hello, sorry to keep you waiting,” he said with a friendly unforced smile, pushing his hand out to greet me, “I’m Maurice, call me Mo, but don’t call me late for breakfast.”

I wasn’t going to have to use my make them feel comfortable routine as I normally did, he was doing a pretty good job of that on me. I have always had a very sensitive antenna for danger or trickery and it was really trembling now. This guy had ‘shark’ written on his forehead. Mo looked at my card and said without looking up, “come through this way Len and we can sort this out”. I followed him to his office. We both sat down and went to speak at the same time. Mo pulled back, “Okay, Len, you go first.”

“Thanks Mo,” I said and then went into my spiel about overdue inspections, regulations and prevention etc. I explained that we thought it more advisable to assist and bring premises up to the required standard, rather than go down the road of prosecution. I was emphasising this while laying my red file with a copy of the Trade and Industries Safety Act on top of it on to his desk. Mo looked at me long and hard and said, “Okay, Len what’s next?”

“Well, this being a wool store, I’m pretty sure that you will have the required hoses etc.” Mo nodded.

“And you probably have buckets and sand etc.”

Mo nodded again. “Yes that’s all correct Len, but you do your inspection. I’ll come round with you. I want to be as safe as I can. I’ve just taken over this business and property, so I’d welcome your advice.”

“Okay, Mo, but before we go and do the inspection, I need to demonstrate this latest type of hand held extinguisher. The reason being Mo, our research shows that the best chance of stopping, or beating a fire, is to have a piece of equipment handy and easy to use, which can stop a fire before it gets a hold. We all know the time it takes to bring your hoses and even sprinklers to bear; that’s usually too late.” Mo nodded his head in agreement. I went through the usual demo routine. Mo and his secretary, who had joined us, were suitably impressed. We walked through the cavernous, but dilapidated store. I pointed out where I thought cover was needed, making my official notes as I went. The whole process took about half-an-hour and we were back in Mo’s office.

“Julie, would you mind making us a coffee or tea? I think we have a lot to discuss. Coffee or tea? Len”

I opted for the tea again. Julie obediently swished out of the room, flashing her smile.

“Well then, Len, let’s get down to it. What, where and how much?” I was ready for him and after a quick calculation and referring to my notes and drawings I was able to give him the information including the rather high price. It would be my biggest sale to date.

“Len, that sounds very hefty. Shouldn’t I get a discount for an order of that size?” I pointed out that this was a service we provided and that we only marked up a small amount to cover administrative costs. I started to relish the battle. Then came the Sunday punch and I’d known there would be one. “Okay fair enough,” says Mo through gritted teeth, then smiling. “You will of course supply me with a certificate of inspection and compliance?” He paused, looking hard at me again.

“That would be normal procedure, Mo.”

“On that basis we have a deal,” he said leaning forward and shaking my hand.

“Right, that’s fine, Mo. I’ll attend to it straightaway. Our terms are thirty percent now, the balance on delivery within the next two days. That okay with you?” He gritted his teeth again.

“You firemen sure are tough,” he said with a wry smile, he reached into the drawer for his cheque book and paid the full amount.

As you may have expected, this sale had a surprise ending. I was happily breakfasting in De Brett’s about six weeks later. I had just finished reading the sports pages, which always got my attention first. I turned to the news section and there, a few pages in, was an article regarding Mo’s fire ravaged wool store. Mo, in a later radio interview, spoke highly of the Fire Brigade’s efforts to save his premises. He further stated that he fully expected to be back in business within a few months. As time drifted on there was talk that the wool he had stored may not have been lost in the fire; popular opinion suggested that it had been moved or sold, who knows? One thing I do know is that Mo knew exactly what he was doing; this was evidenced for me sometime later. I had expected to be dragged into the ensuing insurance bun fight and fortunately that never happened. I wondered did the Compliance Certificate; issued from our Pitt Street address, slip through the net. I think it must have and I think that’s all Mo really wanted to buy.

A few months later I was in Cassel’s, a great restaurant, well patronised by Auckland’s characters, when a bottle of fine champagne was brought to the table by the proprietor Marc, a very nice Italian, whom I knew. Marc said this gift was from a guest who had just left and had asked Marc to deliver it personally. It had a note attached which read: “No discount needed. Keep on keeping on. Regards Mo.”

The fire extinguisher caper carried on for a few more months and made some really good money. It could have been turned into a steady business covering more aspects of that industry, such as maintenance and other types of safety equipment, but it wasn’t for me. As you may have gathered I lacked an appetite for the long haul and the incident with Mo had shown me that there were dangers in carrying on and issuing those certificates. I would however like to point out that although my sales methods may correctly be considered sharp, I think it should be noted they got the job done and people did end up with a product that they may have needed in a hurry. I firmly believe that ninety per cent of them wouldn’t have bought that equipment without a ‘gentle nudge’ from me. I don’t say that in any way from a guilt feeling or to vindicate myself. In fact truth be known, I am quite proud of my ability in that direction. My opinion may be thought biased, but I believe that once again, the end justified the means and it was great fun. Thanks Ken.