Or maybe, it would soon seem, he knew everything.
* * *
Part of manipulating the system, Mackay decided, involved priming the distribution network. Like any manufacturer, he was going to be dependent on reps -- in this case the Morrow sales force -- who had many other products to sell. For Sharks to stand out in their line, he had to stand out in their minds.
One way to introduce himself was to speak at Morrow's national sales meeting, to which a few authors are invited every year. He asked Morrow if he could appear, following his request with a promise that he felt sure would differentiate him from other enlightened authors. I promise not even to mention my book, he told them. To write a speech he hoped would be memorable, he launched another fact-finding mission, visiting retailers to ask about publishers' reps. How can reps serve you better? What do you think about the Morrow rep in your area? He issued his findings in the speech, during which he also performed a neat trick, illustrating his book's message. And now, he announced, I'm going to tell you about my editor, Adrian Zackheim -- thereupon turning the session into a live version of "This Is Your Life," replete with detail that "drew a gasp from the crowd," says the somewhat embarrassed Zackheim, who declines to reveal the specifics. Whatever Mackay said, it ensured that the reps would remember him. "What could be better than having the people who sell the book say to people, 'Hey, I've met Mr. Mackay, and I think you'll like the book," Mackay explains.
To sell his product, Mackay would do whatever he could to make sure he stood out. Through his research, he'd learned that publishers see as many as 750,000 manuscripts a year and publish only about 70,000. Just a handful graduate to best-seller status. With 25,000 titles in the average bookstore, Mackay could count on about two seconds of time to make an impression on readers. The only hope: to make an impression all along the distribution chain, extending as far down as the individual store manager, who then uses his discretion to display the book in a store window or a "manager recommends" section up-front. "Managers have a lot to say in the marketing of a book," says Harry Hoffman, CEO of Waldenbooks, operator of about 1,200 bookstores.
While publishers generally discourage authors from looking for input from such pedestrian sources as retailers, Mackay felt he had to make a personal impression on Hoffman. He called him, offering to fly from Minneapolis to Stamford, Conn., for just 180 seconds of Hoffman's time. "Seeing them one-on-one spells out commitment," says Mackay. Hoffman, who says he "will meet with anybody who wants to come in and talk about a book," went along. Based on Morrow's early solicitation, the chain had already agreed to buy 5,000 copies of the book. After 30 minutes with Mackay, Hoffman upped the order by 10,000. Hoffman's assessment of the book was that "the content was OK, it wasn't startling to me. The cover was good and the title was good." Mostly, Mackay made sure that Hoffman understood the magnitude of his promotional campaign. "I realized he was very aggressive," says Hoffman.
And memorable, as always. Jeff Capshew, then Morrow buyer for B. Dalton Bookseller Inc., an 800-store chain, has a five-foot-tall tennis racket to remind him of Mackay. Having discovered Capshew's passion for the sport, Mackay made sure to indulge it. "It's very impressive," says Capshew, now director of merchandising at Scribner's Bookstores. "I mean, who could remember that part of a conversation, and then send a gift like that? You end up remembering that person." And if that person just happens to have a book, might you not remember that too? "We made a pretty substantial order," says Capshew. With those chains buying at respectable levels, Mackay had ammunition to call up, for example, the president of Crown Books Corp. I know your buyers passed on the book, he'd say, but I just wanted to let you know of the commitments I already have. Crown subsequently placed an order for 5,000.
Wherever Mackay thought a one-on-one meeting might help smooth the path, he would spring for a plane ticket. At one point, with early copies tucked under his arm, he dropped in at Nashville's Ingram Distribution Group Inc., the nation's largest book wholesaler. To reorder books, retailers had told him, we simply call one of Ingram's 75 or so telemarketers. Mackay immediately sensed value in becoming more than another computer printout to them. "They might suggestively sell my book," he notes.
Aside from meeting with CEO Philip Pfeffer, Mackay made the rounds like a doctor, administering to each telemarketer, passing out signed copies of the book and shark-shaped lapel pins. The pins represented yet another of Mackay's efforts to differentiate himself. Most authors opted for bookmarks, but Mackay spent hundreds of dollars on the pins, which he designed himself. "It keeps people thinking about me," he says.
When not waxing the distribution chute, Mackay was back working with Morrow -- well, alongside Morrow, anyway. In truth, they didn't agree on all that much when it came to attracting readers. While writing, Mackay had rejected a few book titles: Prepare to Win (too mundane) and 88 Lessons for '88 (too dated), among others. Then he snagged a line that he especially cherished, How to Swim with the Sharks Without Being Eaten Alive. That's it, he thought, a powerful symbol combining a sense of raunchiness and curiosity. The folks at Morrow were not quite as enthusiastic. "I hated it," says Zackheim. At meeting after meeting, they hashed it over, with Zackheim arguing that it was too long and too vague. To break the impasse, Mackay turned to Janz/Abrahamson Inc., a Minneapolis company with experience naming such products as hot dogs, jelly, and beer. For $6,000, they called together a focus group to brainstorm for four hours. Despite the 800 alternatives, Swim with the Sharks Without Being Eaten Alive -- minus the "How to" -- came out on top. When Mackay displayed the computer printout to 11 Morrow executives, "it blew them out of the water," he says. They capitulated. "If an author feels such a moral certainty about a title, you've got to say yes," says Zackheim.
