But will consumers buy the book? By the terms Mackay himself has set, the question really boils down to: will they buy Harvey Mackay again? Sharks came of age during the Reagan years, when blustery, self-made multimillionaires were not only accepted but lionized. Leona Helmsley and "Dynasty" were everywhere. But Mackay's brash self-promotion may not play as well in this kinder, gentler "thirtysomething" age. And the book industry itself has changed; chains have lost ground to independents, making it more difficult to blanket the country with strategically placed spiritedness. "I think I can do it, even though no one has," says Mackay. "I can create another best-seller."
And what if he does? How many volumes might we be in for? "I'll quit," Mackay assures. "I have other things I want to do." But around the publishing industry, there are strong doubts about that. There's a rumor afloat, in fact, that Mackay has already decided upon a third book. As for the topic, well, maybe it's just wishful thinking on the industry's part.
The book, they say, will be a guide for authors and publishers.
* * *
THE SELLING OF HARVEY MACKAY: CHAPTER 1
If you don't have a famous name, borrow one
"If the house is on fire, forget the china, silver, and wedding album -- grab the Rolodex." -- Harvey Mackay
The story of Harvey Mackay's ascent as a best-selling author is, to a large extent, the stirring tale of a man and his Rolodex. In both of his books, Mackay urges readers to think of their Rolodex cards -- which should be continually updated and very detailed -- as baseball cards. Collect 'em, trade 'em.
In Mackay's new book, Beware the Naked Man Who Offers You His Shirt, he tells how he built a factory at discount by promising to bring the builder five more customers within the next five years. But nowhere has Mackay's partnership with his Rolodex been more productive than in his ability to convince about 45 famous people -- from show business, politics, the media, and even academia -- to endorse Swim with the Sharks Without Being Eaten Alive, giving the impression that Mackay was the jet set's own treasured secret. In truth, Mackay knows few of his flatterers.
The path to each of them twists and winds. He first encountered Abigail Van Buren through friends of friends when he was 18. He met former President Gerald Ford when Mackay served as president of the Chamber of Commerce of Minneapolis. As president of the national alumni association of the University of Minnesota, he invited Ted Koppel to speak. After reading that Koppel enjoys tennis, he challenged the "Nightline" host to a pre-speech game. Six months later, he lobbed him the manuscript. "There's no hard sell," insists Mackay. "I just ask them to respond, if they are so motivated."
But what motivates them, exactly? Naturally, Mackay claims that they read the book and can't contain themselves. Maybe so, but one-on-one meetings with the man who advises chief executives to "humanize your selling strategy" probably don't hurt, either. "I've never met a man with more zeal and absolute gall," says one person who was called upon to help Mackay publicize Sharks. "But he's good company. I enjoy talking with him."
THE SELLING OF HARVEY MACKAY: CHAPTER 2
Become an Oprah buff, if you have to
Not to raise a touchy subject, but Harvey Mackay made Oprah Winfrey look like a lightweight when he appeared on her show in August 1988.
Carrying the theme of office politics, the show began with four downtrodden people telling sad stories of how they lost their jobs at the hands of maniacal bosses and abusive co-workers -- real sharks, if you will. Audience members nodded and sighed. We'll be right back with a representative of Corporate America, Oprah implied, who will defend these misdeeds.
After a commercial, Mackay, all shiny shoes and killer suit, was seated in the middle of the Feckless Four. A superb listener, he referred to points each of them had made, and he offered each of them advice: be patient, keep your skills up, build a network of allies. At one point, he turned to one guest and inquired whether the man had asked enough questions before taking the job. "No, I didn't," the man said sheepishly. With that, the studio audience's sympathies seemed to shift.
But there was one person he still had to win over to swim out of there alive. And Mackay, the apostle of flattery, knew just how to get to Oprah. "Let's say you're my boss . . ." he began, "and I took a deep-down burning interest in you as a human being." He recited some of the things he would learn about her: that she spoke at church at age three, that she once reigned as Miss Fire Prevention Week. You're a perfectionist and a tough, fair boss, Mackay said. Oprah melted. "I'm very fair," she said coyly, "aren't I, girls?" From there, it became Mackay's show.
"Something happened when I started reciting Oprah's life. She was getting a smile," Mackay says. "If I had known exactly what they were going to do, I might not have done the show. She can really chew you up."
