The Peddler

From my earliest memories, whenever someone asked my dad what he did for a living, I can recall him always responding with, “Oh, I’m just a peddler”. He didn’t just say that, he believed it. And, in most ways, it was true. My father grew up in a government housing project in East LA in the 1930s and 40s. Before he was old enough for grade school, he would walk, by himself, and take the trolly car to downtown Los Angeles where he would sell newspapers on street corners. He took a keen interest in watching a man who shined shoes who would eventually take him under his wing and teach him the trade. By the age of eight, he had his own shine box and learned the gift of gab from those who could afford to have their shoes shined.

He was as active as his work schedule allowed in high school. Joined and served as chapter head of the ROTC. Upon graduating, college was not an option. His family couldn’t afford it. Instead, he took a job in sales at one of the first Fletcher Jones car dealerships in LA. 100% commission, no base. He preferred it that way. At one point, he was the youngest auto salesperson in all of Los Angeles. Set records for the dealership. He would end up selling a car to the President of Navan (subsidiary of North American Rockwell), who was so impressed by his ability to sell, that he told his own head of sales to hire him. He did. Not long after, he’d meet and marry my mom. A close mentor of his would leave Southern California in the late 60s to help pioneer a new industry in the San Francisco Bay Area. Soon after, that colleague tapped my dad and encourage he and my mom to move North as well.

My dad joined Siltec in the Fall of 1970. He would go on to work in various management and executive roles for Applied Materials, AMD, Epitaxy Equipment, Gemini and others. Shaping the very early days of the Silicon Valley we know today. From the time I was born until I was thirteen years old, he was gone six months out of every year, traveling internationally. He built a reputation for his ability to sell and eventually started his own consultancy, helping to guide sales organizations and negotiate large multinational deals. He did well for himself. The partnership between our parents gave my brother and I a life our father never knew at our ages.

When I wasn’t even in first grade, I can recall going to his offices at various companies on the weekend and being enamored by every mundane detail. Staplers, staple removers…shoulder rest accessories attached to phone handles, calculators. His life was very much equal parts Superman and Clark Kent. Happiest when he was working, he almost didn’t know what to do with himself on weekends. When people asked him where he went to college, he would reply with, “Sam Houston Institute of Technology”.

My dad would eventually age-out of sales in Silicon Valley. Retirement wasn’t a concept he understood or wanted anything to do with. So instead of throwing in the towel, he bought a 2001 Chevy Astro Van and started selling auto additives to service stations. Trading in the Ferragamo shoes and custom suits for sneakers and Dickies. Once an international sales exec from the birth place of tech, now, again, the peddler. Some might think that embarrassing. I thought it was entirely who he was. It wasn’t about the industry, it wasn’t about the product. And it absolutely didn’t matter where you were from. He loved both the art and the sport of making a sale. It wasn’t then, or ever, about the prestige or the income for him. It was entirely about the artistry of his craft. And he could have taught a masterclass on the subject of making a sale.

My dad passed away in 2016 and would have been 88 this Friday. The hospital room he was in directly overlooked the construction site of Apple’s infinite loop. The irony of helping to build a global industry, only to pass next door to its greatest achievement, not lost on me. There’s not a day that goes by that his influence is not felt and no denying the impact his example has had on my own and my brother’s careers. In meeting many of my dad’s colleagues in my adult years, most had one of two things to say about him, if not both: That he could sell snow to people in Antarctica and that he would literally give you the shirt off his back. Both were true. Happy Birthday Peddler…you are missed.