I never read “The Art of the Deal” by Donald Trump, but I'm pretty sure I saw it in action about 10 years ago.
Young fella I knew from Gillette was looking for a new car. He'd spotted the car he wanted over in Rapid City.
This guy was in the car repair business (still is), so he knew cars and trucks like the back of his hand. I once saw him at work with a cell phone in one ear, on hold with a parts supplier, and another phone in the other ear, on hold with an insurance company, and an impatient customer sitting across the desk.
There wasn't much about a car or truck that he didn't know, which parts are tough to find, how long big repair jobs will take, and how close a collision-damaged car is to “totaled.” (Closer than you'd think.)
My wife and daughter and I agreed to accompany this guy to Rapid to buy this new car. Sounded like a fun trip to the Black Hills. While he was buying the car, we could be off seeing the sights of the city. Catch Mount Rushmore on the way home.
We dropped him off at the dealership right after lunch, figuring we'd stop back in an hour.
But, when we got back, he and the salesman were nowhere close to done. In fact, they were just sizing each other up, like Joe Frazier and Ali.
So we went back to enjoying the sights of Rapid City for another hour.
The young fella had done his homework, and knew what he was willing to pay – rock bottom - and all the things he wasn't about to pay for that normal people (like us, sheep led to slaughter) pay for all the time.
The salesman had met his match. But he was tough, too.
The young fella started out asking for the moon, like Donald Trump saying at the beginning of trade talks that he might just buy Canada and make it our 51st state. Probably not going to happen, but you want elbow room at the start of talks. That way he can look like a nice guy when he decides to go invade Greenland or Panama instead.
When we came back after another hour, the young fella and the salesman were still at loggerheads, stuck on the numbers.
Later, when we returned to the dealership, with the afternoon slipping away, the young fella came out shaking his head. Like Ronald Reagan walking out of nuclear arms talks with Gorbachev in Reykjavik, he got up and walked out. Time to head home to Gillette, he said.
Sometimes - Trump and Reagan would agree - you've just got to walk away.
Seemed like a wasted afternoon. But the young fella wasn't about to pay more than he intended to pay. For him, there was something bigger at stake.
That's where it stood for two weeks.
We'd seen the sights of Rapid City – repeatedly – and got to see Mount Rushmore on the way home. (I asked for the neighboring-state discount on admission, but the ranger said no.)
The young fella returned to Gillette without the new car he had hoped to buy.
And then one afternoon he got a phone call from the salesman in Rapid City. I suspect the end of the month had arrived, and the salesman and his manager needed to reach a sales goal. They'd thought it over and decided they were willing to accept the young fella's offer after all.
Most of us would be happy with that. But something about the art of the deal told the young fella to make one final demand.
He wasn't about to pay $250 for those mudflaps. Take 'em off.
Desperate to close the deal, they agreed.
For the young fella, it was the perfect victory.
The deal-making equivalent of counting coup.
The art of the deal.
So these days, with Donald Trump negotiating trade and tariff deals all around the world, and the Nervous - Nelly naysayers questioning every detail of the negotiating process, I remember that young fella's sweet - albeit delayed - victory in Rapid City.
And today, I figure Trump's probably just haggling over the mudflaps.
Dave Simpson can be reached at: DaveSimpson145@hotmail.com
