Frank Williams
Once upon a time, it was around 1982, I was working at a car dealership called Hyman Bros. Pontiac on West Broad St. in Richmond, Virginia. I was assigned a desk and cubicle in the Used Car Office, across the lot from the New Car Showroom. We always made better money than the boys in the showroom, so that suited me just fine, and I was there by request anyway. Hyman Brothers was owned by Ed and Haywood Hyman, both gentlemen of the highest order. On my first day of work there, I worked a deal with Haywood and we made a large gross profit for my first sale there. It didn't take long for me to to achieve a "teacher's pet" status with Haywood, which was also fine with me, even if we may have reminded some of a monkey with an organ grinder.
One day, I went to lunch with some of the boys and when we returned, one of my customers had come in and bought a small used truck. It happened to be the pastor of the church in which I grew up, and he had been looking for me to buy his truck. By the time I got back, the deal had already been closed by Frank Williams. Frank didn't realize that I had known the man all of my life, or that the customer was a man of the cloth.
The protocol for these kinds of situations was this; if a customer asked for you by name, he belonged to you and the salesman who greeted them upon arrival was obligated to page you. If you were off for the day or at lunch and the customer was ready to buy, another salesman could make the sale in your absence. This was encouraged by management and was the standard for most car dealerships at the time. Better to make the sale now, than to have a potential sale later. In such an event, the two salesmen, split the commission and each salesman got the credit for 1/2 of a sale, toward the monthly totals. It was the status quo, but less than satisfying, kind of like playing a long game and resulting in a tie, or maybe a little more like kissing your sister.
I should mention that there were two car salesmen in the Richmond area named Frank Williams. There was the Frank Williams that was a jerk and had the alias of Mario Wilhelm because of a long criminal history and who lacked social graces and was an alcoholic to boot, and with whom I worked a couple of years after this tale happened. At Hyman Bros. Pontiac, I worked with the good Frank Williams and it was this Frank Williams that closed the sale while I was at lunch one day.
Anyway, a few weeks later, the permanent license plates from DMV came in to replace the temporary tag that was issued the day of the sale. Again, I was at lunch, so the good Frank Williams called the customer to let him know. The customer, Dr. Miller, came in to get his new tags right away, while I was still at lunch. Frank was still unaware that Dr. Miller was a full time minister of a local Baptist Church. When Dr. Miller got the tags to put on the truck he notices that the license plate read XXX-666. He immediately freaked out and told Frank that the newly issued tags would have to be replaced. Frank told him, " Ah you don't want to switch, that's a good number. I gamble all the time and have won a lot of money with it. It really is a lucky number." Of course, Dr. Miller would have none of it and said he could "not in good conscience ride around with that number on his truck.
"I'm a minister for crying out loud", he said.
Frank scratched his chin, the gravity of the situation never entering his mind. When I got back from lunch and heard about it, I laughed and I laughed and I still laugh about it to this day. I guess the good Frank didn't spend much time reading the Book of Revelations.
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