“A lady in Washington，” wrote Taft， “whose husband had somepolitical influence， came and labored with me for six weeks or moreto appoint her son to a position. She secured the aid of Senatorsand Congressmen in formidable number and came with them tosee that they spoke with emphasis. The place was one requiringtechnical qualification， and following the recommendation of thehead of the Bureau， I appointed somebody else. I then receiveda letter from the mother， saying that I was most ungrateful，since I declined to make her a happy woman as I could havedone by a turn of my hand. She complained further that she hadlabored with her state delegation and got all the votes for anadministration bill in which I was especially interested and thiswas the way I had rewarded her.
“When you get a letter like that， the first thing you do is tothink how you can be severe with a person who has committedan impropriety， or even been a little impertinent. Then you maycompose an answer. Then if you are wise， you will put the letterin a drawer and lock the drawer. Take it out in the course of twodays—such communications will always bear two days’ delayin answering—and when you take it out after that interval， youwill not send it. That is just the course I took. After that， I satdown and wrote her just as polite a letter as I could， telling her Irealized a mother’s disappointment under such circumstances，but that really the appointment was not left to my merepersonal preference， that I had to select a man with technicalqualifications， and had， therefore， to follow the recommendationsof the head of the Bureau. I expressed the hope that her sonwould go on to accomplish what she had hoped for him in theposition which he then had. That mollified her and she wrote mea note saying she was sorry she had written as she had.
“But the appointment I sent in was not confirmed at once， andafter an interval I received a letter which purported to come from her husband， though it was in the the same handwriting as all theothers. I was therein advised that， due to the nervous prostrationthat had followed her disappointment in this case， she had to taketo her bed and had developed a most serious case of cancer of thestomach. Would I not restore her to health by withdrawing thefirst name and replacing it by her son’s？ I had to write anotherletter， this one to the husband， to say that I hoped the diagnosiswould prove to be inaccurate， that I sympathized with him in thesorrow he must have in the serious illness of his wife， but that itwas impossible to withdraw the name sent in. The man whom Iappointed was confirmed， and within two days after I receivedthat letter， we gave a musicale at the White House. The first twopeople to greet Mrs. Taft and me were this husband and wife，though the wife had so recently been in articulo mortis.”
Sol Hurok was probably America’s number one impresario.
For almost half a century he handled artists—such world-famousartists as Chaliapin， Isadora Duncan， and Pavlova. Mr. Huroktold me that one of the first lessons he had learned in dealingwith his temperamental stars was the necessity for sympathy，sympathy and more sympathy with their idiosyncrasies.
For three years， he was impresario for Feodor Chaliapin—oneof the greatest bassos who ever thrilled the ritzy boxholders at theMetropolitan， Yet Chaliapin was a constant problem. He carriedon like a spoiled child. To put it in Mr. Hurok’s own inimitablephrase： “He was a hell of a fellow in every way.”
For example， Chaliapin would call up Mr. Hurok about nounof the day he was going to sing and say， “Sol， I feel terrible. Mythroat is like raw hamburger. It is impossible for me to singtonight.” Did Mr. Hurok argue with him？ Oh， no. He knew thatan entrepreneur couldn’t handle artists that way. So he wouldrush over to Chaliapin’s hotel， dripping with sympathy. “What a pity，” he would mourn. “What a pity！ My poor fellow. Of course，you cannot sing. I will cancel the engagement at once. It willonly cost you a couple of thousand dollars， but that is nothing incomparison to your reputation.”
Then Chaliapin would sigh and say， “Perhaps you had bettercome over later in the day. Come at five and see how I feel then.”
At five o’clock， Mr. Hurok would again rush to his hotel，dripping with sympathy. Again he would insist on cancelingthe engagement and again Chaliapin would sigh and say， “Well，maybe you had better come to see me later. I may be better then.”
At seven-thirty the great basso would consent to sing， onlywith the understanding that Mr. Hurok would walk out on thestage of the Metropolitan and announce that Chaliapin had a verybad cold and was not in good voice. Mr. Hurok would lie and sayhe would do it， for he knew that was the only way to get the bassoout on the stage.
Dr. Arthur I. Gates said in his splendid book EducationalPsychology： “Sympathy the human species universally craves. Thechild eagerly displays his injury； or even inflicts a cut or bruise inorder to reap abundant sympathy. For the same purpose adults...
show their bruises， relate their accidents， illness， especiallydetails of surgical operations. ‘self-pity’ for misfortunes real orimaginary is in some measure， practically a universal practice.”
So， if you want to win people to your way of thinking， put inpractice ...
