Razzle Dazzle George And the Diamond Epiphanies...
Today I'm gonna tell you about George.
George was the Diamond in my Amway upline, one of the most hypnotic, persuasive, magical people I've ever seen in action.
He had an triumphant smile you could spot a mile away.
George could walk into a room full of people and two hours later they'd all walk out five feet taller.
Most of the other speakers I heard were kind of cheesy, but George somehow seemed above all that.
Rumor had it he was making a million dollars a year and, at age 21, I was swept away with the force of his persona.
One of the things I admired about George was how he never did the same thing twice.
See, there was this other guy in the organization named Ed. Ed was a dairy farmer who had 'retired' to the glamorous life of an Amway Diamond.
Ed was coolly systematic, a well-oiled machine. Every time he showed that marketing plan he did it exactly the same way.
Every time he got to the part in the marketing plan where you make $1116.00 a month, he would explain that when he was brand new and scared to death (back when he went into the bathroom to throw up before going out to show the plan) he would remember the $1116 number because he had an 11/16 wrench in his toolbox.
Ed's presentation was perfectly honed, timed to the split second, delivered with consistent content and inflections, the same every time.
Not George's.
George never did it the same way twice. In fact people would drive hundreds of miles just to see what George was going to do this time, because every night with George was a unique experience.
Standard mantra in the world of professional speaking and systematic business development says that you polish your performance to perfection and deliver the same consistent delivery each and every time.
Comedians do that in front of laughing, roiling crowds; Dan Kennedy did that for years on the Peter Lowe circuit; Rush does it every time they play a concert.
And you can't argue with results.
But Miles Davis didn't do that. And George didn't either.
Because George was magic.
His magic was a kind too great to submit to the dictates of consistency.
George was more successful than Ed too, even though he'd started later.
George came out of nowhere in the '80s and rose to prominence like a Saturn Five rocket.
For a decade and a half he was one of the hottest, most successful people on the scene.
He lived in the largest home north of Texas, 25,000 square feet of sheer luxury, complete with basketball court, bowling alley and indoor swimming pool.
He had an airplane and a private pilot and was frequently privy the halls of power and influence.
On his desk he had photos of him and his wife with United States presidents, senators, governors, celebs and famous speakers.
A whirlwind of awe followed him everywhere he went. George was unassailable.
Well eventually I checked out, and not long after, Amway gets slammed by an anti-tank missile called "the Internet."
Shrapnel was flying everywhere, and even the term "Amway Diamond" soon became a meaningless designation, a symbol of past success blindsided by a world that had gone on.
One day I googled George.
His fabulous home in Oklahoma was for sale, and I found George's scowling face on the page of some insurance agency in Tulsa. Said he was a "Financial Partner."
It was George alright, but it was not smiling, radiant George.
It was a George who had woken up one day and found himself in the same prison he was allegedly liberating people from.
The picture of Scowling George hit me like a cement truck—and I realized 2 things.
I found myself thinking, Dude, you made millions of dollars (you got quite a few of my dollars too) and now the music has stopped and you've got nothing to show for it.
How was it possible that somebody could experience that much success and have that much money flowing through his hands, and not have anything left when it was all over?
He obviously thought the gravy train would be endless, that his Midas Touch would always be with him. But the world moved on.
Don't let that be you, Perry.
Don't let that be you, Devasish.
When you get your 15 minutes, 15 months or 15 years of fame, then by all means make hay while the sun shines.
And do NOT assume it's gonna last forever, 'cuz it won't.
The world will move on.
What's hip today will be quaintly out-of-fashion someday, maybe even reviled, like the more extreme wardrobes of the 1970s.
It's not about what you make while you play the game, it's what you've got left when the game's over.
That was Epiphany numero uno.
I'll tell you about Epiphany #2 in my next PR.
Carpe Diem,
Perry Marshall
P.S. In my own business recently, I've taken on an audacious challenge:
To build a company that can survive for 100 years.
Do YOU want a business that'll survive the next "Right Side Wipeout" or Facebook crackdown?
Join Mastermind Club today and see how it's done:
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