But soon George is sitting in, then test-driving, a new "radiant silver" Cadillac CTS, and then he's waiting while Stevens writes up a deal. George, 82, and Ruth, 80, are reluctant to move. They have not and Machaon Stevens, a member of the marketing group's sales team on site for the day, moves in. There are maybe three customers in the store.ġ1:23 a.m.: George and Ruth Bardol come to see if they have won any of the top prizes advertised: a new television, a car, or $25,000. He gestures with his hand across the showroom. But being optimists by nature, the salesmen are sure that people are coming. They make more calls, drink coffee, eye the door. Ani Mullick, a restaurateur-turned-salesman, is ready for a big day in a blue-striped shirt, and so is Ed McMullin, wearing black fleece. There's Deyab, hired three months ago, and Alex Gomes. There's Frank Melo and Al Piacitelli, veteran associates with thick Rolodexes. "See what people look like walking through the door again." "We just want to generate traffic again," says Tim Lerchenfeldt, the dealership's general manager, surveying the showroom on day two of the recent four-day event. The plan was to lure people into the stores with chances to win prizes in hopes that they might buy a car while there. ![]() The managers there wouldn't just offer cars at a discount - as all General Motors dealerships are doing right now - they would hire a Maine-based company, the Wolfington Group, and launch a direct mail campaign. And Cadillac Village recently decided to get creative to bring people back. Up and down the Automile - a dealer-dotted ribbon of pavement from Westwood to Sharon - showrooms await shoppers. And while the shrinking market has helped a few dealers, most are struggling. Nine hundred dealerships were projected to shutter their showrooms this year, according to the National Automobile Dealers Association, with more 900 expected to close in 2009. Through November, sales were down 16 percent nationally, according to the Autodata Corporation. And right now, he and his colleagues are simply not selling cars. ![]() If he doesn't sell cars and collect his commissions, he can't pay his bills. His base salary can be as low as $150 a week. There is plenty of pain to go around in the US auto industry right now, but few are hurting more than that smooth-talking, gladhanding, oft-dread ed American peddler: the car salesman. In the face of one of the worst car markets in decades, he and other salespeople are trying to stay positive - stay up, keep smiling - because the alternative would take them to a very dark place. But the gray-haired, 58-year-old car salesman with nearly two decades experience refuses to get down.Ĭonrad will buy, Deyab says. But who knows? It's enough to make just about anyone despair, especially Deyab, who lives with his mother and brother in Westwood and for two months running hasn't sold enough cars to earn his bonuses. She eyes him, arms crossed, and even leaves at one point, promising to return. Not only is the dealership not moving many cars - just one by lunchtime - Deyab has spent more than two hours working to get a customer, Lisa Conrad, into a new Cadillac Escalade. Roughly 40,000 mailers have gone out, inviting people to come.īut by midmorning, salesman Robert Deyab is starting to worry. Some salesmen at Cadillac Hummer Saab Village of Norwood - and yes, they are all men - even come in on their day off, hoping to sell cars to the expected crowds. ![]() NORWOOD - The day begins with so much promise.
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