This is about two of the unforgettable people I have met in my lifetime. To set the scene for a meeting between the two of them, I must go back to 1973. I had come out of the corporate world and joined my cousin, Dan Magee, in his venture into the used car business. We had evolved into three buy-here, pay-here used car lots in Farmers Branch, Texas. I basically did all of the buying for all three lots and it was in this capacity that I experienced the following.

One of the car lots was managed by a gentleman named Jim Wilson. Jim came originally from Connecticut, I think. He spoke rapidly and he always said that Texans just spoke too slow. He said most of the time he had to finish the sentence for any Texan he was having a conversation with. I was at his lot one day, having brought in a newly purchased used car for him to sell. So we were just visiting when one of his regular customers drove in, an older black gentleman driving a vintage Chevrolet pickup in the 1949 to 1953 range. The old pickup was overloaded, as usual, with barbed wire and fence stretching equipment. That was his trade. His name was Salon Scott. Probably in his late 70s or early 80s. Dressed in his customary bib overalls, flannel shirt and baseball cap. Jim Wilson told me, “Watch this old man. He is a good customer and he will look at every car we have before he settles on one. And from the looks of what he's doing, he will probably buy one.” So we watched and exchanged a few comments and sure enough. Mister Scott went back to an Oldsmobile F85 for a second look. He cranked it up a second time, shifted gears forward and backward a couple of times and looked at the back end for smoke. When he shut off the engine, he started for the office. Jim said, “Looks like he sold himself. All I will need to do is write up the papers.”

More information is needed to set the stage for the negotiations about to happen between Jim and Mister Scott. Our cars were reasonably priced. Our financing was 1/3 down, 10% simple interest added on and $15 a week. The philosophy was simple, “If they can make the 1/3 down, there should be no reason why they can't make the $15 a week payments.” It should also be noted that Mister Scott talked at about half the speed of the typical Texan so when said, “Hello Mister Jim. How much...”. “$695”, said Jim. “Well Mister Jim how much..” “$235”, said Jim. “Well Mister Jim, how much..” “$15 per week”, said Jim. Now thats the typical three questions in this negotiation-cost, down payment, weekly payment. So Jim was really surprised when Mister Scott said, “Well Mister Jim, if I give you $350, can you make the payments $10 a week?” Later Jim would tell me that he almost interrupted at the $350 point and would have told Mister Scott that he could have the car but decided to hear him out. His answer was, “Of course, Mister Scott.” It was at about this point that I left Jim's office and returned to my own at one of the other lots. So later on, Jim related the rest of that negotiation.

Jim asked Mister Scott if he wanted to pay the taxes or finance to them which 'pay' was the chosen option. Jim told Mister Scott that the total was $374 (more or less) and Mister Scott pulled out a roll of money that had a rubber band around it. When he removed the rubber band and flattened the money, Mister Scott counted out three one hundred dollar bills, thumbed through then pulled out a fifty, then a twenty and then four ones from the roll. He gave them to Jim and started putting the rubber band back around the roll. When Mister Scott finished, Jim couldn't contain himself and said, “Mister Scott, you have enough money in that roll to buy this whole car lot. Why do you want to buy on a weekly payout? Where did you get that much money? Surely not from stretching barb wire?” Mister Scott replied, “Mister Jim, I just wants to build up my credit.” Mister Scott went on to explain that he was born into a freed slave family working for a family named Scott somewhere in the Dallas area and, as was customary, his family had taken the name of the Scott family as their own. The name “Salon” was given him by old “Massa” Scott because he was the “salon boy”. When “Massa” Scott and his cronies would have Sunday dinner, they would adjourn to the salon for a cigar and some brandy. It was Salon Scott's job to carry the ash tray around and catch the cigar ashes before they could fall. Salon Scott and other members of his family stood by in the salon area of the house to serve the brandy and offer the cigars as well. Salon Scott said “they never thought all us colored folk would understand” when there was talk among the cronies about cattle and land and cotton and oil and so on. But when they would talk about the rising value of acreage around Dallas being worth $20 to $25 an acre some day but being sold at $10 to $15 at that time, Salon Scott and his family would pool their money and go buy one, two, three or all four corners at the intersections. And the money Salon Scott had on him that day was from the sale of one of those pieces of land that, instead of going for $25 or $30 an acre, had been sold for $35 a square foot (or something like that).

Later I was back at Jim's lot to sign as agent for the car lot on the title application. Jim was the notary. I saw that Salon Scott had put his “X” and Jim had had noted, “Salon Scott, His Mark”. While I was there, Salon Scott came in with one of his sons. He told his son, “You talk to Mister Jim. He'll treat you right.” Jim and I both learned a couple of important lessons that day. Don't prejudge a person because his bib overalls just might conceal a pretty good size roll of money. But the biggest lesson is that sometimes we should all just shut up and listen. Why do I keep forgetting that?