Winning Through Negotiation

Herbert Cohen, 47, teaches the art of negotiation. One day he conducts his seminar at the FBI ($1650), then makes much the same speech to the Food Marketing Institute ($2000) and then--all in the same day--fields questions for five and a half hours, from midnight to 5:30, on network radio. The day before, he was in Sault Sainte Marie; the day before that, in Toronto. In the next two weeks, he will be in Chicago (home base), Washington, Hyannis, Chicago again, Sands Point, Ottawa, Rochester, Manhattan, White Plains and Peoria. Typical weeks. After that, he will be at the State Department, counseling on Iran and Afghanistan, and will even get a handshake and a word of thanks from the President of the United States.

Figuring an average of $2500 in fees per day (expenses are billed separately), and his working 250 days a year (his datebook is full through 1981), one estimates that Herb Cohen--former wise-ass kid from the streets of Brooklyn, former claims adjuster for Allstate Insurance (while he attended law school at night)--must now gross about $625,000 a year. And, says his wife, fees are going up. He charges the Justice Department "only" $6000 for a two-and-a-half-day seminar on negotiation and leadership, because he likes the work; the National Dairy people, on the other hand, were milked to the tune of $4000 for a single day's program. Whatever drives him, he is like an author on an eternal book tour or a politician whose campaign never ends. "It's not the money," he is fond of saying (meaning money as a way to buy things); "it's the money" (meaning money as a way to keep score). It may also have something to do with Cohen's ego, which is not small, and his upbringing--he is the son of hard-working immigrant parents.

Cohen looks and talks exactly like Walter Matthau (except when he does a sort of Buddy Hackett); he greets every audience with the news that we are all negotiators, from the time we first cry for our mother's attention; and will leave us, his voice resonating with solemnity, recalling "two men who lived 2000 years ago, two of the greatest negotiators in the history of the world--of course, I am talking to you about Jesus Christ and Socrates."

In between, whether it be a dessert-and-coffee engagement or a two-day management seminar, Cohen is a Catskills comedian whom we half expect, after every sketch, to bow, thank the crowd and disappear behind a curtain. Instead, his voice and diction turn suddenly oratorical--"And so I say to you"--as he reiterates the point of his story. You must be an entertainer first, Cohen says, and a teacher only second, if you want people to learn.

It is an open question whether or not attendees actually do learn to negotiate more effectively and, if so, whether or not they will ever have a chance to try out what they've learned. But they never fall asleep in class.

A senior vice-president of Chase Manhattan Bank wrote to Cohen: "Without a doubt, your sessions on 'negotiation' were the absolute high spot of the two-week [Chase Advanced Management Course].... In fact, I've already put to use one of your tactics.... I felt we were being 'diddled' by a key New York City official in our negotiation. We broke off any further talks. This triggered certain responses which brought matters back into better focus and cleared the air for further negotiations." In other words, they creamed New York.

Another fellow claims to have saved $3500 on the purchase of his home, thanks to Cohen's lecture.

The mayor of Tulsa wrote: "Your presentation [to a conference of mayors in 1978] had a greater impact on me than anything I have had since becoming mayor." The FBI loves him. The mayor of New Orleans calls whenever he gets into a jam. Mexicans listen to him eagerly through translation. Private individuals pay $225 to attend the one-day public seminars he sometimes gives.

Having watched the Herb Cohen show three or four times, twice live, once on tape and piecemeal in hotel suites, I give it to you here--not complete, to be sure; but not for $4000, or even $225, either.

•

Cohen, dressed like a banker--Walter Matthau as community leader--begins a bit stiffly from the lectern.

"Persistence is to power," he says, "what carbon is to steel. If a rat gnaws long enough at a dike, it could sink an entire nation. This is how the Camp David peace accords were put together. Jimmy Carter, in my opinion, is a highly moral individual. High moral convictions. However"--and suddenly Cohen is banker no longer--"he is also one of the most boring people in the history of this country. So he got Begin and Sadat to go to Camp David. Camp David is a very boring place itself. It's not what you'd call a swinging modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. He got 13 people up there with two bicycles and three films, so by the fifth day, they had seen all those films and had to helicopter in a fourth. He'd come around every day and say, 'Hi, I'm Jimmy Carter. Let's talk for another five boring hours.' And if you were Sadat and Begin, obviously, you would have signed anything to get out of there, and that's what they did.

"I think, to some extent, the same thing was true in the Middle East. Carter would leave--he was supposed to leave--no, he's gonna stay a little while longer. In fact, I think he'd still be there, but to his credit, the persistence paid off. I think he achieved a great deal."

And when did "concession behavior," as Cohen calls it, occur? When it always occurs--at the deadline. Cohen learned this lesson and the importance of time and deadlines many years ago--before he went to work for Allstate, before he was promoted to handle the training of all claims adjusters, before he left ten years ago to set up his Power Negotiations Institute.

Cohen's First Negotiation

"Twenty years ago, I was employed by an outfit that was operating internationally. I was not, but the organization was." Cohen jumps off the dais and begins working the crowd. "I had one of those top management jobs where they would say, 'Hey, Cohen--two with cream, two with sugar.' You know--one of those key spots. And people would come back from overseas...you'd meet them for breakfast--'Where you been?' And they'd say, 'Aw, just got back from Singapore; pieced together this $9,000,000 deal.' Somebody else--'Where you been?' 'Abu Dhabi. Where you been?' What could I say? 'Well, I went to the zoo...the aquarium....' I used to go in to my boss every Friday and ask for a shot at the big time. I bothered this person so much that eventually he sent me to Tokyo to deal with the Japanese. This was my moment.

"I'm on a plane on my way to Tokyo. It's a 14-day negotiation. I've taken along all these books on the Japanese mentality, their psychology. I'm really gonna do well. Plane lands in Tokyo, I'm the first guy down the ramp. I'm raring to go. Three little Japanese guys [at one time, Cohen weighed in excess of 200 pounds; now 155] are waiting for me at the foot of the ramp and they're bowing. I liked that quite a bit. Then they helped me through customs, they put me in this large limousine, sitting there in the rear all by myself, and they're sitting on those fold-up seats. I say, 'Why don't you guys join me?' They say, 'Oh, no--you're an important person. You need your rest.' We're driving along and one of them turns around and says, 'By the way, do you know the language?' I say, 'You mean Japanese?' They say, 'Right. That's what we speak. This is Japan.' I say no. They say, 'Are you concerned about getting back to your plane on time?' Up to that moment, I have not been concerned. They say, 'Would you like this limousine to pick you up?' I say, 'Oh, yeah,' and hand them my ticket.

"Now, I don't realize it at the time, but what's happened? They know my deadline, but I don't know theirs.

"So we start negotiating, or I think we do. The first seven days, they send me to Kyoto to visit the shrine, they enroll me in an English-language course in Zen, they...I'm begging these guys to negotiate. They say, 'Plenty of time.'

"We finally start the 12th day. We end early, play golf. The 13th day, we resume. End early for the farewell dinner. The morning of the 14th day, we resume in earnest and just as we (continued on page 240)Winning Negotiation(continued from page 160) are about to get to the crux of things, the limousine pulls up to take me to the airport. We all pile in and just as we arrive at the airport, we consummate the deal.

"By the way--how well do you think I did?"

Cohen advises people to conceal their own deadlines as far as possible. Act as if you have all the time in the world, even though you haven't. (And if you can, take more than you might have planned, because that extra time will pay off. Try to keep your deadline flexible.) Meanwhile, you should know that your negotiating partner, cool though he is playing it, unconcerned though he seems, is also sweating a deadline. It may not seem that way, but it's almost always true.

The Prisoner and the Cigarette

"Power is nothing more than the capacity to get things done. It's not moral, not immoral--it's neutral. What people tend to do is to confuse the power over with the power to. Power itself is neutral."

Where some of the recent crop of power books seem largely based on stepping on other people--rationalizations for being selfish or unprincipled--one has the feeling, at least, that Cohen's pitch (not yet in book form, but he's thinking about it) comes from a somewhat less cynical mold. Pushy he may be, but likely to be pushy on the right side of the issues.

"Power is based on perception. If you think you got it--you got it. And if you don't think yon got it--you don't got it. Let me illustrate that point.

"A prisoner in solitary confinement is walking around, holding up his pants; he's lost a little weight. He craves a cigarette. Notices the guard is smoking his brand. He walks over to the steel door and he knocks and the guard ambles up, opens the door--'Whaddya want?' 'I'd like a cigarette.' Bam, the guard slams the door. He perceives the prisoner is powerless. But the prisoner thinks he has power. 'Hi, there,' he says through the bars. 'Let me tell you what's going on. If I don't get a cigarette in the next 30 seconds--see this head? [Cohen points with feeling to his head]--I'm gonna bang it up against that concrete wall, and I'll be all bloodied, and when they find me, I intend to swear you did it. Now, they're never gonna believe me--but think of all the hearings you'll be attending, think of all the reports in triplicate you'll be filling out, think of...[and now Cohen's voice is plaintive, indeed] as opposed to giving me one crummy cigarette and I promise not to bother you again.' Can the guy get the cigarette? Yeah. The guard is doing a little cost-benefit analysis. Why can he get the cigarette? One, because the prisoner thinks he's got power. Two, because the prisoner perceives he's got options. Three, because the prisoner is willing to take risks.

"Every one of you in this room [a gathering of small businessmen hosted as a customer-relations exercise by Citibank] always has more power than you think you have. You gotta start oft believing it," says Cohen.

Kill me, Kill me

Cohen's advice is similar when it comes to fighting very big guys: Ask your adversary to step outside--so he will not lose face if he lets you go; then tell him. with maniacal conviction, that if he so much as lays a hand on you, he'll have to kill you. Anything less than that, tell him, and no matter what it takes, you will kill him. Maybe not then and there, but sooner or later.

As Cohen explains it, no one really wants to kill a guy--so your disputant may well just tell you to get lost, even though he could easily beat your brains out. Why should he kill you? Or not kill you and worry for the rest of his life that you might just be crazy enough to stick him with a knife some night or dynamite his house?

Impeccable logic. Is it possible, however, that the man you are advising to kill you will be in less than a rational frame of mind himself--or not speak English--and break you into small pieces? It is vital when negotiating, Cohen says, to take risks.

Delaware is Closed

"People in this society are enormously affected by signs," says Cohen. "If I were to tell you to do something, you would evaluate my request based on your needs; and if the two of them meshed, you might comply. But if a sign directed you to do it, the chances of your complying would be much higher. Do you buy that?

"Holiday Inn. The check-out time is one P.M. What percentage of the people do you think check out by the Holiday Inn check-out time? What do you think? Ninety-five to 99 percent, depending on where it is in North America. Don't you think that's a remarkably high figure? Fifty-five percent of the people vote, but 95 percent check out by the check-out time."

Or, asks Cohen, do you remember the time Candid Camera's Allen Funt put a sign up on a major highway leading into Delaware--Delaware Closed? "You'd see guys drive up in their cars and they'd pull over and they'd get out and here's Funt and they'd go, 'Hey, what's going on in Delaware?' And he'd say, 'You read the sign.' The guy says, 'Yeah, yeah, but I've got a family--when do you think it will be open again?' And so I say to you, legitimacy is very potent."

Legitimacy. Cohen has some suggestions on using it to your advantage. E.g., don't have the price you want to charge merely in mind, have it typed up formally on an authoritative-looking price list. Better yet, keep that price list under glass on your desk. How can you change it if it's under glass?

You, on the other hand, should not be cowed by such things. Cohen isn't.

His Tax Audit

"Four years ago," says Cohen, "the IRS called me in to audit my tax return. There was one area of questioning about a building that I had elected to depreciate over a number of years. Now, the IRS claimed that number should have been 30. I took the position during the audit that it should have been 20. We're discussing this, the auditor and myself, we're having nice discussions. Suddenly, the auditor reaches in the right-hand corner of a desk drawer, whips out a large book and as I am speaking, he is turning pages. He comes to one page, looks up--'The book says 30 years.' I get up, walk around the table, look at the book. I say, 'Does the book mention my name?' He says, 'Of course not.' I say, 'I don't think it's my book.' I say, 'Otherwise, it would have my name and my building.' I start taking down other books. The guy says, 'What are you doing?' I say, 'I'm looking for my book.' He says, 'You can't look at the books.' I say, 'Why not?' He says, 'I dunno, no one ever did that.'

"Now, what was that book he had? That book was not written in stone. That book was thought up by two bureaucrats somewhere to the best of their ability to implement some regulations. The book itself was the product of negotiation--and anything that's the product of negotiation is negotiable." Or, if you make people crazy enough and are willing to take enough time--if, that is, you have no sense of decency, dignity or decorum--there's no telling what concessions you might get. Witness:

The Nibble

"Why was it so hard for the United States to extract itself from the war in Vietnam? Because we had invested 50,000 lives in it. It's known as the nibble. Let me describe it to you.

"You go into an exclusive clothier in the downtown area where you reside. You want to get a fine suit. You start trying on suits. Each suit you ask the salesman, he says, 'Terrific.' You spend three and a half hours trying on 39 suits. Each one you ask the salesman, he says, 'Terrific' The salesman is fed up with you. He's about to blow his cool, when suddenly you say, 'I'll take the one right there for $270.' 'You will?' The salesman breathes a sigh of relief and starts writing up the order. He takes you to a little room in the rear where they do the alterations--you've been in that room, you know that room--the one with the three-way mirror and they stand you on this little box and there you are, looking at yourself. The salesman is writing up the sales slip, calculating his commission. Beside you as you stand on the box is this little guy with pins in his mouth, a tape measure around his neck. He's taking these pins and shoving them in your cuff, he's poking you up the rear and he's always saying to you, 'This is a beautiful suit--it hangs very well on you.' Wherever you go, the guy's got the same accent. Maybe it's not an accent. Could be the pins. Anyway, you get the picture. You're standing there on the box, the salesman's writing up the slip, counting his commission, man on the floor shoving in the pins, making the chalk marks--when suddenly you turn to the salesman and say, 'What kind of tie will you throw in?'

"The salesman stops writing. He looks at the guy on the floor; the guy on the floor looks up. He doesn't know whether to shove another pin, make another chalk mark--he lets go of your crotch. Ladies and gentlemen, that's what we call the nibble.

"Now, I ask you--what is going through the mind of the salesman after the first wave of heat has disappeared. He's thinking: Three and a half hours of my time, 39 suits I put on the guy's back, $30 on a $270 sale--as opposed to taking four bucks out of my pocket. I'm going to give this guy a tie and hope that I never see him again.

"Will you get that tie? Yes."

Was it worth the effort and demeaning yourself? No. Would Cohen have gone through all that himself? Presumably not. But by using simple stories from everyday experience, he communicates better--even to bankers and auditors--than he would if he told the story of the two accountants negotiating the treatment of foreign-currency losses in a not yet consolidated subsidiary. Still, one suspects Cohen isn't the easiest guy in the world to deal with--and that he cannot always resist the temptation to chisel a buck or two even on the little things. "It's not the money"--he has plenty of that--"it's the money."

Poor Hertz

"Have I ever shown you my legitimacy card?" Cohen asks over six-dollar cups of lobster bisque in his hotel suite. (Six dollars well spent, I might add.)

Most people know that Hertz and Avis give a variety of corporate discounts--usually 20 percent--when you rent one of their cars or if you use their credit cards. It seems, according to Cohen, that Hertz gives IBM 37 percent.

"I find this out and I think it's inappropriate for me not to get the same discount."

At most airports, Cohen says, you need only say you're with IBM and the attendants don't even check. Off goes the 37 percent. But at La Guardia, they're really sticky. "They say, 'Who are you with?' I say, 'IBM.' They say, 'Yeah? Let me see your card.' "

Whereupon Cohen pulls out of his wallet one of those preprinted cards that says IBM in the upper-left-hand corner and has Cohen's name typed in the middle. He was a speaker at one of its conferences, where everybody gets a card under plastic to wear on his lapel, and Cohen kept the card.

Not only does he get 37 percent off, he says, they throw in free collision coverage. Works with Avis, too.

The only problem--evaluate it as you will--is that you have to lie to get the discount.

The New House

Nowadays, it's not enough to issue orders and expect the job to get done. You've got to negotiate for the commitment of your organization--get it behind you. Otherwise, it can kill you just by doing exactly what you say--"malicious obedience."

What does it mean to have your organization behind you?

"Six and a half years ago, I lived in a community in Illinois called Libertyville. A rustic community, acres of land--thought I was very happy there until my wife explained to me that we weren't that happy. She said that area was not quite right for us, we ought to move.

"Since I'm away from home a great deal, it fell upon her shoulders to move us. And, you know, when you've been out of the real-estate market for seven years and then come back, you're in for a shock.

"She's looking two weeks, four weeks--and, to be honest with you, it does not bother me that she's looking--but I call home every night. Wherever I am, I call home every night. I am not a creative telephone conversationalist, by the way. I have a standard opening every night--'Hi, how's everything?' And I even have a preferred answer, which is, 'Fine.' I always move on to my second question, which is, 'What's new?' My preferred answer is, 'Nothing.'

"Monday night, Tuesday night, Wednesday night, I got good answers. Thursday night: 'Hi, how's everything?' 'Fine.' 'What's new?' What could be new? I just talked to her last night. 'I bought a house.' I said, 'No, you phrased that incorrectly--semantically, you're wrong. You mean to say you saw a house you liked and you offered money on it.' 'Yes, except they accepted the money and we got it.' 'A whole house? How could you buy a whole house?' She said it was really easy."

It turned out, shortening the story, that Cohen's wife had made the deal subject to her husband's approval. That cheered him up somewhat.

"OK, I get home late Friday night, I'm up early Saturday morning--the wife and I are going to this home, and I, alleged technical titular leader, am ready to reject the whole deal. We are driving along and I say to my associate, 'By the way. Does anybody know about this home you almost bought?' She says, 'Oh, yeah.' I said, 'Who could know? It just happened.' 'A lot of people know.' 'Who?' 'Well, all our neighbors, all our friends know--in fact, they're throwing us a gala farewell party.' I said, 'Who else knows?' 'Well, our families know--your family, my family. In fact, my mother has already ordered us custom-made drapes for the living room--I called in the measurements.' I said, 'Who else could know?' She said, 'Well, our children know; they told their friends, they told their teachers; they selected bedrooms they like....'

"In other words, what is happening is that the organization is moving away from the leader. It is the zigzag theory of organizational behavior. In this case, the alleged technical titular leader was in the zig, while the organization was in the zag.

"What do you think the alleged, technical, titular, lonely leader did in order to keep the title of alleged, technical, titular leader? He ratified the decision his organization had already made. It seems my wife knows more about negotiations than I do. When the body moves, the head is inclined to follow.

"And so I say to you: See people in context, get the commitment of others in the organization. Find out who's important to you and influence the people who are important to that person and you'll influence him."

The Refrigerator

"If you want to deal effectively with people, if you want to convince them, if you want to negotiate, if you want to persuade, then you've got to approach people based on their needs. And that's all negotiation is. It is meeting the needs of people.

"You want to negotiate with Sears about the cost of a refrigerator. So you go into Sears and say, 'Hey, I'll tell you what--I'll take 20 bucks off your price, but I'll pay cash.' Does that work at Sears? No. Sears is not any retail establishment--it wants you to think it is, but in reality, it is a financial institution. It wants to grab off 18 percent of your money on its revolving charge account. Sears doesn't want you to pay cash. Does the cash ploy work with somebody else, though--the guy on the corner with a cash-flow problem? Sure it does. And so I say to you: Every approach should meet the needs of the people."

(In fact, Cohen maintains you can negotiate with Sears and similar "one-price" stores. Most people don't think so, so they don't try. But the salesmen are authorized to come down on prices, to arrange trade-ins, to deal on "floor models," and more.)

Cohen speaks of refrigerators but actually has his mind on larger things, such as labor negotiations, or Salt II.

"Find out what the other side's needs are. How do you do this? You don't start out when the negotiation begins: people won't tell you anything then. You've got to see all your encounters with people not as an event but as a process. You see, we think literally in terms of When does it start? It starts April sixth at two P.M. But negotiations, like mental illness, are a process. When somebody has been declared mentally ill at two P.M. on April sixth, when does he actually become mentally ill? Does anyone think he was fine at 1:59 and at two P.M. he went bananas? Use your lead time to gather information.

"Also to give information. Why do I say you should give information? Three reasons. One, it is more blessed to give than to receive. Two, you've got to give a little to get a little. Three, when you give information to people, it in: fluences the expectation level of the other side. It takes people a while to get used to a new idea. Throw something out to somebody over here--well in advance--and he will say, 'I don't buy that. No, sir.' You mention the same thing over here--a little closer to the event--but when you bring it up, you change the name of it. Do this a few times and what happens? 'Oh. That's been around for a while.'

"It takes a while for people to get used to any new idea. Allow for acceptance time to occur."

The Clock

"A husband and wife are looking through an architectural magazine and they see a magnificent clock. They agree that if they can get it for $500, they'll be happy. They spend months looking for this clock--flea markets, antique shops, weekend trips--and finally they see the clock of their dreams. As they near it, they see one potential problem, a sign that says $750. One of them is appointed negotiator in an attempt to secure the clock. That individual walks up to the person selling the clock and says, 'Sir, I notice you have a little clock for sale. I notice a little dust around that sign on the top. Now, I am going to make you one offer and one offer only and I know it's gonna thrill you very big--are you ready for it?--here it is: $250.'

"And the seller says: 'You got it. Sold.'

"Now, how do you feel when that happens to you? Why do some of you smile when you hear that? You smile because you've been there, that's why--and I've been there, too. What's your first reaction? Is it that you got a great price? No. Your reaction is: 'I could have done better. I was stupid. I should have started lower.' Your second reaction? 'What's wrong with the clock?'

"If the seller had been a decent compassionate human being, he would have allowed you to fight for every dollar and finally settled with you tor $497. You would have been happier.

"I'm saying to you that human beings have needs beyond just dollars. And they are different."

Creative negotiators, Cohen believes, can often turn the process into a "win-win" situation, where both sides' needs can be met. In essence, he says, successful negotiation lies in finding out what the other side really wants and showing it a way to get it while you get what you want. He recalls a corporate acquisition he once was involved in for which the seller asked $26,000,000--and refused to budge. The buyer offered $15.000.000, $18,000,000, $20,000,000, $21,000,000, $21,500.000--the seller refused to budge. Only after some days, by chance over dinner, did it develop that the seller's brother had sold his company for $26,000,000. Suddenly, Cohen's group realized that its man had needs other than money. It wound up working out terms that fell within its budget but allowed the seller to feel he had done better than his brother.

The incident of the clock also illustrates another of Cohen's basic tenets: Start low. Or, if you're selling, start high. Any three-year-old knows to do that, of course, but Cohen says--no, even lower (or higher) than that. That gives you more room to maneuver, tests the waters and lowers the opposition's expectations. Of course, if you had been planning to offer so little (or ask so much) as to be downright insulting, this advice could serve to shatter any chance of making a deal.

Well, don't start that low, says Cohen.

The Serafe

"Ever see people who come back from Southern climates, who take winter vacations and wind up at Northern airports--ever see what they're wearing? A week away from New York and they're wearing muumuus. I myself own two Mexican serapes. To tell you the truth, I never thought of myself as being with a serape. I don't like them.

"Five years ago, my wife and I go to Mexico City and we're walking through the streets and suddenly she says, 'Ah. yonder I see lights.' She speaks that way, you know. I say, 'Hey, I'm not going over there, that's the commercial area. I did not come here to wallow in commercialism. You go; I'll meet you back at the hotel.' I go off on my own, and as I'm moving with the ebb and flow, I notice this person approaching me wearing serapes. He's calling out, 'Twelve hundred pesos.' I'm trying to figure out who he can be talking to. It couldn't be me--how did he know I was a tourist? I look straight ahead and keep walking. The guy walks right up to me--I'm not even looking at him--and says, 'A thousand pesos.' I'm still moving. 'Eight hundred pesos.' I stop. I say, My friend, I certainly respect your initiative and your diligence; however, I do not need a serape, I do not like a serape, I do not desire a serape--would you kindly sell elsewhere?' I walk away; the guy's still following me. 'Six hundred pesos.' I'm running down the damn street, I'm hot, I'm sweating, and he's chasing me. He says, 'Four hundred pesos.' I'm irritated. 'Damn it, I just told you I don't want a serape--now beat it.' 'Two hundred pesos.' I say, 'What did you say' 'Two hundred pesos.' I say, 'Let me see the serape.' Why am I asking to see the serape? Do I need a serape? Do I want a serape? Do I like a serape? No. See how a man changes his mind? I didn't think I wanted a serape, but maybe I do.

"You see, the guy started at 1200 pesos, he's now down to 200--I don't know what the hell I'm doin', but--I mean, I haven't even started negotiating and already I got the guy down 1000 pesos. Now, I find out from this guy that the cheapest anyone ever bought a serape in the history of Mexico City was a fellow from Winnipeg whose mother and father were born in Guadalajara. He paid 175 pesos. I get mine for 170, thereby giving me the serape record for Mexico City. I am now walking down the street wearing my serape. It is hot, I am perspiring--but wearing my serape."

He rushes back to his hotel to show his wife. "How much did you pay?" she asks him.

"The guy wanted 1200 pesos, but the internationally renowned negotiator picked it up for 170." She opens the closet to show him the identical serape, for which she paid 150 pesos.

"Why did I buy that serape? Did I need a serape? Did I like a serape? I didn't think so, but on the streets of Mexico City I encountered not a peddler but an international psychological negotiating marketeer. By some sort of process, he met needs I didn't even know I had."

It is Cohen's contention that we all have a serape or two in the closet.

Preserving your Options

A man went out to Cohen's new house (you know, the one his wife bought) to install a couple of locks. The bill came--$142. He had been there 45 minutes, Cohen says--$142. "So I call up the guy and he says, 'Look, pal. that's the price.' 'Maybe we can talk about it.' 'No--that's it.' I said, 'Well, do I have any options in this situation?' He says, 'What do you mean, options? If you don't like it, I'll take out the locks.' I said, 'Good. That's a very good idea.' He says, 'What do you mean--you'll have holes in the door.' I say, "No problem; take them out.' He says, 'How about $95--would that sound better?' I said, Yeah.' "

And there, in the relatively trivial difference between the $142 that many of us would resignedly have paid and the $95 that let us assume for the sake of argument was a more equitable price, lies the kernel of Herb Cohen's philosophy. He is not talking about "looking out for number one" or "winning through intimidation" or "screwing the Government because it is screwing us."

"I want people to have power," he says. "To have options and know they have options. When people are powerless, it's bad for everybody. Either they become hostile and try to tear down the system or they become apathetic and throw in the towel. We don't want either one."

"Power is nothing more than the capacity to get things done. It's not moral, not immoral--it's neutral."