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Life of a salesman, American dreamer

Meet Bob Marcus, a perpetual pitcher who not only wants to succeed (he's doing all right) but make the Big Score.

By Paul Swider, Times Staff Writer
Published February 24, 2008

ST. PETERSBURG - AJames Bond ring tone blares from his cell phone.

"Bob Marcus," he answers. "What do you want to know about the InfoGuide, other than it's the best-looking publication on the beach?"

It's a cold call from a prospective advertiser, a good sign to start a salesman's day.

The caller has a new business and heard about Marcus' tourist-oriented publication with maps and area information in a sea of advertisements.

Marcus gives him the rundown: Prints 70,000 per quarter, distributes to hotels, condos, stores, airports, anywhere that tourists might need a hand to find lunch or a water scooter or a stuffed dolphin. Tourists keep these things as souvenirs, Marcus says, so even a small ad has reach. They agree to talk again in a week.

Marcus smiles. His day will be filled with people leery of the salesman making his rounds, so it's nice to have someone looking for him instead.

"This is the salesman's life," says Marcus, 51, making a cross with his two index fingers and extending his arms as if he were warding off a vampire. "Everybody sees you coming. Nobody wants to talk to you."

After 26 years of selling this and that in Pinellas County, he knows every inch, every new business, every other wheeler-dealer. And like every other entrepreneurial spirit in a country that thrives on delivering a good product, his chase of the American dream is perhaps emblematic of our own. A working life isn't enough anymore, so many are looking for the big score: the Lotto, being discovered, timing the market or inventing the Next Big Thing.

Marcus climbs back in his silver 2003 Mazda Tribute and heads for a nearby hotel to drop off some InfoGuides.

"Oh, we love these," says the front-desk clerk, grabbing a stack of magazines. She carefully puts them under the counter, not on top, much to Marcus' chagrin.

He gets back in the car and drives, something he does for more than 20,000 local miles a year.

"I love what I do," he says, zipping through shortcuts around town. "I'm carefree; I do what I want. But in 26 years living here, I never once said, 'I'm not going to work, I'm going to the beach.' "

He could, if he wanted to, because the production schedule of the InfoGuide allows for six weeks off every quarter. But his personality won't let him sit still. He has other irons in the fire.

Along with InfoGuide, Marcus created Go!, a book of coupons from south Pinellas businesses. He lets nonprofits sell it for him for half its $5 cover price. He just started massaging his network to sell Seriesse, a line of skin care products sold through multilevel marketing.

And he's excited about his new invention, the Cardio Pump, an exercise tool from which he hopes to make his fortune. He can't show it to you, though, because he's not confident his provisional patent will protect him. He has created a DVD infomercial, but without a prototype, it's hard to sell.

Marcus drools over the prospects. He watches shows like The Big IdeaWith Donny Deutschand recounts how someone came up with one little notion and "sold millions."

He lists a fistful of people who say he's on to something.

His phone is always ringing, and Marcus is shifting gears between and within conversations, hopping from one topic to the next, making one meeting after the last, recalling names and dates and appointments all from his head.

There are about 120 advertisers per issue of the 64-page, 8 1/2- by-11-inch InfoGuide and dozens more contacts from other projects. He knows who's doing what, he says, how much they pay, how much they owe. It's the frenzy of his business, but also what he says he must do to get to the next level.

Marcus has taken his shots before. He owned an agency-cum-printing house. He partnered 10 years ago with Mike Alstott on the short-lived A-Train Pizza restaurant in downtown St. Petersburg. He has had straight jobs - DJ, cruise director - and worked selling for others, but chafes at the structure. He decided six years ago to hire himself and start the InfoGuide.

He stops in another store, an artsy-touristy spot, and chats with the owners about their upcoming placement. Charming and conversant, Marcus is well liked among those he has known a long time. Some buy ads almost as reflex. This store hasn't changed its ad since 2001.

After a polite "What's new?" Marcus pauses and smirks and delves into the Cardio Pump story.

A doctor he met said this is perfect for the elderly because the exercise raises the heart rate without joint stress. In his search for investors, he says he's going to an expo of fitness machine manufacturers and has a tentative appointment with a Home Shopping Network celebrity.

After lunch, it's off to another sales call, this one a popular beach restaurant that doesn't open until the evening. Marcus parks in back and strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place. Employees look up, see him, wave, turn back to their work.

"That's one of the great parts of my job," he says. "I just walk in anyplace."

The Go! book is working out well, he says.

Advertisers are pleased, and the nonprofit sales channel is effective. Marcus came up with the idea after a Little League carwash fundraiser where a dozen people poured sweat all day for $150.

He figured there had to be a better way, so he stapled some coupons together and sold them outside Walgreens.

Now it's a finished book with trackable sales and a following among small businesses. Response is so strong he even turns down ads, he said.

Back out on the beach, he points to storefronts and tells their stories, good, bad and ugly. He works his way down alleys and side streets most of us don't know exist. The tourist areas we gloss over are his canvas.

Around the corner he spots a new cafe and stops in to make a pitch. The owner's not biting, says the attractions draw the tourists, he feeds them when they're hungry, but ads won't help him. Marcus moves on.

On the road again, Marcus calls Pat, his sole sales rep. They arrange to meet in the parking lot behind a St. Pete Beach restaurant. He gets there before she does and starts to leaf through his papers looking for her commission check. Can't find it.

He jokes nervously about her being upset with that. Pat shows up and they talk, but he's still looking for her check. Finally, he opens a folder he has opened three times already and finds the check.

He gets back in his car and drives a couple of blocks to a spa. The conversation turns to the Pump and the women are intrigued. They're puzzled that he can't show them, but they seem to understand his need for secrecy. They all share the oohs and aahs of the possibilities, grand-slam dreams, pet-rock potential.

He visits another restaurant client, a shop that needs help with an ad, then the chamber of commerce for light chatter, another tourist spot for an update. Marcus remarks that his life seems puzzling to some. He spends all day visiting, sharing information, selling but giving as well.

"Even my son says to me, 'Dad, what do you do?' I tell him I just talk to people all day long."

The Tribute rolls up the driveway of a large hotel and Marcus hands the general manager a stack of InfoGuides, which she cheerfully accepts.

The concierge remarks how much the tourists appreciate the maps. Then the GM tells Marcus he has forgotten to bill her for her last ad.

He says he'll check, but later, outside, he's embarrassed and amazed: If he forgot and she hadn't reminded him, it would have cost him $1,000.

"Sometimes good things happen to me," he says, "that are completely out of my control."

[Last modified February 24, 2008, 00:29:26]