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He
found work in the automobile business, accepting an
offer from a fellow he met inside a tin-walled puck
palace. The two hockey dads-turned-lifelong-friends
had sons on the same team. The other pop’s name was
Jerome Taylor.
One score and seven years later and the Major is
again front and centre at another retirement gig:
this afternoon’s salute from his customers and
colleagues at Taylor Auto Mall.
As a salesman, McLeod lived by the credo: quality
not quantity.
“No matter what the customer bought, whether it was
a $5,000 used vehicle or a $70,000 Cadillac, he or
she always got the same treatment,” said dealership
vice-president Jason Taylor. “Danny treated everyone
equally and with equal respect. He had as much
patience with the young kid looking at a used car as
he did with the person looking at a luxury vehicle.”
Still, he rang up some 3,000 sales and compiled an
enviable list of repeat customers in 27 years,
pushing compacts and Cadillacs for his friend and
boss, Jerome, who passed away recently.
Asked to recount his favourite sales story, the
Major rewinds back to the beginning for a rarity in
the car business: the triple closing.
“I hadn’t been on board very long when one evening
in walk these three young fellows,” he recalled. “I
think they were foreigners, at least none of them
spoke any English. The other salesmen looked them
over and, I suppose thinking there wasn’t much
chance for a sale, said to me, ‘OK, rookie, look
after them, they’re all yours.
The pea-green car-pusher, two years from his 60th
birthday, closed three deals. “One bought a new
Cadillac, one bought a new Corvette and one bought a
new station wagon.”
It was an auspicious debut to yet another career for
the durable native of Medicine Hat.
The Major, of course, is no stranger to fans of
top-shelf city hockey teams, past and present. He
guided the old Junior B Frontenacs to two league
titles and was at the helm of the Senior A Aces
during that club’s heyday, which included two league
crowns and a silver medal at the 1967 Spengler Cup
in Switzerland.
In 1991, at age 69, he finished the Ontario Hockey
League season as acting head coach of the Kingston
Frontenacs. Owner Wren Blair “reassigned” Randy Hall
to scouting duties late in the season. McLeod’s last
hurrah behind the pine occurred in the final game of
a woeful 1990-91 campaign.
The Frontenacs, out of the playoffs and looking into
tee-off times, upset the mighty North Bay
Centennials, who finished 51 points ahead of
Kingston.
That same year, McLeod was inducted into the
Kingston and District Sports Hall of Fame.
And so, 3,000 sales later, Major Dan has decided his
selling days have run their course. Either that, or
he was serious in the note he left in his now-vacant
office: gone fishing.
This afternoon’s send-off runs from 1 to 6 p.m. at
the dealership.
Last spring, months after battling and beating two
major health setbacks, the Major popped into his
workplace and announced he’d be returning to work in
two weeks’ time. He was coming off two heart
attacks, prostate surgery and the insertion of a
stent near the old pump. That’s hard enough on
anyone, let alone an 85-year-old man. But this is
McLeod we’re talking about, a disciple of fitness
who can’t recall starting a morning without push-ups
and sit-ups. He walked smartly and ramrod straight,
his confidence unyielding, his manner impeccable.
He was, as co-worker Sean Burke remarked, “his old
self.
“When he marched into the office and started shaking
hands and greeting the others, I swear the theme
music to Rocky should have been playing,” said
Burke. “He has a presence about him, that air of
confidence.
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“If I
had to sum up Dan McLeod in one phrase, I’d say he’s
a gentleman’s gentleman,” added Burke, who fell into
the proverbial gold mine by getting hand-picked by
McLeod to take over the latter’s coveted client
list.
“My dad leaned on Danny in the early 1980s,” said
Jason Taylor, who’s known McLeod since he was eight.
“Business was tough. Interest rates were sitting at
20, 22 per cent and Dad had to lay off a couple of
managers.”
Before long, however, McLeod had become all but
indispensible. He toiled long hours and, as the
business prospered and grew, was deemed dependable
and as honest as they come. “When Dad went home at
seven or eight o’clock at night, he’d give Danny the
keys to lock up,” said Jason.
McLeod called the owner a “grand man.
“I was one of Jerome’s confidants of sorts. We went
way back and I was always amazed a how he operated.
He always tossed two balls in the air, a real
self-made man and a real prince of a man to work
for.”
In return, the salesman not only moved plenty of
vehicles for his bald-plated boss, he did so with an
innate sense of professionalism, care and class.
“Danny always sent a dozen roses and a 26er of booze
to his customers, without fail,” Jason noted before
punching some numbers on a calculator. “That works
out roughly to $200,000, all out of his own pocket.”
McLeod said that is something he’s done from day
one. “The reason was two-fold,” he confided. “It was
nice way of thanking my customer for honouring me
with the business. But also, the money I earned put
me in a different bracket and I didn’t want the
government taking any more than they already were.
So I decided to use part of my commission to treat
my clients.”
Initially, he’ll be one busy third-time retiree. The
Major’s been asked by the colonel of his regiment in
Alberta to organize an April tour of World War
battlefields in France and Belgium. McLeod made sure
the stopover at Vimy Ridge coincided with the town’s
90th anniversary celebrations of the bloody battle.
This will be his 12th trip to the battlefields of
Europe. Fiercely patriotic and proud, the old
soldier is hauntingly drawn to the vast graveyards
lined with endless rows of white crosses
representing “the kids we left behind.”
He’ll never forget one kid in particular, Duffy
Gendron. The two were pals in Medicine Hat, chumming
around together, going to the moving pictures, even
enlisting together.
“Duffy was the first one killed in our regiment,”
said McLeod, quickly reciting the inscription on his
childhood friend’s headstone:
“A smile for all
A heart of gold
The best the world did hold.”
He pauses, proof that such pain lingers six-plus
decades later.
As for the future, McLeod doesn’t dismiss the
possibility of landing on another payroll.
“When I get back from Europe, if I’m bored, I’ll be
out looking for work.”
If and when the spry octogenarian embarks on another
job search, rest assured he’ll arrive in style. In
recognition of his pleasing propensity to peddle
pricey Cadillacs, the dealership is lending the
Major a 2006 Cadillac STS for the next three years.
McLeod knows Caddys. He unloaded roughly 700 through
the years, some closings taking every ounce of
honest salesmanship he could muster; others merely a
matter of picking a colour.
“If you don’t have your integrity, what have you
got?” the Major reasoned.
The gentleman’s gentleman has it in spades.
pkennedy@thewhig.com |
