Salesman Told Dean ‘These Cadillacs Are for Professionals’ — He Bought 5, One for Each of His Crew HT
Dean Martin walked into the Beverly Hills Cadillac dealership wearing a golf shirt and casual slacks. No tie, no jacket. His hair was slightly messy from the wind. He looked like he just finished playing 18 holes, which he had. It was December 1966. Christmas was 2 weeks away. Dean had just wrapped the last taping of the Dean Martin Show before the holiday break.
He was in a good mood. The show was a hit. The ratings were strong. His crew had worked incredibly hard all year. Dean wanted to do something special for them. Something that would show his appreciation. Not just a bonus check. Something memorable. Something that would actually change their lives. He’d been thinking about it for weeks.
And this morning, while playing golf, he’d figured it out. Cars. New cars. Specifically, Cadillacs. The kind of cars that working crew members could never afford on their salaries. The kind of cars that would make their families jaws drop on Christmas morning. Dean walked through the showroom looking at the gleaming Cadillac Eldorados lined up like soldiers. Beautiful machines.
Luxury. Status symbols. Each one cost $6,850. More than most of his crew members made in a year. A young salesman approached. His name tag said Brad. He was in his mid-20s. Eager. Hungry for commissions. And making judgments based on appearances. Can I help you, sir? Brad’s tone was polite but dismissive.
The kind of politeness that barely masked contempt. Just looking, Dean said, running his hand along the hood of a red Eldorado. Brad glanced at Dean’s casual clothes. His golf shirt. His scuffed shoes. Made a calculation. This guy wasn’t a serious buyer. This guy was a tire kicker. Someone his time when he could be talking to real customers.
These are Cadillac Eldorados, Brad said, like he was explaining something complicated to someone simple. Starting price is $6,850. That’s about 6 months salary for most people. Dean looked at Brad. Smiled slightly. Is it? Maybe you’d be more comfortable at the Chevrolet dealership. They have some nice vehicles in a more accessible price range. Dean didn’t get angry.
Didn’t get defensive. Just kept looking at the cars. Because in about 5 minutes, Brad was going to learn a very expensive lesson about judging people by their appearance. This is the story of how five hard-working crew members got the Christmas surprise of their lives. How a salesman’s assumptions cost him the biggest commission he’d ever see.
And how Dean Martin proved that real class has nothing to do with what you wear and everything to do with how you treat people. The Dean Martin Show employed about 40 crew members. Camera operators. Sound engineers. Lighting technicians. Stage managers. Makeup artists. Wardrobe supervisors. Set designers.
Script supervisors. The people who made the magic happen every week. But whose names scrolled by too quickly in the credits for anyone to notice. Dean noticed. He knew all their names. Knew about their families. Knew who was struggling with a sick parent or a kid’s medical bills or a mortgage they could barely afford.
He’d been thinking about Christmas bonuses. The network would give everyone something standard. A week’s salary maybe. Nice, but not life-changing. Dean wanted to do something bigger. Something that would actually matter. The idea had come to him on the golf course that morning. He’d been playing with his friend Joey Bishop.
And Joey had mentioned that his son needed a car for college. But Joey couldn’t afford anything decent. And Dean had thought, how many of his crew members were in the same boat? Working hard. Making decent money. But never quite able to get ahead enough for the luxuries that other people took for granted. Dean had decided on five people.
Five crew members who’d been with the show from the beginning. Who’d worked overtime without complaint. Who’d done excellent work week after week without asking for recognition. Tommy Rodriguez. Camera operator. 32 years old. Married with three kids ages 9, 6, and 3. His wife Rosa worked part-time at a grocery store to help make ends meet.
Their 1959 Ford Fairlane was literally dying. The transmission slipped. The brakes squealed. The exhaust smoked. Tommy had mentioned once casually that he was saving for a new car. But at the rate he was going, it would take three or four years. He made $140 a week. A new car cost at least $2,500. The math didn’t work.
But he never complained. Just kept showing up. Doing excellent camera work. Being professional. Sarah Chen. Sound engineer. 28 years old. Single mother of two. A son aged 10 and a daughter aged 7. She’d been divorced for 3 years. Her ex-husband paid minimal child support. Sarah worked double shifts whenever possible. Weekdays on the Dean Martin Show.
Weekends doing sound for industrial films and commercials. She took the bus to work because she couldn’t afford car payments and rent. 2 hours each way on public transportation. 4 hours a day. She was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Never missed a day. Never complained about the commute. Marcus Williams. Stage manager.
40 years old. Married with six kids. Yes, six. Ranging from ages 3 to 15. His wife Angela stayed home because daycare for six children cost more than she could possibly make working. They had one car between them. A 1958 Chevrolet station wagon that barely fit the whole family. Marcus often rode his bicycle to work 10 miles each way to save gas money so Angela could use the car for groceries and doctor’s appointments.
He showed up sweaty and exhausted. But always with a smile. Always organized. Always making sure every element of the show ran smoothly. Patricia Patty O’Brien. Makeup artist. 35 years old. Unmarried. Supporting her 72-year-old mother who had arthritis and couldn’t work. Plus her younger brother who was in his third year at UCLA.
Patty paid for everything. Her mother’s medical bills. Her brother’s tuition. Their small apartment in Glendale. She drove a 1951 Buick that broke down at least once a month. She’d become an expert at roadside repairs. Could change a tire in 5 minutes. Knew how to replace a fuel pump.
But the car was dying and she knew it. She’d started saving for a new one. But between her mother’s doctors and her brother’s textbooks, there was never anything left over. James Jimmy Kowalski. Wardrobe supervisor. 26 years old. Recently married to his high school sweetheart Linda. She was 7 months pregnant with their first child.
They lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment. We’re trying to save for a bigger place before the baby came. But it was impossible. Every spare dollar went to baby furniture. Baby clothes. Medical appointments. Jimmy had mentioned wanting to take Linda on a proper baby moon trip. But they couldn’t afford the gas to drive to San Diego. Let alone a real vacation.
He was stressed constantly. But he still showed up every day. Made sure every costume was perfect. Kept the wardrobe department running flawlessly. Five people. Five Cadillacs. Five life-changing Christmas presents. These weren’t just cars. These were solutions to problems. These were stress relievers. These were dignity restorers.
Dean continued to examine the cars in the showroom. Brad hovered nearby. Clearly wanting Dean to leave so he could focus on real customers. Sir, these vehicles really are for professionals. Doctors. Lawyers. Executives. People with substantial income and excellent credit. I’m not trying to be rude, but how many do you have in stock? Dean interrupted.
Excuse me? How many Eldorados in stock right now? We have 12. Brad’s tone suggested this was irrelevant information. What colors? Sir, I don’t think you understand. These cost $6,850 each. That’s I asked what colors you have. Brad sighed. Red, white, black, silver, blue, green, burgundy, gold, cream, navy, charcoal, and bronze.
Dean nodded, processing. I’ll take the red one, the white one, the black one, the silver one, and the blue one. There was a long silence. Brad stared at Dean like he’d started speaking another language. Sir, that’s five cars. I can count. That’s $34,250. Brad said the number like it would make Dean realize his mistake.
Plus tax, registration, and delivery, I assume. Dean said calmly. Brad laughed. Actually laughed. A nervous, condescending laugh. Sir, I appreciate the joke, but I have actual customers to attend to. If you’d like to look at our brochures, you’re welcome to take some home. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his checkbook. I’m not joking.
I want five Cadillac Eldorados. Red, white, black, silver, and blue. Can you have them ready for delivery by December 23rd? Brad’s face faded. Sir, I can’t authorize a sale like that without verifying funds, credit history, employment. I’m paying cash. Well, check, same thing. Dean opened the checkbook, pulled out a pen.
Brad glanced at the checkbook, saw the name printed on the checks. His face went from skeptical to pale in about 2 seconds. Dean Martin, Brad read aloud. His voice had changed completely. That’s me, Dean said, still writing. Mr. Martin, I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize why would you. I wasn’t wearing a tux, didn’t have a drink in my hand, looked like a regular person.
How could you possibly have known I was a professional? Brad’s face reddened. Sir, I apologize. I made an assumption based on based on my clothes, Dean finished. You looked at my golf shirt and decided I couldn’t afford a Cadillac, even though the only difference between me right now and me on TV is what I’m wearing. I’m the same person, same bank account, same ability to write this check.
Dean held up the check he’d just written. $34,250. Brad stared at the check. That was more commission than he’d make in 6 months of regular sales. Mr. Martin, please let me start over. I can Dean interrupted him again. I’m going to buy these five cars, but not from you. Where’s your manager? Sir, please. I made a mistake.
I You made a judgment. You decided what kind of customer I was based on how I looked. You suggested I go to Chevrolet because Cadillac is for professionals, for people who matter, and I didn’t look like I mattered. The showroom had gone quiet. Other sales people were watching. A couple of customers had stopped browsing to listen.
The thing is, Dean continued, I’m not buying these cars for me. I’m buying them for five people who work for me. People who work incredibly hard. People who are professionals in their fields. Camera operator, sound engineer, stage manager, makeup artist, wardrobe supervisor. People who will never make enough money to afford a Cadillac on their own.
People who deserve something nice, but would never expect it. Brad opened his mouth. Closed it. Didn’t know what to say. Those five people judge others by how they work, not by what they wear, Dean said. They treat everyone with respect, the stars, the extras, the janitors, everyone, because they understand that a person’s value isn’t determined by their salary or their clothes or their job title.
Dean turned to leave, still holding his undeposited check. You might want to learn that lesson before your next customer walks in wearing casual clothes. The manager had been watching from his office. A man in his 50s named Harold Brennan. He walked over quickly. Mr. Martin, I’m Harold Brennan. I own this dealership.
I apologize for Brad’s behavior. Please, let’s start over. I’ll personally handle your purchase and ensure Brad learns from this. Dean looked at Harold. Brad doesn’t get the commission. Understood. I’ll handle this sale myself. Dean handed Harold the check. Five Eldorados. Red, white, black, silver, blue.
Delivered to NBC Studios on December 23rd. December 23rd, 1966 at 10:00 a.m. Dean had arranged for all five crew members to be there, telling them there was a special staff meeting about next season’s schedule. They showed up not knowing what to expect. Five gleaming Cadillac Eldorados were lined up in the parking lot, each with a giant red bow, each with a card.
Dean called them over one by one. Tommy, the red one’s for you. Tommy Rodriguez stood completely still for about 10 seconds, then started crying. Actually crying. Big tears rolling down his face. His wife, Rosa, who Dean had secretly invited, ran over and hugged him, then hugged Dean. She couldn’t stop thanking him. Tommy just kept saying, I can’t believe this, over and over.
His three kids climbed into the car, bouncing on the leather seats, touching everything. Tommy later told people it was the best moment of his life, aside from his wedding day and the births of his children. Sarah, the white one’s yours. Sarah Chen stood in front of her white Cadillac for a full 10 minutes, just staring at it, unable to move or speak.
Dean had to gently guide her to the driver’s seat. She sat behind the wheel and burst into tears. Her kids, who’d also been secretly invited, climbed into the back seat screaming with joy. Sarah’s first words were, I don’t have to take the bus anymore. She said it over and over like a prayer.
I don’t have to take the bus anymore. 4 hours a day, every day, for 3 years. And now, she didn’t have to take the bus anymore. Marcus, the black one’s for you. Marcus Williams brought all six of his kids to see the black Cadillac. They swarmed it like ants, climbing all over it, touching the chrome, pressing their faces against the windows.
His wife, Angela, stood next to Dean, crying silently, unable to speak. Marcus shook Dean’s hand for a full minute, too emotional to let go. Later, he told his wife, Now we have two cars. You don’t have to juggle the schedule anymore. The kids can go to soccer practice, and you can go to the store, and I can get to work without my bicycle.
The relief in his voice was overwhelming. Patty, the silver one’s for you. Patty O’Brien called her mother from the studio phone, crying so hard she could barely speak. Mama, Dean Martin bought me a Cadillac. A brand new Cadillac. We’re safe now. No more breakdowns. No more wondering if the car will start. We’re safe.
Her mother cried on the phone. Her brother, who’d driven her mother to the studio, stood next to the silver Cadillac, touching it like it might disappear. Patty kept saying, this is too much, Mr. Martin. This is too much. Dean just smiled and said, it’s exactly right, Patty. You work hard, you take care of your family, you deserve something nice.
Jimmy, the blue one’s for you. Jimmy Kowalski took his pregnant wife Linda for a drive in the blue Cadillac immediately. Just drove around the NBC parking lot slowly, both of them crying happy tears. Linda was 7 months pregnant, and they’d been so stressed about money, about the baby, about whether they could afford a bigger apartment, about everything.
This wasn’t just a car. This was breathing room. This was hope. This was the ability to drive to the hospital when the baby came without worrying if their old car would make it. Jimmy came back from the test drive and hugged Dean. You have no idea what this means to us. You have no idea. Dean knew exactly what it meant to them.
That’s why he’d done it. Brad, the salesman, lost his job at the dealership 2 weeks later. Not specifically because of Dean Martin, but because his pattern of judging customers by appearance had been brought to management’s attention, and they’d started watching him. He made the same mistake with three other customers in 1 week. Harold fired him personally.
In [snorts] 1988, Brad gave an interview to a sales training publication. He’d spent 20 years learning to be a better salesman, a better person. He told the story of the day he insulted Dean Martin. I looked at his golf clothes and decided he wasn’t worth my time, Brad said. I lost a $34,000 sale and my job, but I learned the most important lesson of my life.
You can’t judge a person’s worth by their appearance. Dean Martin taught me that the hard way. I’ve never forgotten it. If this story about treating people with respect, regardless of their appearance, moved you, make sure to subscribe and hit that thumbs up button. Share this video with anyone who needs to remember that class and character have nothing to do with clothes or job titles.
Leave a comment about a time you were misjudged or witnessed someone being judged unfairly, and ring that notification bell for more stories about generosity and the importance of seeing people’s true value. Dean Martin bought five Cadillacs, not for himself, for five crew members who’d worked hard all year.
Because Dean understood something that Brad had to learn the hard way. A person’s value isn’t in their clothes or their appearance, it’s in their character. And sometimes, the guy in the golf shirt has more class than the guy in the expensive suit.