Best Life - April 2009

my defining moment
Keeping
It Real
I left the British Special Forces to
become a Beverly Hills nanny. It taught
me everything about how to sell myself.

When I was 22, I decided to leave the British Army Parachute Regiment, which is a unit like the American Rangers, and go to the United States. I’d heard that experienced soldiers could get Central American military work through contacts in Los Angeles. This was 1982. I was making $40 a week in the British Army, and this kind of military work could run into the $1,000-a- week range. It was a big opportunity.

As I was about to board the plane at Heathrow Airport, my mother grabbed my arm and asked, “What is this ‘security work’ you said you’d be doing?”

I said, “Well, I’m going to find some bodyguard-type work in L. A.”

And she said, “You put us through hell for years by being around the world in different conflicts.” ( While in the military, I’d served in Northern Ireland and in the Falklands War). She said, “Don’t you think it’s time you did something that didn’t involve guns?”

Now, she had no idea that my intention was to seek work in Central America. But she made me promise that I wouldn’t do any more work involving weapons. So I promised.

The trouble was that I had only $200 and one friend in Los Angeles whom I could look up for help. My friend had been working as a chauffeur in Beverly Hills, and he had heard of another family that was looking for

My mom said, “Don’t you think it’s time you did something that didn’t involve guns?”

m ark burnett THE SURVIVOR The television impresario prepares for an Eco-Challenge race.

a chauffeur. It seemed weird, but I needed a job. “Let’s make the call,” I said.

It turned out to be worse than I thought. It was chauffeuring kids around, as well as being a nanny and a housekeeper. So this was a bizarre turn of events! Still, this would give me a roof, a car, and $125 a week, plus time to figure out my next move.

First, I had to pass the interview. Of course, the man couldn’t see hiring a 22-year-old ex-soldier as a nanny, so he grilled me hard. “Can you wash and iron?” he asked. I said, “I was in the British Army for four years, sir. I could put creases in your shirt that you could shave with.” He was having none of it. “How about cleaning?” he asked. I said, “In the army, they inspected for dust with a white glove.” His wife grinned; she wanted to hire me. Then he asked, “Can you cook?” My turn to smile: “Sir, I’m British. Not even my mother can cook.” That made him smile. Later that night, the wife called: “You start tomorrow at 10 A.M.”

Two things made all this “defining.” First, I learned on the fly how to sell myself. Second, I was now living in the home of multimillionaires. It opened my eyes to possibilities. My bosses were giving people. The fact that I didn’t have a college degree and was from a poor part of London didn’t faze them. The father knew I couldn’t be a

nanny forever, so he suggested that I start a small, inexpensive, service-based business and use that as the foundation for building what he and his wife had. And I wanted what they had.

So I started selling T-shirts in Venice Beach, and that’s when I really learned how to sell. Only an idiot sells the same product the same way to every person. The first mission in commerce is to analyze the person opposite you, get to know him a bit, and then adjust your sales pitch to match the person.

That’s the same strategy I used when it came time to sell Survivor and every other television show since. I often look back on those nanny days as fundamental. No matter what you’re doing, you have to be determined to make it work.