Mark Coon...Country Companies

Several months before I graduated from Loyola, I began contemplating what I was going to do with the rest of my life. One thought was to become a full-time volunteer with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. Another thought was to get a job. The only problem with option two was I didn't really have any marketable skills. My time at Loyola was spent trying to figure things out. I changed my major at least a half dozen times, and I was about to graduate with a degree in creative writing. It's not like you can become a published writer overnight. I went to career days, filled out applications, took tests, and weighed my options. I was leaning toward going the volunteer route, but I had to have a back-up plan.

During the time I was waiting for my JVC application to be evaluated, I was contacted by Country Companies insurance agency. They told me that I scored one of the highest results scores they had ever seen and asked me to schedule a personal interview with one of their agents.

When I called my father to tell him about the pending interview, he was excited. “That’s a great opportunity!” he said. He whistled with excitement. “You can be set for life if this goes well. You’d be your own boss and everything?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” I told him. “It could take a couple years but, yeah, they said I’d own an office.”

“You can’t mess this up,” he insisted. “I mean, come on, being your own boss AND making money. Looks like that expensive education is going to pay off.” My father laughed. “We’ve gotta get you a suit,” he said. “You can’t go to this thing without a suit. Or maybe you can wear one of mine.”

I refused to wear one of his suits. He was always insisting that I wear one of his suits. Growing up, when we went to formal family gatherings, I had to wear his clothes. Whenever we flew standby on American Airlines, he made me wear one of his suits.

I agreed to meet my father—at JC Penney—to buy me my own suit. I went with a navy blue pin-stripped three-piece suit with a white collared light blue pin-stripped shirt. I also bought a pair of maroon loafers, a maroon belt and a blue patterned tie. Whether or not I had the passion to be an insurance salesman, I was sure I looked the part.

My father was pleased. So pleased, in fact, he bought me the suit. “Go get ‘em,” he told me. He truly wanted me to succeed, and he was proud of my effort.

I went to my appointment to the Country Companies office in Vernon Hills, Illinois. The office was owned by a guy by the name of Mark Coon. For as long as I live, I will never forget Mark Coon.

When I arrived at his office, even though I was standing in a Country Companies office, meeting with the man who invited me, when I shook his hand, he said, “Mark Coon…Country Companies.” It struck me as being an odd thing to say to someone, but I remembered that it was exactly what he said to me when he called to schedule the appointment: “Mark Coon…Country Companies.”

Mark Coon…Country Companies became a joke amongst me and my friend, Andy Palombo. We would repeat his name over and over and make ourselves laugh. We’d use deep, over exaggerated voices. Mark Coon…Country Companies, we felt, was appropriate to use at any situation.

Question: “Do you want to go to lunch?”
Answer: “Mark Coon…Country Companies.”
Question: “What do you want to watch on TV?”
Answer: “Mark Coon…Country Companies.”

We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves at the expense of a man who was prepared to help me start a career in the insurance industry.

He's still around too: http://www.countryfinancial.com/mark.coon/rep/myBioAndTeam