On the morning of February 4, 1912, a mustachioed Austrian by the name of Franz Reichelt climbed up to the first stage of the Eiffel Tower.
Reichelt was a tailor by trade, but he was up there on the viewing platform as a groundbreaking inventor.
In fact, he wore his invention — a large padded suit, which contained a parachute.
Reichelt’s initial tests with dummies had been successful. However, he was unable to reproduce those early successes.
As a result, he became convinced that he needed a greater height for his parachute to open.
So he got permission from the Paris authorities for a test from the Eiffel Tower, claiming that he would only drop a dummy or two.
Reichelt’s real plan, however, was to toss himself off the tower to dramatically prove his invention was sound.
The morning was of February 4 was cold, with temperatures around freezing. A short film taken of the event showed Reichelt’s breath in a fog as he climbed up on a table and a stool, and put his foot on the railing of the viewing deck.
He stood there rigidly, leaning forward bit by bit, apparently willing himself to take the decisive leap. This hesitation went on for about 40 seconds.
And then he did it.
He pushed off from the railing, stepped into empty space, and jumped down from the tower.
A second film, shot from ground level, showed the parachute wrapping around Reichelt as he fell for a few seconds, before hitting the ground in what appeared to be a cloud of dust.
Reichelt’s parachute design did not prove successful.
He did not survive the drop from the Eiffel Tower.
In fact, he made a 6-inch dent in the turf below as he slammed to his death. He was gathered up, taken to the hospital, and pronounced a fatality, an inventor killed by his own invention.
It’s a morbid story.
But I don’t bring it up to illustrate the folly of chasing your dreams at any price (though I think that’s a good lesson in today’s go-go society).
Instead, I want to point out why somebody would basically wrap himself in a bunch of bed sheets and jump to his death, even though small, safe tests with dummies didn’t give him much reason to believe he would survive.
The Paris newspaper Le Gaulois claimed that it was because only half the term “mad genius” applied to Reichelt.
But maybe it wasn’t even one half.
Because according to his friends, Reichelt felt pressured to make a dramatic demonstration.
This, he believed, would be the only way to attract sponsors and make a profit before his patent expired.
So he convinced himself his invention was sound, he decided it was now or never, and he took the decisive step.
So much for the story of the unlucky Franz Reichelt.
At least people know his name 100 years after his death.
But if that’s not the kind of success you aspire to, then perhaps you can take Reichelt’s story as the illustration of the power of urgency. Which, incidentally, might just be the most powerful appeal in any kind of persuasion.
I don’t have any urgency in the form of a deadline for you today, but I will have one soon. In the meantime, if you want to talk about having me write sales copy for you, just send me an email and we can talk about more mundane, but cheerier things, such as growing your business.