A long, deep shake by a hand that is a bit too large for you, a bit too clammy, one that lingers, with an undifferentiated grip strength, fingers on your wrist just a little too long? That's your son's Pop Warner coach. Well, he shakes like an alligator. Filthy animal. Alligators lie under the water, like dead logs, till they flip their jaws up and crush an egret in one flashing movement. A guy like that is just acting like he's calm, because he knows people expect that he's too big and too strong for his own good. He is. I'm not talking about the fish grip, the one that a really big guy gives you because he's just a little jumpy about people being afraid of him. Those guys let go as soon as you do. Different animal. I'm talking about alligators. I once interviewed Kyle Turley, then the left tackle for the Saints, famous for throwing his helmet across the field in anger. He slipped me a big-time gator--slow and scaly--and I just knew he was pretending to be small for me.
There are people who shake like a sparrow, making their hand smaller than it needs to be, lighting upon the other person's hand rather than gripping it. This is a lousy shake. It conveys the commitment of a bird that lives its entire life caught in the posture of scanning the physical world for predators. If you are going to lift your hand from your side in the first place, then get in there. Apply pressure. Dwell in it a bit.
And then there are the Big Cats. Cool name, but these guys aren't animals at all. They're salesmen, and their handshakes tell you so. They show strength--extra-firm grip, an insistent rhythm, a bizarre enthusiasm--but it is more of a reminder of what they want from you than it is a statement of self. These are the kinds of guys who learned their handshake in a seminar somewhere. They might use two hands--one for the shake, the other to grasp the bend of your elbow unnecessarily. Note to Big Cats: An accent like this should be reserved for moments that matter--funerals, state dinners, the closing of estates.
My best handshake is a sidewinder--coming in with my wrist cocked a bit, swinging my hand on a little orbit from the hip. I use it when I'm happy to see people. I found that once I paid attention to it, I was pulling the other person closer, just a bit, by turning his hand toward me with just the subtlest pinch of domination.
A handshake sets the tone. I like to dominate a little, to define things a bit at the start, so I do my little doorknob twist, or I pull the person in for a little hug. That is my way; it doesn't have to be yours. Just don't look at the other person's hand while you're reaching; that's a tell, a sure sign of insecurity. Look at his face, his eyes; concentrate on what he is showing you.
THE ONE HANDSHAKE I most remember was my father's when I went to visit him in a nursing-care center in Albany, where he is recovering from a stroke. He was in his wheelchair when I got there, facing the window. I reached over his shoulder to touch his hands, and he pulled me around for a look and a shake.
"Pop," I said, reaching out and taking his hand. It was smooth as ever, though a little loose. I gave him the extra pressure, a bit of a sidewinder pull, and bent down for a kiss. "Wow, nice grip," he said. "Your hands are soft. You must be making real money." I told him I was doing okay. I asked how he was, and he allowed that he'd been better. He told me he loved the trees where he lived now. Didn't I like the trees? I turned for a look, but it was hard to see, because he held my grip. I have learned that sometimes you don't let go.