Читать книгу Vignettes - Life's Tales Book Three - William M.D. Baker - Страница 7

World War II is over. I am out of the Navy and I have split-up with my High School sweetheart. (See: Vignette No. IX, “My High School Sweetheart and Earl”) I have spent the summer in Sonora visiting with my Dad and my Grandmother, “Mums” and working with the California Department of Forestry at a summer-time fire encampment.

I am now back home in Oakland and preparing to leave as there is nothing here for me since my step-brother, Bert, also out of the Navy, is now married to my sister, Barbara and they are renting a house and planning to build a new one. Therefore, all the free time and attention of my working mother and step-father is directed to them. Also, my younger brother, Jim, is not at home as he is stationed on the East Coast in the Army. I’ve come home to an empty nest.

My closest two friends, Earl and Harold, were both classified 4-F and did not serve in WWII. Earl had shattered his heel in a high school basketball accident and Harold had eye sight problems. When I returned something had changed in our relationships. I have never really understood what happened. I think it was a combination of two things. One, guilt. Guilt of having not served, not guilt of excuse or cheating, just a simple guilt of having not served. The other was that they had made new friends and I became a “what about Bill” when it came to outings and parties. Then there was Earl’s part that he played in the separation of my high school sweetheart, Mary, and me. I wanted away from it all. Once again I stuck out my thumb and headed East not knowing where I was going nor did I really care.

In Denver I checked into the YMCA where Harold and I had stayed several years before. For the next few days I walked the streets looking for a job and tried being twenty-one years of age. I was actually twenty. But when I was in Sonora I got a driver’s license with a false birth year of 1924, making me twenty-one. It was important to me to be twenty-one as it gave me total independence.

Why I had not taken advantage of the Veteran’s programs available at that time I do not know. Perhaps, simply because I hadn’t been pointed in that direction. I was drifting, lonesome and low on money.

I saw an ad in the Denver Post. It read something like this: “Wanted: Young man free to travel the US. Must be 18 or older. Veterans preferred. Free meals and lodging. Contact Mr. Green , ext 123, Denver Hotel.” I immediately called and was told to be at Room W-1 at 9:00 a.m the next morning for an interview with Mr. Green.

My knock the next morning was answered with the door being snatched opened by a young man who stepped aside, bowed from the waist and with a wave of his arm jokingly said, “Do come in, we are waiting for you!” The sitting room was occupied by several young men, some standing, some sitting, who laughingly approved of the antics being displayed. One knowingly asked, “Here to see Mr. Green, we suppose?” I answered affirmatively to which he said, “So are we. You ex-Navy?” I answered, “Yes.”, to which the person replied, “So are we, but Mr. Green is ex-Marine Corps. A Captain…. you answering the ad?” I again replied, “Yes” and moved to a vacant wall space as the door to the other room opened framing a beautiful and shapely woman, “Hello Boys, I am Mrs. Green,” she held out a plate of business cards, “please take one of Mr. Green’s cards you will find a number and a time on the back. Please come back at that time, or you can wait” She graciously stepped back and closed the door. My card read, “#4 13:00”

A very tall lankly guy stood next to me, “What’s yer number, bud?” I answered, “four”. He slammed his fist against the wall and exclaimed, “This is bull-shit. I was the first here, before any of you piss-on’s. I ain’t get’n no 9th place. The hell with this.” He exited, slamming the door hard behind him. Three more stomped out. I quietly left, killed time and returned on time for my 13:00 appointment.

The hallway door was standing open and the room was empty. I entered and approached the inner door as it opened. A short over weight man with a head of slicked downed brown hair dressed in a gray vested business stepped into the room, “Nice to see you young man, I am Mr. Green.” He spoke in a measured manner. “Good to see you are on time. Come in.” He stepped to a lounge chair, took a seat and gestured for me to take the facing chair which I did. I looked hard at this man trying to vision him as a hardened Marine Corps Captain. It didn’t fit. Yet, his demeanor and apparent need for control did.

I introduced myself giving a brief outline of my eighteen years and navy service and then waited. He studied me for what seemed a long time before saying, “I sell magazines and if I take you on you’ll be selling them for me. For that, you get a commission less your living expenses, such as your hotel room and two meals a day. If you want more to eat, you pay for it. You keep yourself and your clothes clean. There are two ways to get fired. One is being unshaven or dirty and the other if your commissions don’t cover your expenses.” He hesitated, then continued. “You will be one of a team of eight. We travel in two station wagons and go from city to city. You will be given one of these,” he handed me a soft list of twenty or more magazines ranging from Life to Reader’s Digest and others I did not recognize. Opposite each name was a number under a column headed, “Points”. He gestured toward the folder, “Those points are what you sell. This is a contest. When you reach a plateau your commission goes up. The higher points you earn the more you make. Got it?” I studied the listing and saw that “Life” had the lowest points while an unknown had the highest. I asked why? Mr. Green responded, “The higher the points the more the commission. Your sales pitch is to sell the highest point magazines so you can earn more points on the National Literary promotion.” Again he asked, “Got it?” I nodded. He stood, opened the door and said, “Be here tomorrow morning at 7:00 O’clock, clean clothes, clean shaven and ready to leave.” I was now a magazine salesman.

We traveled East from Denver stopping to sell in small cities. At some of the smaller cities, actually towns, we’d literally “work through the town”. That is, each one of us would be assigned to a side of a street that ran through the town and we’d start knocking on doors. When the street ran out the wagons would pick us up and off we’d go to the next town. At large cities, St. Louis for example, we’d check into a hotel or motel, for two or three days with 3 or 4 guys to a room using roll-away beds. We’d start knocking on doors at 9:00 a.m. and go until 4:00 p.m. If the sales for the day did not meet the quota set by Mr. Green we would be again door knocking from 5:00 to 7:00 p.m.

Many towns had ordinances requiring a license to peddle door-to-door. In those cases we’d work the town in a few hours and be on our way avoiding the cost of the license. In a small town in Tennessee Mr. Green had again skipped the license and distributed us among the town. A couple hours later a police car pulled to the curb and signaled for me to get in, which I did. Two more stops and two more of the crew got in. From there we went to the police station where we were put in a holding cell with the other five members of the crew. We were fingerprinted, photographed and placed two to a cell measuring about 6’ x 8’ with two steel bunks and an all metal wash basin and toilet. Mr. Green was busy trying to negotiate our release, but he had no success until the next morning when he paid the fine of several hundred dollars and we were released.. From then on we skipped towns that required a peddler’s license.

I was with Mr. Green’s group for about four months during which time we sold magazines in major cities in Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina and Virginia. When we reached Richmond, Virginia I owed Mr. Green for my room and meals and he fired me. It was then that I joined the Army Air Corps. I was not a successful magazine salesman.

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