by Ed Baldwin
With the third beer, confidence returned. The way out of this minor slump was just to park the car and walk, bring a salesman along to retrain, hit doors until the natural mooch walks out into the street and drags you into his house. Yeah, that’s the way out of this slump. Walk. Yeah, tomorrow night.
With two weeks to go before the summer contest and with the rush of new salesmen, Burt’s daily exhortations were becoming frenzied. To get points in the contest each district was pitted against its production of the year before plus a number of other wrinkles such as number of salesmen on the sheet, number of salesmen writing their first order and even some collection gimmicks for the branch manager. We were to try to increase production a week or two ahead and start holding orders back so we could put them on the first week of June and get a head start.
In spite of my own personal slump we were still somewhat ahead of Lanny’s sales the year before. Gerald had taken some finals early and was helping out almost full time now. I decided to work hard every night for a week and try to get on the sheet for the first time in months.
Osceola had always been good to me so I took the crew up there for Monday night. I parked the car and began working the neighborhood Jerry and I had first worked my first night in the business. It had been a year and I misjudged the streets. The first house where anybody was home was Harold Long, the deal from last summer.
“Hi. Stopped by to speak with you and the wife for a second. May I step in?” I said, then recognized him.
“Sure. Aren’t you one of the guys that sold us those books?”
“Yeah. I’m stopping by to see how you like the set and to make sure you got everything. We’re going to start selling this month and want to be sure you’re happy.”
“I sure never thought they were goin’ to be no $400. But the girls like to look at the pictures and I guess they’re all you said they’d be.” He showed me the books displayed in the bookcase in the living room.
I thanked him and left, walking the block to the car and having another cigarette. The unexpected shock of running into the Long’s had untracked my enthusiasm for the moment. I cruised around looking for a sure mooch. I stopped at a couple duplexes but couldn’t get into any doors, so I drove aimlessly until I found myself approaching Pat from the backside of the area I had given to her. She was walking briskly down the street but got eagerly into the car when she saw me. It was not unusual for a manager to stop by and chat with the salesmen. In the summer it was nice to cool off in the car and in the winter the warmth was appreciated. It was usually just an exchange of what was happening and then back to work. Occasionally with Pat it was more.
It was not dark yet and she had some appointments lined up but no presentations yet. As we talked I pulled out of the subdivision and onto the highway out of town. We drove toward Wilson, a small town 10 miles down the road. The businesses in the town and most of the houses were owned by the large cotton company that owned and operated thousands of acres of prime farmland. Wilson didn’t allow door to door anything. We knew that but just cruised around looking for maybe a quick deal without having to canvass. We hit a couple doors at the edge of town with no results.
It was almost dark when we pulled up onto a levee overlooking the Mississippi River and stopped the car. Without a word Pat began unbuttoning her blouse. In the three months Pat had been working for Collier’s this had happened periodically. With Honey and Paris to service it wasn’t from lack of sex that I would find myself cruising Pat’s territory. Faced with the alternatives of driving around aimlessly looking for the sure deal, drinking coffee alone in a cafe, or tumbling with this tall blonde in the back seat of a Chrysler, there was hardly a question as to the option I’d pick.
Pat was not suffering from lack of attention either. In addition to her boyfriend on the river she was seeing John, and there was talk of a girlfriend. Not your quickie, this rendezvous was to take up the time until the salesmen would be picked up. Nor was there to be romance. We each approached the proceedings with clinical efficiency. Clothes were removed slowly and folded so as not to wrinkle. Hers were stacked neatly on her side of the front seat while mine were under the wheel so as not to make the mistake of accidental stains.
Methodically, we explored each others bodies with curiosity and some knowledge of what usually worked to bring the other’s excitement progressively to a peak. Inquiries were made as to progress and instructions were hurriedly whispered as the action grew more intense. The climax was essentially simultaneous and completely satisfying. The obligatory cigarette was smoked, each oblivious to the other’s nudity.
“I’m sending someone down to help you in the summer contest,” Burt said, matter of factly one morning later that week.
“I can sure use some hotshot salesmen,” I said gaily, my stomach plummeting.
“You’ll still get all your own overrides, and have a crew—anyone you want. If we’re ever going to get full production out of Memphis we have to hit the summer with all we can muster.”
“You mean a new DM?” I gulped.
“Yeah. Harvey Parnel. He’s the sales manager in Paducah. He’s been around a long time and knows students.” Burt was clearly oblivious to my upset.
“You mean I’m out. Just like that?” I said incredulously. I didn’t feel incredulous.
“Phil, you haven’t written more than one order a week in the last month. You have essentially the same sales organization you had in January and you’re getting half the production. In addition to failing production you have no experience in hiring college students and that is the only chance Memphis has of remaining a district office with Collier.” Burt was certainly helpful, giving me more of an explanation than I wanted.
“Well, I guess I pack up and leave. Or what?”
“Hell no you don’t pack up and leave! You still get DM on your orders, and you still have a crew and you can train. Training is not a bad deal in the summer, with a dozen guys in class every day the$10 trainer override can be a couple hundred a week. Besides, if you ever learn how to write book orders again and break out of that slump you can be right back into a district again. You have to understand this business, Phil,” Burt said, pausing for a moment to play father figure. “Harvey has been a DM a couple times before. We’ve all been up and down. It’s like being a baseball manager—when the team loses, bring another guy in.”
I actually felt relieved. It was getting harder and harder to look at the map of the Mid-South on the wall in my office and decide where to send everyone. I had worked in just about every town in the district and had developed some negative feelings about most of them. I was not transmining confidence to the salesmen and that’s why they didn’t do as well as they had done in January. Maybe the new DM would do something for my production, too.
Barney thought Burt was right. “Lanny was always good with college students,” he said. “In your case Burt just doesn’t know what to expect, and if you don’t get the office off to a good start the first two weeks of June when 90% of the college students are looking for work the whole summer is blown. Besides,” he said pouring the last out of the first pitcher at the Holiday Inn, “You’ll like Harvey Parnell.”
I figured I better learn to like him. Harvey was due in the morning. “So you like the guy who’s taking my job?” I asked a nearly drunk Barney.
“Why not? If he turns the office around, or even turns you around, out of this slump, you’ll be better off than being DM and not making any money.”
“What’s he like?”
“Old Harvey used to be a preacher,” Barney said, rearing back in his seat as if he was about to tell me a great tale. “Then he was a radio announcer in Nashville. He’s really good at hiring and training and could be a regional manager except every time he gets on a roll he quits to start some business of his own and loses his shirt or pisses someone off with some wild assed stunt he’s pulled. The last time he got fired was when he was in Knoxville and took his whole office on a cross country road trip.
They lived on the road for weeks and mailed the orders in all the way to Las Vegas. Talk about pissing people off! Every DM between Nevada and Tennessee was after his hide.”
“I’ll bet that’d be good for morale,” I said, glad to know there were at least some problems attached to wonderboy Harvey.
“You bet. When they fired Harvey the whole office quit with him and went to selling for Grolier for six months until Harvey quit to become a general contractor building condominiums in Florida.”
After the third pitcher we weaved out into the night. Barney climbed into the new Chevrolet wagon he had bought since becoming affluent again. His crew had not shared the slump with mine. It was a full moon and I stood by his car door talking about stars and had two out of the six pack he had bought from the bar. Going out of the lot I sideswiped a telephone pole and peeled a strip of paint off of both doors and the rear quarter panel. I swear that pole had not been there when I parked.
* * *
Chapter Ten
“Do you BELIEVE?” Harvey shouted at the top of his lungs, typical of a Southern Baptist preacher at a revival. The room was filled with students, some just hired that day and some having worked for a week or so.
“Yes we believe!” The group answered in unison, most with smiles on their faces, going along with this weird man wildly gesturing in front of them. At least it wasn’t boring.
“Louder! Do you honestly believe that the only thing standing between you and success is your own lack of confidence and enthusiasm?”
“We believe!”
“Do you believe that if you do everything I say this summer you will make more money than you thought possible in just three months? Do you believe that Collier’s is going to send 20 students to Tokyo?”
“We believe.!”
“I don’t believe it,” he said, suddenly dropping the tone of his speech and pausing. “I don’t believe you really do believe. I don’t believe you really think you can do it. I don’t believe you people are the self starters you think you are. But I believe one thing,” he said, raising his voice back to the fever pitch of before. “You will be!”
The office had been revitalized from the first hour Harvey had been there. First he had met with the field managers and promised us a steady stream of eager students. Then he met with the salesmen who had been in our crews and promised them crews as soon as they got their own production up. Then he took all of us out to lunch—thick steaks, no beer. We started to work at 3 :30 instead of the usual 5:00. And another thing about Harvey—he didn’t run a crew himself and planned to go into the field only if a crew needed help. He only wanted to write the two orders per month required for the DM to get his bonus. His goal was training the best men he could train.
“Listen boy,” Harvey said one day after things had settled down in the office. We were seated in the DM’s office early before anyone came in. Because I was supposed to be the trainer, I was the only one who came in early except him. “I’ve been hearin’ about you since the first time you made the sheet a year ago. They said you were a real comer, a hard working, start early and quit late comer. They said you could charm the socks off a statue. Now I see you blanking week after week, having illicit sex with that girlie in your crew, driving around looking for the sure deal and never finding it. You ain’t worth a damn.”
“Hey Harvey,” I broke in. “Don’t be so hard. I’ve been in a slump. Haven’t you ever been in a slump?” I was hurt but tried to sound only irritated.
“You even teach the others your bad habits,” he said, not letting up. “That girlie hasn’t written an order in two weeks. I don’t know why she keeps coming to work. She made the sheet a couple times in April. She’s gonna quit, boy.”
“Look, Harvey, I’m gonna start parking the car and working on foot like I used to. That should break the slump. Don’t you think?” I said, almost pleading now. It was looking like he was thinking of taking the crew away.
“Where you living since your wife kicked you out? You living with that girlie?” he asked, ignoring my question.
“No.” I said truthfully. I was living with Paris. She had terminated the cotton buyer and I was paying the bills now. The pubic hair incident had apparently been to free me up for full time service. It had worked well.
“You got a week and then I’m taking your crew myself. If you don’t write two orders yourself this week you can start parking that big Chrysler in the lot downstairs and riding in my car.”
Harvey’s gaze was cold and there were no words of encouragement to close out the ass chewing. I was in a sweat, yet felt a reprieve as I was expecting the axe anytime.
Al Martin and Thomas Cathards showed up the second week of summer. Al had intended to write orders through the winter but had never turned one in. Both were hot to get started with a crew as soon as there were enough men. Ever on the alert for an opportunity to get production, Harvey had promised the first crew to the man who wrote four orders in a week.
My slump seemed to put me into an undesirable status. Al and Thomas had been in training class with me the first week. We had gone on road trips together. Al had even been in my first crew for awhile, yet now both of them only exchanged greetings and went on to talk with the new men. It was as if my bad fortune would rub off on them or something.
Determined to write an order and make the crew look good that night, I dropped them off in some of the sacred territory around Memphis State and then went further out east to the tall doors where the high rollers live. I had scored there easily the night I trained Pat. Surely there was another order there somewhere.
East Memphis is a big area. Wanting to find the exact place to park the car so it wouldn’t be too conspicuous and so I wouldn’t have to go back to it to move later took awhile. It was still early though, and I began to walk.
Finally, I had a good afternoon, making several appointments for later that evening. Husbands don’t show up so early in this kind of neighborhood so it was 6:00 before I found one and was invited in.
“Hi, Phil Lazar. We’re talking to all the young couples in the neighborhood. Got a minute?”
“Not really.” he said, still standing at the door. He had a drink in his hand and was still in a business suit, as I was. It seemed a challenge to convince him. I decided to put us both into the category of weary businessmen. After all, we were dressed alike.
“I know it’s late, but we’ve got to get this thing finished this week and the office is so far behind that I’m chipping in myself. Five minutes and I’ll be out.”
He opened the door without another word and led me into the parlor. He summoned his wife without question and they sat together on the couch. I started the small talk.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name at the door. I’m Phil Lazar.”
“Alvin Michaels. This is my wife Elizabeth.”
“Well, what line of work are you in, Mr. Michaels?”
“I’m an attorney.”
“Oh, that’s interesting.”
“Interesting? Why?” he asked, raising an attorney’s eyebrow.
“Well, I don’t see many attorneys.”
“You aren’t looking. There are three on this block,” he said without expression and then looked at his watch. I decided to cut the small talk and get into the interview.
It didn’t go well. He began taking notes. Goddamn lawyers have got to act like they’re so in control of everything. He asked me to spell “Collier’s” to be sure he had it spelled correctly. I found that distracting, then he asked me how to spell if I spell my name with one “z” or two.”
I quickly cut it short and split. All I needed was for some smart assed lawyer to pull the same thing on me that bread truck driver did and then I’d spend another night trying to figure out what went wrong. I let them disqualify early and was out in just over the five minutes. Let their kids grow up ignorant, I don’t give a shit.
Down the street I knocked on a door with a mezuzah on the door. I thought that was a goo
d omen. I always did well with Jewish families. A lady answered.
“I stopped by to speak to your husband. Is he in?”
“I’m a widow. My husband died last year.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I need to speak to you then. You’re the head of the house?”
She let me in without a question. There were several older children about, teenagers or almost. She introduced each child, even the neighbor kid from across the street.
“This is Mr. Lazar, Carolyn. He’s doing a survey or something in the neighborhood. This is Carolyn, my oldest. She’s in the ninth grade.”
“Pleased to meet you, Carolyn. Perhaps you’d like to sit in while I ask a few questions,” I said, matching her somewhat formal style. The brat sat down and listened. The younger ones went into another part of the house after the introductions and turned on a television too loud.
“So you see our dilemma, Mrs. Blank. We must find a family that would use our set of reference books for their inherent value and not just because they were placed here without charge.”
“How did you pick me to receive these books?” the wife asked innocently.
Still on guard from the lawyer down the street, I wasn’t taking any chances, “Just cold canvas, trying to find the right family in this geographic neighborhood.”
She seemed to accept that and the presentation proceeded.
The brat feigned boredom but kept her eyes on the whole proceeding without any distractions. Toward the end the other two came in and watched from the door. I knew this was to be my deal and wasn’t about to let it slip away.
“It sure sounds like we’d like to be your family in this area, but I’d have to check with my attorney. I never sign anything without discussing it with him.”
“That’d be fine with us, Mrs. Blank. We have to make our decision tonight, however. If you’d like to call him over I could go over the guarantee with him. However, lawyers are expensive and his time might cost you more than the small amount of money involved here. The guarantee is in very simple language, and I think you could follow it and make your decision without any counsel.
