Pic,
and
Liberty
magazines. What you’re doing is getting a discount on the magazine which you’d be buying anyway and giving something back to the veterans who gave so much.”
“How much is it?” the woman asked, reaching into her bag.
“Why don’t you take it for three years. You save a lot. You Italian?” Tommy asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Me too,” Tommy replied.
“Uno mano lavo nada”
—one hand washes the other. In minutes the transaction was completed.
“Thank you,” Tommy said, handing her a receipt. “You’ll get your first magazine in a month.” They shook hands.
We said good-bye and were knocking on the next door. It was likeclockwork. The next day I was out doing it myself. I was no Tommy, but I did the spiel and it worked. Part of the magic was the neighborhoods. Two-family houses, Italians, Jews, and Irish were very receptive. For about ten weeks I was selling and making about $125 per week. I was living at home and making more than my father.
On one occasion I knocked on the door of the DeMarcos. The DeMarco sisters were a family that sang on Fred Allen’s radio show. The door opened and one of the sisters invited me in. I didn’t have to say two words. The checkbook was out and I had my order for four years.
One man was not so receptive. He said he had placed an order a couple of months back and not received his magazine. That disturbed me. Of course, it could’ve been a slipup, but it made me suspicious. I went to the sales manager’s office and told him about this man who had not received his magazine. “It’s in the mail. Sometimes it takes a while.”
Suddenly my territory was now shifted to the Inwood section of Manhattan with mostly six-story apartment houses. The tenants were largely Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I knocked on a door.
“Are there any veterans in the family?”
“Come on in,” the woman said. “You a veteran?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Why not,” I said. This job was turning into an adventure. She introduced me to her daughter.
“Please sit down,” they said very sweetly. They sat me down at a table and listened to my pitch. When I finished the mother said, “I really can’t do anything until I consult my husband. He doesn’t come home till 4 P.M. He’s a motorman on the IRT.
“You’re Jewish?” she added.
“Yes,” I said.
She handed me a Bible. “You know, we have many Jewish people in the Jehovah’s Witnesses. The Jewish people were the ones who gave us the Torah.”
For the next two hours I listened as she tried to convert me. She brought me food, coffee.
Finally I said, “I really have to leave.”
“Would you like to come to a meeting this Thursday night?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Why don’t you keep the Bible.” It was very hard to say I didn’t want a Bible, so I took it.
“Could you make a donation?” she asked.
“How much?”
“Twenty-five dollars.”
“I can give you ten,” I said.
“We’ll accept that.” She gave me a receipt and a notice of the next meeting. I thanked her. “You’ll be getting
The Watchtower
in the mail,” she said, and as I left she added, “The Jews were the chosen people.”
The next day I was again assigned the Inwood section, but I didn’t have the heart to knock on another door. I ended up going to a movie,
Duel in the Sun
.
The next day another person claimed they had never received their subscriptions. I called the sales manager and said, “We have to talk.”
At the office I said, “I can’t go on selling when people aren’t getting their magazines. Are people getting their magazines?”
“The trouble with you, Jerry, is you ask too many questions.”
“Well, I quit. I can’t sell knowing they’re not getting what they paid for.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna be an actor,” I said. If I could sell magazines I could sell myself.
“You’ll never have a better job,” he said. “I’m sorry
and
Liberty
magazines. What you’re doing is getting a discount on the magazine which you’d be buying anyway and giving something back to the veterans who gave so much.”
“How much is it?” the woman asked, reaching into her bag.
“Why don’t you take it for three years. You save a lot. You Italian?” Tommy asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Me too,” Tommy replied.
“Uno mano lavo nada”
—one hand washes the other. In minutes the transaction was completed.
“Thank you,” Tommy said, handing her a receipt. “You’ll get your first magazine in a month.” They shook hands.
We said good-bye and were knocking on the next door. It was likeclockwork. The next day I was out doing it myself. I was no Tommy, but I did the spiel and it worked. Part of the magic was the neighborhoods. Two-family houses, Italians, Jews, and Irish were very receptive. For about ten weeks I was selling and making about $125 per week. I was living at home and making more than my father.
On one occasion I knocked on the door of the DeMarcos. The DeMarco sisters were a family that sang on Fred Allen’s radio show. The door opened and one of the sisters invited me in. I didn’t have to say two words. The checkbook was out and I had my order for four years.
One man was not so receptive. He said he had placed an order a couple of months back and not received his magazine. That disturbed me. Of course, it could’ve been a slipup, but it made me suspicious. I went to the sales manager’s office and told him about this man who had not received his magazine. “It’s in the mail. Sometimes it takes a while.”
Suddenly my territory was now shifted to the Inwood section of Manhattan with mostly six-story apartment houses. The tenants were largely Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I knocked on a door.
“Are there any veterans in the family?”
“Come on in,” the woman said. “You a veteran?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Why not,” I said. This job was turning into an adventure. She introduced me to her daughter.
“Please sit down,” they said very sweetly. They sat me down at a table and listened to my pitch. When I finished the mother said, “I really can’t do anything until I consult my husband. He doesn’t come home till 4 P.M. He’s a motorman on the IRT.
“You’re Jewish?” she added.
“Yes,” I said.
She handed me a Bible. “You know, we have many Jewish people in the Jehovah’s Witnesses. The Jewish people were the ones who gave us the Torah.”
For the next two hours I listened as she tried to convert me. She brought me food, coffee.
Finally I said, “I really have to leave.”
“Would you like to come to a meeting this Thursday night?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Why don’t you keep the Bible.” It was very hard to say I didn’t want a Bible, so I took it.
“Could you make a donation?” she asked.
“How much?”
“Twenty-five dollars.”
“I can give you ten,” I said.
“We’ll accept that.” She gave me a receipt and a notice of the next meeting. I thanked her. “You’ll be getting
The Watchtower
in the mail,” she said, and as I left she added, “The Jews were the chosen people.”
The next day I was again assigned the Inwood section, but I didn’t have the heart to knock on another door. I ended up going to a movie,
Duel in the Sun
.
The next day another person claimed they had never received their subscriptions. I called the sales manager and said, “We have to talk.”
At the office I said, “I can’t go on selling when people aren’t getting their magazines. Are people getting their magazines?”
“The trouble with you, Jerry, is you ask too many questions.”
“Well, I quit. I can’t sell knowing they’re not getting what they paid for.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna be an actor,” I said. If I could sell magazines I could sell myself.
“You’ll never have a better job,” he said. “I’m sorry
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