My Summer Selling Encyclopedias in Pittsburgh

In 1964, I graduated from high school and a few days later, I was "on the road" with Bob Dylan in my head, my thumb out, a guitar and a satchel of clothes my only baggage. I also had a German Lugar pistol which couldn't fire, but a friend had given it to me, "just in case." In case of what, I wasn't quite sure, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Anyway, I was FREE!

I made my way north to Erie, and managed to make some money singing in a Holiday Inn bar. Songs like "Early Mornin' Rain" and "Blowin' in the Wind" (and other songs, missin' a final "g") made up my repertoire.  With a sign in large block letters saying "Newport" taped to my guitar case, I got rides across New York state and into New England fairly easily, mostly from guys who seemed to relish the "idea" of being on the road, but who had families and regular jobs. They often plied me with hamburgers and a little cash after I'd given them my best shot of folk music.

I was having a great time, but I only lasted a month. I made it to Newport Rhode Island, had eye opening experiences almost every day, but the police wouldn't let you sleep on the beach, and I, in a moment of introspection, decided I'd better head back to Pittsburgh. I had signed up for that whole college thing after all, and, there was also this unfortunate misunderstanding with a bunch of guys who were in Officer's Candidate School at the naval base. Also...I was broke.

My thumb and dwindling funds got me as far as New York City, but after standing there trying to hitch a ride from 42nd Street for 4-5 hours, I went into the Western Union. My mother, thankfully, wired me enough money to get a Greyhound back home. She worked as a restaurant cook helper and money was always day to day, but as a kid, I didn't consider that. I still feel bad that I didn't appreciate her help as I should have, but I was 18 and...well, I was 18.



Once home, I realized, I should look for a summer job like all my college bound friends. For some mysterious reason, I thought I might be good at selling encyclopedias! Maybe it was the splashy "want ad" which said "highly paid outdoor work!" So I called the number, and a woman named Mildred signed me up. I went to the "training sessions" for the next few days. I remember thinking, "I'm going to make a fortune doing this!" The deal we offered was too good to believe! You got an entire Collier's Encyclopedia, for only ten cents a day. We even provided a little piggy bank for people to put the dimes in. And what they got in return, was "all the knowledge of the world," and we practically guaranteed that their kids would graduate at least cum laude from the university of their choice! Who wouldn't jump at this offer?



So it was with great anticipation that I loaded into my group leader's 1964 Lincoln with 5 other young men, off to my first field experience. Carrying a case with a couple sample volumes and a mockup of the whole encyclopedia, a sample piggy bank, all the paperwork to make sales, and a sandwich for lunch, we were dropped off at staggered locations around the Pittsburgh neighborhoods.



The whole piggy bank thing was a ruse, though. We were told to make the REAL offer once they agreed to the piggy bank deal. The total price was less, but they had to come up with a sizable down payment. THAT was where I always seemed to get stuck. Once the customer actually had to hand over some money, thing went down hill fast, and sometimes in a rather unpleasant manner. Over the course of a few weeks with no sales, the air went out of my enthusiasm. Jack, my group leader always seemed to drop us off in lower middle class neighborhoods. I walked East Liberty and McKees Rocks and Neville Island and Springdale and every tired little mill town along the rivers of Pittsburgh. I'd make my pitch, have it declined, and I'd shuffle off to the next asbestos shingled house with gutters hanging down and a rusted car on cinderblocks in the back yard.

I began to think, "I'm NEVER going to make a sale." You only got paid if you sold something, so I was broke. I knew I had to make some money somehow so I went and sat on a parkbench, trying to figure out what to do next. Then, "fate" stepped in. Jack, spotted me. "What the hell are you doing!" he snapped from the window of his car. He stopped with a squealing jerk and came at me like he was going to throw a right cross! But I'd had enough. I stood up and gave him hell right back, and said "Nobody wants to buy these things, I'm quitting!"

Jack then became a "good cop." He told me I just needed to see how it was done, and he was going to show me! I got kind of enthused again. Okay, I thought, let's give this a try.

 We went together to a house and he knocked on the door. I was fascinated by his confidence. No one came to the door, but someone yelled to "come on in" from the back of the house. So he and I went in and there was a guy sitting in a kitchen chair in a sleeveless tee shirt, with 4-5 beer bottles scattered around. The guy had a typical "beer belly" which made him look pregnant. He also badly needed a shave and a shower. Jack, gave me a kind of wink, implying "now...watch the master at work!." He began his sales pitch the way he taught us, with a little small talk and then told the guy about the "great opportunity" that had just walked in the door etc. The guy didn't say a word at first, he just kind of rocked back and forth a bit. Then he began to get angry...he had a strange look of incredulity on his face. At one point he began to stand up and shout saying something like "who the hell do you think you are coming in to my house...etc."



Jack paused for about three beats, and then yelled right back at him, saying that we had been "invited in!" Jack had had enough now! One of his minions was quitting, and now this boozed up, grizzled grouch was abusing him. Jack tore verbally into the guy and called him names I'd never heard. I think they were German insults because all I got was "dumkoff." Jack was boiling mad. He grabbed me and we got out of there. Jack didn't try to keep me from quitting then. He was practically mute as we picked up the other guys and headed back to the office. I occasionally try to picture the world from Jack's point of view, and when I see something by David Mamet or Arthur Miller, my experiences with Jack provide the context.



I finished the summer as a "Good Humor Man," selling ice cream from a truck and I made some fair cash. I discovered a life lesson: it is a lot easier to sell ice cream than encyclopedias. There were a few drawbacks. I had to learn to drive a stick shift very quickly, and I had to learn how to deal with teen gangs in "the projects." They usually came up to me in groups of 4 or 5, and demanded "free ice cream" or that I stay out of the projects. My trainer told me to only give out "smashed samples" when I could get them, and that generally the gangs wouldn't really do anything to you, because their parents liked having the ice cream truck come into the projects.



I got fired from the job at the end of August. I met a girl on my route, who I can't even picture in my mind at this time, except that she had sandy blond hair and blue eyes. She bought something almost every day for her little sisters. She was probably 18 or so and one day she invited me to "stop by" when I had finished my route, with a little touch on my arm that sent a shiver through me. I finished my route in record time and made it back to her place. We ended up in her back yard, laying in the warm summer grass, kissing and petting for hours. As I made my way back to the truck depot, I tried to come up with some good excuse for my late return. I thought- "mechanical difficulties!" I had once heard of something called a "vapor lock." A vehicle would suddenly just stop running. If you let it cool down for an hour or so, it would then start up just fine. I figured it was my best shot.

Sure enough, when I rolled in several hours late, the manager was furious, since he couldn't leave until all the trucks returned.

I told him the "vapor lock" story.

He told me I was fired.

I knew I only had another week until I had to be in Indiana, PA anyway, so I didn't mind losing the job. As I walked out of the depot to catch a bus home, I felt pretty good about things! College was ahead. Everything was ahead. The summer of 1964 had been great, and the world seemed to be just waiting for me.