Growing Up in Small Town America, The Door-to-Door Salesman
By Jerry O’Meara
I grew up in Urbana, Ohio, during the 1950s – 60s. Urbana was a unique little town situated about 40 miles west of Columbus. The population was around 10,000. In those days, there were many door-to-door salesmen.
For reasons unknown to me, I recently remembered a man named Wilbur. Are you ready for this? Wilbur sold sausage door-to-door! He may have sold other products, but all I remember is sausage, and my mother named our first dog after him. I suppose she liked the name and had decided there would be no more children.
We also had Joe, the milkman. Joe would deliver fresh milk to our back porch every week. There was no problem leaving the door unlocked.
If I were on foot and happened to catch him before he reached our house, he would let me stand on the passenger side of the milk truck and ride to my home. No seat, just a standing area in the front of the truck next to Joe. There was no thought of injury, nor did he have a helmet for me to don. It was small-town America in the late 1950s – 60s. Life was simpler, more peaceful, and respectful. I truly miss those days.
And who could forget the “Fuller Brush Man” who sold his wares door-to-door? One of my first jobs was distributing catalogues for the man in neighborhoods he was scheduled to visit in a couple of days. I did not submit a resume for this position, nor was there an interview process. I believe it was more along the lines of “hey, kid, want to make some money”! I would call it a “drive-by” hiring.
He paid me 2 cents per magazine, which was good money at the time since my weekly allowance was 30 cents. I must have been 11 or 12. He would drop the catalogues off at my house, and all I had to do was ride my bike from house to house, placing a catalogue on each porch. This worked well until one day he threw a giant “curveball” at me!
He told me to start knocking on each door and personally delivering the catalogue. If there was no answer, I was to leave it inside the screened door. Wow, this cut my production in half!
Since I was not an astute businessman at this young age, I didn’t ask for a raise but simply lost interest in my new career soon after this directive. I remember my last day of employment. I could see the salesman in the near distance making calls as I rushed to deliver the catalogues. I nervously hoped against hope that he did not see me. Oh, oh, I was only two days late! I never heard from him again.
Mom bought The World Book Encyclopedia from a door-to-door salesman. I enjoyed those books. They helped me greatly in school and were a lot of fun to page through. Those books were aptly named as they did indeed open the world to me. It seems strange now since the world has become a smaller place, but for a young boy in 1950s – 60s small town America, they offered a captivating new experience.
Late every summer, farmers would drive through the neighborhoods selling freshly picked Ohio corn. I had never tasted such sweet corn in my life, nor have I since!
The Urbana Daily Citizen was published daily, except on Sundays. A man named Floyd was the circulation manager. His daughter had one of the biggest and best paper routes in the city, and it included our house. She was so experienced and talented that she could ride her bike at high speed with a heavy newspaper bag draped over the handlebars, down the sidewalk, and fling the folded papers with impressive accuracy. We had a small front porch just big enough for two chairs, yet she could hit the door between those chairs six days a week! We knew that “The Citizen” had arrived when we heard the thud against the door.
My uncle was a paperboy in Urbana during the 1920s. He used to tell the story that early one Saturday morning, while on his route, a man stopped, called him to his car, and asked if there was a back way through the town.
Tom gave the man directions and later concluded that the man was John Dillinger. My uncle was a brilliant man and maintained for the rest of his life that it was Dillinger he had spoken with.
I remember many stories about growing up in small-town America, and I look forward to sharing more of them with you.
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