It didn’t take a lot of money for a young Boomer to have a few niceties in life. Candy bars were a nickel, ice cream sandwiches were a dime and Fleers Double Bubble Gum was just a penny a chew, but in the 50’s and 60’s, there wasn’t a lot of extra money lying around. Most Boomers had to supplement their dime-a-week allowances with extra income. In other words, many of us had to take on second jobs.
My parents believed in the Keynesian Theory of Child Rearing – that kids needed to make their beds, clean their rooms, feed the dogs, mow the grass, paint the basement walls, babysit younger sisters and take their bikes to the store for an emergency loaf of bread – for free! That was our job. Period. Allowances were gifts, not entitlements, and the weekly handouts were sparse.
One spring – mired in poverty as I was – I read in the back of one of my comic books that you could make extra money selling seeds from a seed catalogue company – vegetable seeds, flower seeds and the like.
I bit.
I mailed in my application to the seed company and within a week I had my wares, though I had to take out Small Business Loan of about $3 to get my samples. My first two sales were easy – my Mom and my grandmother, Mama Ida. Mama Ida didn’t even have a garden, but gave me a nice order for petunias, zinnias, pansies and daisies and paid up front.
“Go call on the neighbors,” my Mom suggested.
Neighbors? Call on them? Gulp!
What if they think I’m a pest? What if they hate flowers and vegetables? What if they slam the door in my face?
The thought of making cold calls to hostile buyers was beyond terrifying. I considered becoming a Monk Trainee and abandoning all thoughts of worldly possessions.
“Go call on the neighbors!” my mother insisted.
So I did.
“Would you like to buy some vegetable seeds for your garden, Mrs. Meadows?” I asked, trembling like a frightened bunny with a hungry fox at bay. The trembling must have worked. She asked me in.
“Sure Jimmie. I’d love some vegetable seeds,” she said.
This was easier than I thought. I soon had an order book filled with sales and sent it in to my boss – the seed guy.
His reply was this: Do you want to be paid with a money order or would you rather have one of our special prizes – like a genuine Hiawatha Bow and Arrow.
That was an easy decision. Naturally I ordered the bow in lieu of commissions.
The bow arrived in two pieces, which is not a good thing for a one-piece long bow. But I couldn’t bear to return it and wait in agony for another one. So I got a roll of electric tape and patched it as best I could. It was one of the great treasures of my life. Just a plain, ordinary bow, I practiced for hours and hours until I could drill an apple through the core at 10 paces, no problem.
Still lacking extra spending money, I decided to sell Christmas cards and wrapping paper that winter. But that’s another story.