I enjoy the daily “Writer’s Almanac” email I get from Garrison Keillor (or his staff). These always have interesting tidbits and historical notes about writers related to the current calendar date. A typical opening is “It’s the birthday of….”
Well, today is the birthday of John E. West (1914-1997), my maternal grandfather, who has been referenced in this blog from time to time. Pawpaw was a gifted writer and storyteller who wrote extensively without attempting to be published (boy, does that sound familiar). This gift, if you want to call it that (actually, I think I like to “have written” more than I like to write) was passed on to me, helped by the time we spent together, the stories he told and the encouragement he gave me. I’ve wondered many times if he would have embraced the blogosphere had he been born 30 years later, and if so, what his stories would have been like without his experiences from the early part of the last century.
The closest I can come to finding out is to run one of his stories from his youth here. The following account took place in the mid-1920s in and around the small community of Cuba, Missouri. It’s a humorous look back at the way life was then and an enlightening glimpse at the first “marketing guru” in the family. I hope you like these apples.
During my early years, from the ages of ten through twelve, I had considerable exposure to working with apples. My sister and brother-in-law purchased a fruit farm that had approximately eighty acres in apples. I participated in about every phase of work in the orchard, from pruning trees, spraying, picking, pressing cider and peddling apples from town to town, street to street, and door to door. The only part of the work that I enjoyed was the selling from door to door.
The work was seasonal, and mainly after school and on weekends. The brother-in-law managed to keep me occupied selling if enough apples were picked by the pickers to keep me busy. The brother-in-law, referred to as Boss, always drove the truck and worked with me when peddling. We “peddled apples” ? the word “delivery” was not a part of our vocabulary.
The mechanical equipment we used was badly worn, along with being obsolete. The Osborns were burdened financially and tried to make do with the equipment that was purchased along with the farm. At the end of the rainbow they could see hopes of replacing the equipment, but to my knowledge the end of the rainbow eluded them forever.
Most everything we worked with was of a “jerry-built” nature, especially the trucks. Much time was lost in trying to keep the equipment in repair, especially the delivery truck. This narrative could be quite lengthy to the average reader with little interest in apples. Briefly, then:
Our first peddler truck was a Model T dray truck of 1918 vintage. It had seen service and been worn threadbare on produce row in St. Louis and how it held together to make the trip from St. Louis to Cuba was an unsolved mystery. It was a greater mystery as to how Boss Osborn was capable of resurrecting equipment from junk yards that would not fall apart until he managed to get it home. One example was the 1918 Model T dray truck, which by simple deduction proved this statement. After a dozen years of service on commission row in St. Louis it no longer had a future.
To fully appreciate the character of the Model T one must visualize a semi-panel truck with a wood-ribbed top covered with fabric. The sides and rear were open with protective covering which was rolled up at all times while in use for peddling apples. This vintage equipment was outfitted with high pressure tires which were inflated to sixty pounds of pressure and equipped with innertubes. Tubeless tires were not even a dream when this truck was built.
The tires were not developed to a high standard and were a constant problem. Considerable time was spent repairing tires on most trips. This was expected and accepted. The size of the tires was 30” by 3 1/2”. The wheels were made with spokes of wood with an attached flared rim that required special tools to mount or dismount a tire. An air hand pump was also part of the special tools. A common term frequently used was a “blowout” because when a tire ruptured it created an explosion that meant trouble. Tires were of poor quality and certainly not designed to carry a load even had the quality been better.
The Osborn orchard was located on the Bailey Road between Maple Shade and Oak Hill Roads. Traveling east toward the Maple Shade Road requires negotiating a steep rough hill known as “Jimmy Enloe Hill”. The incline was steep and made up of gullies that made it quite an obstacle course. Good roads did not exist. The condition of the roads are mentioned in order to offer an image of what the Model T had to contend with and why it performed in a reluctant manner. Perhaps to the reader who did not live during the Model T Ford era, a brief description of some of the Model T features will offer a better appreciation of its performance, or non-performance.
It was learned early on that negotiating hills was not what the Model T did best. It could not generate enough power to climb hills under load, and did not have a braking system that was capable of stopping it when going down hills. It was necessary that the brake band be replaced frequently since one small band in the transmission was all the brake it had.
Another arrangement that gave trouble was the fuel system. The gasoline tank was located under the seat and fed the gas to the carburetor by gravity flow; there was no pump in the fuel line. This system did all right when traveling on the level or down grade. Traveling up hill was another situation. If the grade was not long there was enough fuel in the carburetor to carry over the hill. If the carburetor emptied before reaching the top of the hill the Model T had no choice, it stopped running. If the fuel supply in the tank was low this was even more pronounced. It was soon learned that the problem could best be solved by climbing hills in reverse gear.
Apple harvest came in early Fall. After several days of picking there would be a backlog of apples ready for market. On the evening before we were to move out with a load we would load the Model T down with approximately twenty bushel baskets of apples in order to get an early start to market the following morning.
Our first trip out took us over the “Jimmy Enloe Hill”. This first encounter with the hill got us better acquainted with the Model T. Under full throttle we made a run for the hill and just as we approached the steepest part of the grade the Model T balked. No fuel was reaching the carburetor; the laws of gravity refused to be defied. This was when we learned that the braking system was not up to handling the load. We also learned that the wheel alignment on the old truck, when rolling backward with slight momentum, allowed the front wheels to whip from side to side and prevented the steering from controlling the stability of the Model T.
Fortunately the side ditch was not deep and the brake had enough effect to slow the momentum to the point that the truck eased into the ditch gently without damage to the truck or cargo. After turns at cranking, the Model T sputtered into a start and gradually revved into normal performance. It failed, however, to develop enough power to extricate itself from the ditch.
The solution was to off-load the cargo. The Model T responded by climbing out of the ditch on its own power. The load was replaced and one more attempt was made at climbing the hill. Again, just as the steepest point of the hill was reached and hopes were raised, the old T sputtered and died. After succeeding in getting the T turned around so we could back up the hill, another attempt was made in reverse. This strategy also failed. The old T tried to cooperate but did not have the power to carry the load in reverse. The obvious answer was a part of the cargo. With the load reduced to half, the hill was topped. Basket by basket, the balance of the load was hand carried to the top of the hill and loaded on the back of the T. Every future effort was made to bypass Jimmy Enloe Hill. The Model T was only used one season.
Peddling apples door-to-door was actually enjoyable once the destination was reached. It seemed that we were spending more time on the road reaching the sales territory than was being devoted to selling. Boss Osborn was content with letting me do most of the selling. Much of his time was spent keeping the delivery equipment in operation.
He had no objection to my developing a strategy that created more sales. We agreed to increase our base price by twenty-five cents per bushel, thus making it possible to offer a like discount on sales of five bushels or more and still realize the same net price. Boss Osborn was in doubt about my strategy, but it soon proved successful and I was promoting orders for future deliveries among neighbors and relatives for five bushels or more. This was known as the “Apple Butter Special Discount.” We soon found our deliveries picked up so much that the pickers were falling behind and it became necessary for me to help in the orchard from time to time, which had little appeal for me.
In the end, the Model T turned out to be an occupational hazard. Boss Osborn received a broken arm while attempting to crank it. This came at the time my second season on the job was starting. This speeded up the process of getting a new truck. This did not prove to solve all the transportation problems; it merely traded one group of problems for another.
Boss Osborn’s judgment of a truck to match the need did not solve our problems. The replacement: a 1924 model Chevrolet 1 1/2 ton truck with only a flat bed. I don’t recall the origin of the truck, but I do recall Boss Osborn’s arrival at the orchard after dark, driving a rig without functioning headlights. Trying to drive the Chevy with one arm in a sling was no small chore, but he managed.
My first appraisal of the new acquisition came after daybreak the following morning. It was revolutionary compared to the Model T. It was cumbersome, badly abused and proved to be extremely rough riding, even when fully loaded. It appeared that our tire trouble may have come to an end since it was equipped with heavy duty truck tires that were in good condition. It was a new experience in driving since it had a different type of transmission and the gear shift on the floor had to be shifted by hand.
This particular model of Chevy, we were to learn, had a very sensitive clutch that was impossible to engage without a sudden grab and go. Shifting gears required the use of both feet: one foot to operate the clutch and one to operate the accelerator. It also required both hands: one to shift the gears and one to steer.
One can easily appreciate the problem that faced a driver with one arm in a sling. Exact timing was required to coordinate everything involved in shifting the gears. It did have an electric starter that did not work. On the plus side, it was capable of hauling as much as one hundred bushels of apples when fully loaded. It came naturally that we would always refer to it as “The Rig.”
Of the towns we peddled in, the best two markets were Owensville and Sullivan. Owensville was an exceptionally good market during Apple Butter season. Our first adventure with The Rig was a trip there. Boss Osborn was at the controls of The Rig and we had made an effort to work as a team by my shifting the gears while Boss handled the steering, clutch and accelerator. After my shifting into reverse gear when trying for second the program was canceled.
After our first stop in Owensville and a move to the opposite side of town, I failed to remove the crank from The Rig after starting it. The next time we started to move locations it was discovered that the crank was missing, and it dawned on me that it would be found somewhere between the two stops. After retracing our trip across town I was fortunate in finding the crank in the street near where I had last used it.
On this first day in Owensville I also experienced an embarrassment that I will likely remember the rest of my life. We were on Marvin Street opposite the mill and power plant in the late afternoon, and had only a small amount of apples unsold. I insisted that we canvas the few houses on this street before quitting for the day.
I entered the front porch of one of the homes and rang the door bell and then stepped back, waiting for the door to open. A gentleman opened the door and waited patiently for me to give my sales pitch. His reply was, as he pointed toward the porch floor, “Can’t you see that you are standing in wet paint?”
He was right; that is what I was doing. I am not sure, but I think I attempted an apology as I backed down the steps. I had walked past a temporary barricade that should have been impossible not to see. The paint was dried to a tacky consistency, but some damage was done. He did not buy any apples, nor did I push my luck by trying to sell any to him. It was time to travel on. Incidentally, the color of the paint was a beautiful battleship gray.
The Chevrolet truck was not the ideal peddlers truck for door to door. The load was too high off the ground for convenience. The motor was beyond redemption. It used oil to excess and it was necessary that we carry oil on The Rig in order to add oil when needed, which was often. The oil consumption contributed to another problem.
The sparkplugs were constantly fouling up and causing the motor to misfire. This also interfered with the starting of the motor. One time one pull on the crank and it would fire right off; other times any number of pulls and it would not fire until all the sparkplugs had been pulled and cleaned by hand. On an evening before we were to start out with a load we would remove the spark plugs and clean them so that The Rig could be started the next morning.
Another problem was that the brakes soon wore out. While we waited for a time to replace them we used the gears for braking. When we started The Rig we usually put it in gear to act as a brake.
An incident of interest occurred in Sullivan on Maple Street. Boss Osborn was still nursing a broken arm and was inactive much of the time in selling. We parked on the north side of Maple Street in the second block west of Clark St. in an area of better homes. Boss Osborn left me to solo it while he drifted off in search of commercial business on Clark St.
After working the homes in the block I proceeded to move The Rig further up the street. We had learned that The Rig started better with the gas set at half throttle. Access to the ignition from the ground was made easy since The Rig had an open cab without doors. With everything set at ready I inserted the crank and gave it a pull. The Rig came to life with a leap forward like a bronco leaving the chute. This time it was ready for a one-pull start.
I braced my feet with both hands on the radiator, hoping to hold it off until I could get out of its way, but to no avail. Having succeeded in stepping aside out of harm’s way I jumped onto the running board and grabbed the steering wheel with my left hand in one move. The steering wheel was made of wood sections of approximately eight inches in length and joined together originally with glue. The section I held in my hand separated from the wheel and caused me to fall back. Luckily I grabbed the remaining part of the wheel in my right hand and succeeded in pulling myself into the cab behind what was left of the steering wheel. By the time I became anchored well enough to be secure, The Rig had responded to the hard pulls to the steering wheel enough to cause it to turn sharply to the left across the street toward the front of the house on 250 Maple Street with little time to correct its course. As The Rig jumped the curbing into the front yard I wrestled what remained of the steering wheel enough to divert The Rig across the corner of the yard and off onto Bell Street.
The Rig boasted a suspension system that would have accommodated a Sherman tank. It became semi-airborne as it jumped the curbing and landed in the manicured lawn, tossing twenty bushels of fancy apples fresh from the Osborn orchards, plus fifty or more empty baskets, into the air to fall like hail from a cloud over the entire front lawn and out onto the street.
Before the upheaval, the red apples had been segregated from the yellow ones in separate baskets, but they were now a scramble of colors in a yard filled with apples and empty baskets. Little thought was given to the problem at the time as the main concern was how to stop a run-away truck that used the second gear for a parking brake.
While regaining my composure I rang the door bell at the home that now had a yard full of apples, planning to apologize or do whatever was necessary to make up for dumping twenty bushels of apples in their front yard. I got no response and actually felt temporary relief that there was nobody home. There was no choice but to set about picking up the apples and getting them back into the baskets.
Boss Osborn appeared on the scene before I had made much progress. He was surprised, but laughed at the predicament. He asked what and how it had happened. I was perhaps too shook up for detail and suggested that he take a look around and see if he could figure it out. We spent quite some time getting the apples picked up and loaded back onto The Rig.
This season ended my career as a door to door apple peddler. It had been valuable experience more than I realized at the time. The conditions were hard scrabble, as were most conditions at the time. Had the economic circumstances been better, Boss Osborn would perhaps not have had need for my services, but no doubt everything was unfolding as it was supposed to. At the close of the season Boss Osborn acquired another truck which appeared to be more of the same problem. It was my good fortune to not become involved in another truck episode. It should be understood that along with all the events that in retrospect appear to be humorous that there was also serious work effort involved.
