Notes From My Knapsack 9-21-17

Notes From My Knapsack 9-21-17

Jeff Gill

 

Door to door to door

___

 

Years ago, I sold Boy Scout popcorn door to door, and got a great story out of the experience: I grew up in Valparaiso, Indiana, and I got to sell a five pound bag of Orville Redenbacher popcorn to Orville Redenbacher.

 

In general, I didn't look forward to the popcorn sale day, when we spread out across the town in various station wagons (it's the early Seventies, okay?), except for the then-rare experience of getting to have lunch at McDonald's, but I did well enough. My younger brother only told me years later that when he had to go out on "Popcorn Day" he'd mime pushing the doorbell, stand there a while, then trudge on; the mom driving his group around would comment on how he had such bad luck with people not being home. He hated the whole process.

 

Fast forward, and my son went around with what became a nationwide popcorn deal for Scouts; he had sold wrapping paper for elementary school in Hebron, mostly to family, and then in band there were candles and candy and a few other vats of cheese that turned out to be more tiny pots of . . . something.

 

Door to door sales are hard. I had a paper route, back when kids delivered papers (again, Seventies), and there would be drives to sell subscriptions. Those prizes were some great stuff, I thought then, and I pushed myself. I got a radio, a trip to a college football game, a few other items, never the telescope or tent or trip to New York.

 

Today, I live near one of our village's entrances off of the expressway. I'm also an officer in our neighborhood association, and when I took that role one of the previous holders told me "one of your jobs is to call the police non-emergency number when solicitors come around." My reaction at first was "really?" But that changed.

 

First, as soon as the weather warmed up, I was amazed at how many van loads of folks would get dumped down the block and set loose with clipboards and order forms. Some were very persistent, and I would see how an elderly lady next door would get nearly-literally arm-twisted. I'd ask "are you registered?" or any other question, and see a shocking eruption of hostility. It became easier to make the call to 1234.

 

Especially after the second or third time the officer would come back, after showing up and tracking down the waif with a pen on a string, and finding out they were runaways. A couple of times a summer, the police would follow the thread back to the van, the "boss," and the hotel room six of them were sharing. Many – not all, but many – of the "subscription sales" and other door-to-door solicitors were not what they claimed, and on more than one occasion one of them would pull the police checking on the location aside and say "help me."

 

I don't know what the right law about solicitation in Granville should be. But the idea that there be some regulation, some way to sort out the situation, other than everyone having to put a "No Solicitation" sign on their door, that makes a world of sense to me.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about your door-to-door experiences at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.