It’s been mentioned several times in these “Looking Back” stories how isolated early farm families were and how starved they were for anything that brought a little variety and spice into their humdrum lives. One diversion from their routine was sometimes provided in one of the many itinerant peddlers. These peddlers traveled the countryside beginning in early colonial times and continuing well into the twentieth century.
Many of these “Yankee Peddlers,” so-called because early on so many of them came from New England, went afoot in the early days when few could afford a horse or a mule. These men, called “Pack Peddlers,” carried their stock of goods on their backs and were limited to small items, such as ribbons, combs, shoelaces, sewing supplies, inexpensive jewelry, buttons, and other “notions,” as they were called. The packs or baskets in which the stuff was carried were hung over their shoulders by straps and often weighed one hundred pounds or more. Since the peddler would take most anything in trade — old rags, bits of tin, brass, or other metals, and even garden produce — the packs never got any lighter.
The lucky ones had a horse, mule, or donkey that could carry more and heavier merchandise in baskets or trunks slung across its back. Over time, the stock expanded to include shoes, tin ware, baskets, brooms, and bolts of cloth.
By the early 1800s, many peddlers had brightly painted and decorated wagons, and there was almost no end to what the peddler could offer a farm family. Such things as buttons, brooms, pots and pans, pins and needles, baskets, yard goods, and thread, boots, shoes, patent medicines, firearms, hand tools, clocks, and even furniture might be found at one time or the other among the peddler’s goods. This helped to bring the advantages of the country store to every isolated household in America.
Of course, there were exceptions, but the peddler was a welcome visitor at most farms, and when he showed up, all activity around the house and farmyard ceased. Everyone gathered around to see his merchandise and to listen to his news of the outside world; many of these men had a stock of jokes and funny stories, as well as sometimes juicy tidbits of gossip, that were sure to entertain his isolated customers.
If he called around mid-day, he was assured of being asked to share the family’s dinner and if late in the day, a shed and feed for his horse, as well as supper and a place to sleep for himself, even if it was only the hayloft. After being fed breakfast next morning, he would usually repay the hospitality with a handkerchief or spool of thread for the housewife, a bright hair ribbon for the daughter, or a jack-knife for the young son.
Much has been written about the sharp sales tactics of the peddlers. I’m sure it did go on, although most of them relied on repeat business, and it was to their great advantage to keep their dealings with the customers pretty much above board if they didn’t want to be met by the muzzle-end of a shotgun the next time they came around.
Most peddlers were keen students of human nature and they used it to enhance sales. One clock salesman described how this worked. After outrageously flattering her appearance and housekeeping, he told one housewife that he had just one clock left and he had half promised it to Mrs. Jackson down the road. She asked to see it, so he brought it in, set it on the mantle-piece and told her the price. The two of them admired the clock, and he could see she wanted it badly. Just then, her husband came in and, while he too admired the clock, he already had a watch and said they didn’t need a clock. The peddler then said he had but a short while to get to his next stop and needed to travel light so he’d just leave the clock in their safekeeping until he came back through, when he’d pick it up and take it to Mrs. Jackson. |
Later, he remarked to a colleague, “Now, that clock is sold for forty dollars that cost me just six-fifty. She’ll never let Mrs. Jackson have it, nor will hubby learn until I call for the clock…how hard it is to give it up. We can do without any article of luxury we never had, but it’s not in human nature to give it up voluntarily. I’ve sold lots of clocks that way…I trust to soft sawder (flattery and sweet talk) to get it (the clock) into the house, and to human nature that it never comes out.”
When I was a boy in the early 1940s, a man would stop at our farm every month or so. In his truck, he had sewing supplies, tea, coffee, spices and such things. I don’t recall what company he represented, but we called him “The Tea Man,” so it was probably the Jewel Tea Co. One day before WWII, when I was in the first or second grade, he stopped and carried in his sample case to show mom what he thought she might need. He also brought in a small red box and set it on the kitchen table. While he and mom chit-chatted, I was drawn to that red box — it was made of heavy cardboard, with a top and front that would unsnap and fold back, revealing a top tray divided into several compartments. Best of all, there were two shallow drawers, also divided into compartments, with little brass knobs to pull and slide them out. Snuggled in the various compartments were such treasures as pencils, a penholder with steel points, a wooden ruler, a tin protractor, a gum eraser, assorted crayons, and a tray of water color cakes and a paint brush.
Man, did I want that pencil box and begged mom for it. She shook her head no — we were still suffering the effects of the Great Depression, and she wasn’t going to spend money on anything so frivolous as a pencil box! Well, the adults continued talking, and I continued fooling with that pencil box. Somehow — I don’t think it was on purpose — I broke a crayon! Then mom felt she had to buy it and, although not at all happy, she did so. I had my red pencil box, but I have no recollection of it after that day.
Sam Moore
