ABE, THE ENCYCLOPEDIA SALESMAN

The mid-twentieth century was in many respects a much simpler era than the digital world that has crept up on society. No internet. No Google. Personal computers and cellular phones unheard of. Many of the devices that have become ubiquitous had not yet been conceived of.

Abe was typical of a 1950s lower middle class family man attempting to eke out a living, feed and clothe the children and provide a relatively decent roof over their heads. As opportunities beckoned which held the promise of a moderately better income, Abe grasped them. A hard-working fellow, he envisaged that his aspiration to climb the social ladder would propel his kids along the path of social mobility. The son of immigrants from Lithuania, Abe’s granddad had been a hawker who travelled along the dusty farm roads of the Little Karoo to sell his trinkets, utensils and other goods that were not easily obtainable in the rural backwaters of South Africa. Abe’s father had stepped on the first rung of the ladder out of dire poverty that had followed them out of their Baltic homeland, from whence they had fled dreadful pogroms visited upon the Jews of Eastern Europe. 

Abe was the first generation of his clan to be born in their new host country. He had tentatively set foot on the second rung of the social ladder when he moved to Cape Town, where he found employment in a general dealership. Whilst at work in a menial job of packing shelves, pricing goods, and hauling stock around, Abe married a delightful Jewish girl he’d fortuitously met. Their progeny it was that spurred Abe to seek a better income, to provide a decent education and the opportunity for advancement that came with it. 

In that era there were many chaps with the gift of the gab who made a good living peddling encyclopedias door-to-door. Abe had an uncanny ability to sell ice to Eskimos – his glib, smooth tongue persuading the most recalcitrant of clients of their desperate need for whatever it was he was trying to palm off onto them. It was not too long before he had gravitated towards the “Encyclopedia Brigade” and landed a job as a door-to-door salesman.

A short fellow, Abe was a tad portly. Nevertheless, he ensured that he was always neatly attired to give the impression of someone who had himself taken steps to improve his lot in life. He intimated by his sartorial appearance that his own acquisition of knowledge from books such as those he was offering for sale, had launched him on the path to success. As a door-to-door salesman he was typical of men of that station in life – always decked out in a suit and tie, bowler hat atop his head, but robust shoes to pound the pavements. In his hand a briefcase packed to the “gills” with leaflets and pamphlets for potential purchasers to digest. The stitching on the leather briefcase was under enormous strain to keep it all together. The pamphlets set out in tantalizing detail the variety of payment options available to those who could not afford the purchase of a product which was unlikely to ever be read by most of his clients. However, the mere display of shelves of encyclopedias would suggest to visitors that no expense would be spared in the interests of the kids’ education and self-improvement. At the level of the lower middle classes it hinted at an ostentatious display of wealth. Friends and relatives would surely be impressed and proud to be associated with an acquaintance so erudite as to own 25 volumes of pure, unadulterated KNOWLEDGE (albeit unopened).

Abe worked the neighbourhoods. He disseminated the sum of the knowledge of the world that had been committed to the printed page – as well as debt. Many of those who surrendered to his eloquent sales talk could scarcely afford the mountain of debt they signed up for. He left in his wake scores of aspirational souls drowning in debt. 

From a vantage point across the street in one of Cape Town’s sub-economic housing schemes, a housewife slogging away in her kitchen, observed Abe fiddling with the latch on a neighbour’s gate. In those days there were few high walls, electric fences and armed response units to chase away intruders. In the relatively safe environment of the time, hawkers and agents could gain reasonably safe access to front doors. One of the few concessions to personal and home security was the ownership of a robust dog and a sign on the diamond patterned fence to dissuade unwanted visitors. Neighbours looked out for one another and could clearly see if there was anything untoward in the yard across the street. It was this panorama that the busy housewife had in clear line of sight.

She anticipated the scenario about to unfold as Abe tinkered with the gate latch. The house he had targeted for his smooth sales talk was owned by an old lady with a sturdy crossbreed Ridgeback/Pittie. Normally confined to the back yard where his food bowl and water were located, Rover was tethered to a long chain. He had free access to the entire back yard, but was also able to move around the house - up to about a metre from the gate. Rover was renowned in the neighbourhood as a sneaky sod. All too often he would linger in the back yard until a visitor gained entry, and then would dart around the house like a bat out of hell to scare the daylights out of the cornered trespasser. His sheer size and the tone of his bark – and growl – were enough to precipitate levitation.

On this particular occasion Rover elevated his craftiness to new heights. He allowed Abe to enter, shut the gate and make his way to the front door. Abe rang the doorbell and Rover launched himself from the back yard. His muscles quivered as he embarked on his mission to snatch a chunk of Abe. Abe caught sight of him as he rounded the pathway and tore down on the poor little fellow whose bowler hat had become airborne and whose briefcase had unhitched itself, spilling leaflets, pamphlets and all manner of stationery across the lawn – at the mercy of gusts of wind. Abe took off towards the gate at a rate of knots and with Rover in hot pursuit. Abe’s suit struggled to hold together the lumps of lard that the sprinting five-foot one inch frame had dissolved into. Like a rocket at Cape Canaveral he left the ground a trifle too early to clear the gate. His velocity and momentum, fuelled by adrenalin coursing through his stout frame, directed Abe’s flight to within an inch of the gate. There an errant strand of wire hooked his trouser leg as he swooshed overhead. The ripping sound could be heard across the street as Abe began his rapid descent to the pavement on the outside of the property.

There was much mirth amongst onlookers in the vicinity as Abe composed himself, leaning on the gate, gasping for breath. Sweat dripped from his now disheveled hair and bald patch. His trousers flapped in the breeze where it had been ripped by the gate, drawing attention to a damp stain caused by temporary incontinence brought on by shock, horror and shattered nerves.

Rover stood on the other side of the fence, still tethered to his chain that prevented him from reaching Abe. Frothing at the mouth, he voiced his displeasure with menacing barks.

Abe departed the scene without his bowler hat, briefcase and any dignity he still had left. So, too, had he provided entertainment to a housewife across the street, kids and other onlookers in the neighbourhood and not least, Rover the Ridgeback/Pittie. As for Abe – he would have a story to tell one day on the stoep of an old age home.

©Paul M Haupt

(Credit to my late mother, Connie (Slabber) Haupt, who told us the story as kids)

Photo of Sheba, my dog now in her happy hunting grounds, who had an uncanny resemblance to Rover.