Story so far: The Old Saleswoman is thrilled to have made her first big sale at WWVA Radio-a remote broadcast from Ron Small's Mobile Homes. But she has to get cash in advance.
It was about eleven am on a Friday morning in early May. Lou, a WWVA announcer, and I were two hours into a three-hour remote broadcast. The weather had cleared after some early morning showers but had left behind a series of mud puddles in front of, and in between, the dozen or so mobile homes sitting on the edge of route forty, at Ron Small’s Mobile Homes.
A temporary sign with black plastic letters, sat in a two-inch deep puddle, telling everyone to “Kiss Your Landlord Good-Bye!”. One of the banners hung up for the occasion had fallen across the front of the sign, so it read “Kiss your _____Lord Goodbye!”. I’d made a mental note earlier to move it, but with all the excitement and confusion brought on by the appearance of the fake Box Car Willie earlier that morning, it had slipped my mind.
Box Car Willie was a popular country singer in the ’70s, who had inspired a few imitators. There was one fake Box Car who was especially good, affecting the appropriate suspenders, pork pie hat, red bandana, and full red beard perfectly. He even kept a train whistle in the back pocket of his overalls to blow when things got dull, or attention was lacking.
He liked to hang out at radio remotes, shopping center openings, parades, or anywhere else where there might be a small crowd and free food. The real Box Car Willie had gotten wind of these “Fake Box Cars” and sent out a list of secret questions and answers for city officials and radio station managers to ask if any Box Car Willies showed up at an event. Lou had tested our Box Car about an hour ago, and he had failed miserably. His removal had been a little rough and Lou was just now getting back in good form.
“Good Morning Ohio Valley, it's eleven fifteen and we’ll be broadcasting here till noon at Ron Small’s Mobile Homes, and I’ve got albums to give away. The first person to show up here at Ron Small’s Mobile Homes with a full set of their own teeth gets a Statler Brothers album."
I looked over at Lou, to see if he was kidding. And if so, if he thought any of the listening audience would get the joke with good humor.
“Look Lou, here come a couple of our listeners now. I can see the gun rack hanging in the cab of the truck.”
Now Lou looked at me to see if I was kidding. I wasn't. “You go ahead and talk to them, they didn't come here to see me." Lou gave me no argument there. “I’ve got to track down Ron Small.”
Ron Small had a distinct look, so he should have been easy to spot anywhere in the mobile home lot. He always wore pastel Sansabelt pants, cowboy boots, and a striped engineer’s cap.
But I hadn’t seen Ron all morning, and I was getting very nervous. I needed fifteen hundred dollars that morning. He’d even given the fake Box Car a wide berth; probably because he thought he might be connected to the radio station and could be looking for money too.
I headed to the yellow doublewide surrounded by artificial plants that Ron used for an office. The plants added a little glamour, but they also served a strategic purpose. They provided a place for the mobile home salesmen to hide and size up the customers in privacy. As I got closer to the steps of the doublewide I noticed the leaves rustling on one of the fichus, and a couple of sets of eyes peering out.
“It’s just me guys, the sales lady from the radio station.”
The rustling abruptly stopped.
I found Ron at the kitchen table of the doublewide trying to close a deal with a young couple who’d been at the remote since early morning. The husband was tall and thin and wore a navy blue windbreaker with white letters on the back, Powhatan No.6. His wife looked very young, very tired, and wore a matching navy blue windbreaker with identical lettering. A baby, about 6 months old, sat in the crook of her arms, grabbing at long strands of dark blonde hair. Lou’s live broadcast boomed in the background.
Ron was in high gear. “Now if the down payment is a problem, I bet that pretty wife of yours has a Christmas Club account at First Wheeling with enough to get things started. All we need…..”
The husband abruptly put his hand up to stop Ron in mid-pitch. When Ron didn’t even slow it down, he raised his voice, “I’ve got to hear this….it’s the mine closings.”
"SAGO MINE CLOSED, McELROY MINE CLOSED, POWHATAN NO. 6 CLOSED”
The young husband peered out from under his John Deere cap at his wife, and slowly shook his head while Ron ran his hand through his hair preparing to gear up again. He started to say something to save the sale, but stopped for a moment when he noticed me hovering a few feet away in the breakfast nook waiting for a break in the conversation. I hoped for both our sakes I hadn’t thrown him off his stride.
Continued in Chapter 5 Conclusion to Wheeling "This Saleslady Needs Paid"
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