Predators and Scammers

a memoir
by Brian vonAhsen

 

Chapter One
The Master Manipulator

Though the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothin’, Ma, to live up to

—— Bob Dylan

————————————–

Anywhere but Here

I remember my mother once said to me, “Brian, you are a people person, you should try going into sales”.

Heh… funny eh?

My adult self now, is having a hard time to think Mom actually believed what she was saying. Not to denigrate an entire profession but… nearly every “successful” salesman I’ve ever come across has been more likely to be a liar and/or budding sociopath than what I’d call a “people person”. Even salesmen who actually believe in what they sell are more about the sale, the ABCs of salesmanship (Always Be Closing) than about people.

“The customer is always right” is a mantra for chumps.

Mom was not naïve. She had seen her share of predators and scammers in her time but like my father, she was all about being a brand new and modern parent. She had probably read something about how to guide your teenager into a career that suits his or her personality or some such thing and since I was actively resisting the idea of going to college any time soon, I guess Mom felt she had to come up with something.

Dad had already had his say by kicking me out of the house not long after I graduated from high school. I had no idea what I wanted but when I saw the advertisement promising “Management Training!” and “Travel Opportunity!” my mind realized that leaving Rochester, Minnesota was exactly what I most needed to do. My naïve young mind went into what eventually has become an all too familiar feeling in me. The mode to move, the itch to ditch this disco… Find a new view.

To be anywhere but here!

——

It was 1978 in the middle of Midwestern Americana, “the good ol’ US of A”, which was a place that now exists only in period movies and neo-Norman Rockwell paintings. Most moms stayed home and baked bread and apple pie, people left their doors unlocked and their children ran around without adult supervision. Cable TV was just getting started and although FM was well established, the outside world was still being fed to most of us Midwesterners through the filter of AM radio and three TV stations.

I had already acquired a love for exploring distant places two years before. My European travels while still in high school, had shown me a tantalizing glimpse of the world outside my hometown so when I discovered that the position being advertised would require me to begin traveling right away, I jumped on it.

I jumped on the chance to get out of Rochester, even after finding out that this job I would be doing, the actual work that would be fulfilling my desire to travel… was door-to-door sales.

Ouch! Yes… door-to-door sales.

My otherwise naïve young self already had some experience with door-to-door sales. Many failed attempts at selling stuff for our Boy Scout troupe and one sad day trying to sell an Electrolux vacuum cleaner were still fresh in my mind and they were not good memories. When I arrived at my “interview”, if I had stopped to think about how much I hated knocking on people’s front doors trying to sell stuff (stuff I would never want myself) I would have turned around right away.

But of course I didn’t turn around. The way these people presented themselves and the “opportunities” they were offering was so very clever, I never even thought about that. I never could have anticipated what I was about to get myself into.

How could I?

——

The Union Circulation Company of Atlanta, Georgia was essentially a roving band of grifters. Predatory scam artists, con men (and some women but not many) that had taken their craft into the heights of fine art. Well… I guess that’s giving them way too much credit. If you’ve seen movies like The Sting and Oceans Eleven, these scumbags were the dregs of the confidence trade by comparison.

This gang engaged in a specialized kind of continuous, traveling short con. It never involved large amounts of money at one time, so I guess it could never be considered a big time operation. Nothing the Vegas crowd might admire, but since they sought their marks mostly among rural and small town people of simple means and education, my future canvassing mentors were unchallenged sharks in a very large tank of unwitting fish. As a result, they did quite well indeed.

At the very top (or at least the only top I would ever see) of this particular food chain was the big boss man, Mr. George Heaton. Now at nearly 6 foot 4 inches and at least 230lbs of well-worked farm boy, I was no little weakling. But I saw myself as a fat kid back then so when I stood before the likes of George Heaton, I was impressed to say the least. Intimidated would be a more accurate word. George was a big and burly man in the prime of his life. In my memory he was a good deal taller than me, significantly heavier and well muscled.

What was most memorable about George Heaton however, was his demeanor. George was the big lovable guy when he needed to be and a big scary bastard when that was what the situation called for. Whatever was going on, George was always the big man in the room. His importance was clear to everyone when he entered and all eyes and ears were riveted on his every move. I was completely taken in. It is only now that I can see how those moves were quite cleverly calculated.

Indeed, George was a master manipulator.

But it took little manipulating on George’s part to get me signed up. As stated above, I was raring to go. So after orientation I was quickly assigned to one of the big man’s subordinate slime-ball scam-artists-in-training. I can’t remember his name but it was clear that this guy (I’ll just call him “Guy”) was an essential part of George’s little door-to-door sales empire. Guy was a true believer, a captain… and well compensated for it too.

I don’t know how many drivers were under his command but there were times when we’d hit a town of say, 2,000, and canvas the whole thing in one day before moving on. George didn’t even have to be there. We’d only meet our big boss man in towns of much bigger populations.

But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here. Let me explain. Somehow, despite all my dislike (disgust… hatred?) for door-to-door sales, here I was doing just that. Door-to-door sales. Now how did that happen? I can rationalize it all I want. I wanted to get out of town, George was a master manipulator, and the orientation made the scam I was about to participate in seem almost legit… no. That wasn’t it. I think it was the girls. There were girls. At the orientation there were lots of girls. I didn’t get to really have anything to do with any of them, but the possibility that I’d have a pretty good chance was clearly implied.

Everyone on Guy’s road crew constantly talked about all the girls they had had. Both those working for George and the girls (and women) we sold “books” to. Especially Guy. “Books” by the way, was the term we used for magazine subscriptions. That was what we were all selling door-to-door. The message was loud and clear. Do what you were told, sell lots of books, get to drive a fine car and get lots of girls.

And why shouldn’t I believe it? Guy drove a Cadillac and had had loads of girls (at least he said he did). But once we were on the road there were few girls to be seen. The orientation was at a resort somewhere in either Minnesota or Wisconsin. It’s odd to me now to think that I just accepted leaving Rochester so quickly, getting into a car not knowing where I was going until I was so far from home. By then it felt like it was too late to do anything but keep going.

So keep going, I did!