ANYONE FOR ESCARGOTS? NO. 2 OF 4
Arriving in Fresno, we checked in to the Holiday Inn where the convention was to be held, and then looked up Ralph Tucker who, I will mention up front, turned out to be a wind bag. The "Convention" was a joke but we did meet a couple of escargot farmers who had a lot of snails chewing on lettuce leaves. Whether they were prosperous or not I cannot say but they were enthusiastic about the prospect. The local newspaper, the "Fresno Bee", had a reporter on the scene and the next day's edition had a front page picture of Yvette with her nose about three inches from an escargot. The caption said something to the affect that this French lady had come all the way from New Jersey to inquire about the prospect of taking the business there. It didn't take long to discover that the snail business wasn't for us. Ralph did, however, have something of interest.
It was a wine bottle opener called a Corkette. Ralph had been to England the previous year and had come across this gadget. It's a pump about three inches long with a three-inch hollow needle. It works by piercing the wine cork with the needle. You then pump the handle, forcing air into the bottle via the hollow needle. When you get enough air in the bottle, the pressure pushes the cork out. Ralph claimed to have United States rights for distribution of the Corkette. In retrospect, I doubt it. I asked for exclusive rights for New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New York. I ended up having the entire eastern coast from Maine to Florida. You know the axiom about poker: You have to know when to hold them and when to fold them. At this point I should have folded. I didn't.
As we discussed the proposition further, there was an upcoming Home Show in New York City. Ralph claimed he had netted $10,000. the previous year and if I wanted to have the show this year I could. The cost was $2,000. I accepted. The five-day show was a flop of major proportions. Hardly anyone attended. I couldn't believe it, in New York. I got one order for the Corkettes. Fortunately, it was large enough to cover the show and our expenses, including meals and hotel.
Ralph, who claimed he was a freelance sports correspondent, was in town to cover the U. S. Open Golf Tournament out on Long Island at Southampton. We made an appointment to meet him there and when we did, he showed up with a black eye. He claimed he had been interviewing Lee Trevino, Mexican golf pro, and was holding up a tree branch so Lee could drive out of the rough when the limb flew back and hit him in the face. We made a date to have dinner at an upscale New York restaurant that evening. He arrived, under the influence, with a friend. During the course of the evening, Ralph excused himself for a trip to the restroom. While gone, his friend told us they had been here the evening before and Ralph, drunk as a skunk had tripped and hit his face on something. So much for the swinging limb. We left for home the next day and that was the last of Ralph.
We still had the rights to the Corkette so made plans to pursue the franchise. One of my Canadian Club buddies, Bob Newsham, had retired to Deltona, Florida. I was also acquainted with a retired Philadelphia food broker, Pat McGinnis, now living in Indian Creek Village, an exclusive gated community in Miami. Pat's wife had died and he was now married to a Polish concert pianist and the widow of a Polaroid vice-president. I do not recall her name. Knowing a bit about Pat, I saw in him the possibility of being a distributor.
I called Bob, made arrangements for a visit, where we were always welcome, and hit the air. Upon arrival I called McGinnis and made an appointment for the next day. We flew out of Orlando on an Eastern Airline plane that had just arrived from Puerto Rico and there was no time between flights to clean up the plane. Apparently, some of the passengers must have carried on open crates of chickens because the plane was full of feathers, plus all sorts of trash. We were still picking bits of feathers off our clothing when we exited in Miami. The McGinnis' picked us up in her Jaguar. His Jaguar was in the shop. When we arrived at the gate of their community, Indian Creek Village, the Mrs. was poking through her handbag, looking for a five dollar bill to tip the guard. Hundred dollar bills were flying around the back seat like snow flakes in a blizzard. I thought they were chicken feathers Yvette was still picking off her clothes. We had lunch at the country club and drove by the $7 Million home of Julio Iglesias. The McGinnis' were excellent hosts and we enjoyed a gracious afternoon. However, it was apparent that Pat was not interested in peddling wine bottle openers so we took the chicken flight back to Orlando. The plane had been cleaned up by the return. We spent a couple of days with the Newshams and then headed for home. In Nomad News No. 102 we will return to Fresno and continue our trip. (copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment