One breezy day in July of 1997, the four of us – Mike, Eric, Oliver, and I – set out on an enterprise I shall never forget. The idea was simple, although its moral implications completely escaped us. We were to stroll around our neighborhood, and at whim turn onto nice-looking driveways leading to nice-looking town houses. Next, we would give good, hearty knocks on each elected door. Once a person appeared in the doorway, we would politely expound on the purpose of our visit:
"Pardon our intrusion, Ma'am/Sir, but we are, in fact, collecting money for a school-funded class trip that will be undertaken no later than next spring. If you wish to make a contribution to this cause, why, goodness gracious, that would be mighty appreciated."
After engaging ourselves all day long in such activities, we would gather in a semi-circle upon the dewy grass, enumerate the coins and bills thus acquired, and then divide the stash equally between the four of us. Simple as pancakes.
As we turned the above described aspirations into deeds, we found that most everything went according to plan. In fact, the whole business was more prosperous than any of us could have imagined. Our child-like pleads, put forth by the untainted lips of innocent youngsters, awakened great generosity within our neighboring community.
Men and women, young and old, welcomed us heartily at their doors. Craggy ladies, crouched over canes or wheeled walkers, peered at us with hazy eyes, fumbling for their pocketbooks. Sometimes we caught glimpses of curious children, hiding behind the stature of parental legs, wide-eyed and breathless at the sight of towering fourth-graders. Once, an older gentleman expressed vexation, pertaining to the idea that money should not be handed over without a mutual exchange. In the end, he did yield to the piercing innocence of our gazes, albeit closing the door behind him with grumpy mumblings.
Needless to say, our endeavors were not trumped by a lessened generosity of our neighbors, nor by a lack of approachable doors, but rather by the inevitably darkening sky. Eric, who was patient and meticulous, sat down and counted the money, while the rest of us awaited the final tally with trembling anticipation.
Twenty-seven dollars and forty-eight cents. To you it may seem scant after half a day of tireless work. To boys our age it was nothing short of a fortune. We told ourselves that this affair had been a roaring success, and we should surely embark upon it again. In fact, we all agreed that the very next day would be suitable for another fortuitous adventure.
Mike eagerly suggested that we should quit school altogether and earn our keep solely by wandering from town to town, applying our infallible scheme to ever so credulous populations. Why bother with high school and college and such nonsense, when entrepreneurship is the inexhaustible source that feeds into the success of every enterprise? Eric, thus inspired, thought it a good idea that we would buy ourselves a permanent dwelling – a headquarters, of sorts – where we could bank our money and otherwise regroup after each workday.
It was at that time that I found myself impelled to interrupt the elation with a prudent remark:
"Wait a minute”, I said. “You want us to start a company, right? Well, companies have names, you know."
At this we fell silent, nodding and thinking in solemn quietude. A few feeble suggestions slipped through the silence, but they were uttered with such self-doubt that none of them awoke urgency within the group. However, it took but a minute before I raised my head, sweeping my gaze from one associate to the next, while sporting a smile that could have split a thinner face than my own.
"Knock-a-Door, Inc."
I said it not without pride. My friends tasted the name, hesitantly at first, then repeatedly with greater vigor. It was settled.
As our organization had been given a proper name, our official proceedings could thereby resume. We decided that we should store the money in one secure place. There was, after all, no need to divide it between ourselves so soon. This was merely a tease and a glimpse of the fortune that was yet to come. It was pointed out that Oliver's room would be an appropriate hide-out, for it was located on the third floor and as far away from his parents as any regular settlement would allow. Thereto, his mattress was embedded in a closet-sized nook, creating a den that seemed perfect for the concealment of our treasure.
Evening had fallen with grace, and various dinner engagements were pulling us in separate directions. We exchanged the kind of careless goodbyes that friends do when they expect to see each other again very soon. At home I was greeted with a supreme feast: black-charred, barbecued pork drizzled with scoops of Bearnaise-sauce, and fresh, boiled potatoes on the side. Come bedtime, I was so excited at the prospect of tomorrow that it took me a long while to fall asleep.
The next day we met at noon by a big rock underneath the branched canopy of a birch tree. When I arrived, Mike and Eric were already waiting. The three of us buzzed with anticipation. Presently, Oliver arrived. By a quick glance, we knew something was wrong. His hands were pocketed, his neck craned like that of a vulture, and his general disposition immediately prompted us to ask what was the matter.
"She took it", he said, avoiding our stares. "All of it."
"Who did?"
"Mom."
Mike swore. "Is she going to call our parents? Is she going to tell them what we did?"
Oliver shrugged, while his eyes remained downcast. "I don't think so. Mom says we have to give the money to our teacher. She says we have to use it for the class trip, since that's what we told all those people."
I spitefully kicked some gravel off the walkway, while Mike plopped down as if this horrible injustice had anchored a great weight around his waist, thus forcing him to the ground. Eric, in turn, spit out a string of cussing that I dare not reiterate herein lest I should seriously offend some of my readers.
Oliver scratched his head. "I've got to go, guys. Mom said I had to be back by 12:30."
We nodded in unison.
"Sorry you had to take the heat", Eric said, not without sympathy.
Oliver said nothing. We watched him as he trundled off and we felt for him, such as fellow pigs must feel while observing a porcine comrade being led to the butcher's.
That marked the end of the short-lived enterprise known as Knock-a-Door, Inc. As with most things, we had soon forgotten all about it. Not until a few years later was I reminded of that strange affair.
I was in seventh grade and we were putting on a school play. Mike and I were both acting in it, awkwardly perhaps, but quite willingly. It was the night of our first public performance, of which I shall refrain from elaborating upon. When the curtains closed, we swept off the stage and into the audience to greet our family and friends. Among them we found Oliver and his parents. Mike and I spoke with our dear fellow, who we had not seen in a year or two, and we began to reminisce about the golden-glazed days from elementary school.
"Oh, and do you remember Knock-a-Door, Inc.?" said Mike suddenly.
I burst out laughing. "My God, I had totally forgotten about that", I admitted.
Mike turned to Oliver's mother, who had recently joined our midst. "We really have to apologize about that whole thing, Ma'am. You remember, right?"
Oliver's mother smiled, cocking her head to one side. "I don't believe I do."
Mike took the initiative. He loved to tell stories.
"C'mon! You've got to remember how Oliver came home one day with about thirty-five dollars in cash, and he told you that we'd stolen it from a bunch of strangers while pretending we were collecting money for a school trip?"
I laughed heartily, and so did Mike, until we both realized that we were the only ones laughing. Thus silenced, we looked at Oliver. His face had turned red, and he was fidgeting as an autumn leaf. Oliver's parents looked slightly stunned, like disoriented turtles washed ashore by the tide. The realization struck Mike and I at the very same moment, and we exchanged the flash of a glance within that rapport.
Knock-a-Door, Inc. may have dismantled that summer day in July of 1997, but there was one associate who made profit despite our bankruptcy; a back-stabbing con-man who not only knew how to trick a stranger, but who employed the treacherous skills as to mislead his own friends.
"Pardon our intrusion, Ma'am/Sir, but we are, in fact, collecting money for a school-funded class trip that will be undertaken no later than next spring. If you wish to make a contribution to this cause, why, goodness gracious, that would be mighty appreciated."
After engaging ourselves all day long in such activities, we would gather in a semi-circle upon the dewy grass, enumerate the coins and bills thus acquired, and then divide the stash equally between the four of us. Simple as pancakes.
As we turned the above described aspirations into deeds, we found that most everything went according to plan. In fact, the whole business was more prosperous than any of us could have imagined. Our child-like pleads, put forth by the untainted lips of innocent youngsters, awakened great generosity within our neighboring community.
Men and women, young and old, welcomed us heartily at their doors. Craggy ladies, crouched over canes or wheeled walkers, peered at us with hazy eyes, fumbling for their pocketbooks. Sometimes we caught glimpses of curious children, hiding behind the stature of parental legs, wide-eyed and breathless at the sight of towering fourth-graders. Once, an older gentleman expressed vexation, pertaining to the idea that money should not be handed over without a mutual exchange. In the end, he did yield to the piercing innocence of our gazes, albeit closing the door behind him with grumpy mumblings.
Needless to say, our endeavors were not trumped by a lessened generosity of our neighbors, nor by a lack of approachable doors, but rather by the inevitably darkening sky. Eric, who was patient and meticulous, sat down and counted the money, while the rest of us awaited the final tally with trembling anticipation.
Twenty-seven dollars and forty-eight cents. To you it may seem scant after half a day of tireless work. To boys our age it was nothing short of a fortune. We told ourselves that this affair had been a roaring success, and we should surely embark upon it again. In fact, we all agreed that the very next day would be suitable for another fortuitous adventure.
Mike eagerly suggested that we should quit school altogether and earn our keep solely by wandering from town to town, applying our infallible scheme to ever so credulous populations. Why bother with high school and college and such nonsense, when entrepreneurship is the inexhaustible source that feeds into the success of every enterprise? Eric, thus inspired, thought it a good idea that we would buy ourselves a permanent dwelling – a headquarters, of sorts – where we could bank our money and otherwise regroup after each workday.
It was at that time that I found myself impelled to interrupt the elation with a prudent remark:
"Wait a minute”, I said. “You want us to start a company, right? Well, companies have names, you know."
At this we fell silent, nodding and thinking in solemn quietude. A few feeble suggestions slipped through the silence, but they were uttered with such self-doubt that none of them awoke urgency within the group. However, it took but a minute before I raised my head, sweeping my gaze from one associate to the next, while sporting a smile that could have split a thinner face than my own.
"Knock-a-Door, Inc."
I said it not without pride. My friends tasted the name, hesitantly at first, then repeatedly with greater vigor. It was settled.
As our organization had been given a proper name, our official proceedings could thereby resume. We decided that we should store the money in one secure place. There was, after all, no need to divide it between ourselves so soon. This was merely a tease and a glimpse of the fortune that was yet to come. It was pointed out that Oliver's room would be an appropriate hide-out, for it was located on the third floor and as far away from his parents as any regular settlement would allow. Thereto, his mattress was embedded in a closet-sized nook, creating a den that seemed perfect for the concealment of our treasure.
Evening had fallen with grace, and various dinner engagements were pulling us in separate directions. We exchanged the kind of careless goodbyes that friends do when they expect to see each other again very soon. At home I was greeted with a supreme feast: black-charred, barbecued pork drizzled with scoops of Bearnaise-sauce, and fresh, boiled potatoes on the side. Come bedtime, I was so excited at the prospect of tomorrow that it took me a long while to fall asleep.
The next day we met at noon by a big rock underneath the branched canopy of a birch tree. When I arrived, Mike and Eric were already waiting. The three of us buzzed with anticipation. Presently, Oliver arrived. By a quick glance, we knew something was wrong. His hands were pocketed, his neck craned like that of a vulture, and his general disposition immediately prompted us to ask what was the matter.
"She took it", he said, avoiding our stares. "All of it."
"Who did?"
"Mom."
Mike swore. "Is she going to call our parents? Is she going to tell them what we did?"
Oliver shrugged, while his eyes remained downcast. "I don't think so. Mom says we have to give the money to our teacher. She says we have to use it for the class trip, since that's what we told all those people."
I spitefully kicked some gravel off the walkway, while Mike plopped down as if this horrible injustice had anchored a great weight around his waist, thus forcing him to the ground. Eric, in turn, spit out a string of cussing that I dare not reiterate herein lest I should seriously offend some of my readers.
Oliver scratched his head. "I've got to go, guys. Mom said I had to be back by 12:30."
We nodded in unison.
"Sorry you had to take the heat", Eric said, not without sympathy.
Oliver said nothing. We watched him as he trundled off and we felt for him, such as fellow pigs must feel while observing a porcine comrade being led to the butcher's.
That marked the end of the short-lived enterprise known as Knock-a-Door, Inc. As with most things, we had soon forgotten all about it. Not until a few years later was I reminded of that strange affair.
I was in seventh grade and we were putting on a school play. Mike and I were both acting in it, awkwardly perhaps, but quite willingly. It was the night of our first public performance, of which I shall refrain from elaborating upon. When the curtains closed, we swept off the stage and into the audience to greet our family and friends. Among them we found Oliver and his parents. Mike and I spoke with our dear fellow, who we had not seen in a year or two, and we began to reminisce about the golden-glazed days from elementary school.
"Oh, and do you remember Knock-a-Door, Inc.?" said Mike suddenly.
I burst out laughing. "My God, I had totally forgotten about that", I admitted.
Mike turned to Oliver's mother, who had recently joined our midst. "We really have to apologize about that whole thing, Ma'am. You remember, right?"
Oliver's mother smiled, cocking her head to one side. "I don't believe I do."
Mike took the initiative. He loved to tell stories.
"C'mon! You've got to remember how Oliver came home one day with about thirty-five dollars in cash, and he told you that we'd stolen it from a bunch of strangers while pretending we were collecting money for a school trip?"
I laughed heartily, and so did Mike, until we both realized that we were the only ones laughing. Thus silenced, we looked at Oliver. His face had turned red, and he was fidgeting as an autumn leaf. Oliver's parents looked slightly stunned, like disoriented turtles washed ashore by the tide. The realization struck Mike and I at the very same moment, and we exchanged the flash of a glance within that rapport.
Knock-a-Door, Inc. may have dismantled that summer day in July of 1997, but there was one associate who made profit despite our bankruptcy; a back-stabbing con-man who not only knew how to trick a stranger, but who employed the treacherous skills as to mislead his own friends.
