One night, I heard Otto and Natalie talking. Natalie said, “I don’t know what we’re going to do. Everybody is beginning to press us. Maybe I can get a night job.”
No, I thought. My mother was already working at a full-time job and came home and made dinner for us, and cleaned the apartment. I could not let her do more.
The next morning, I quit Northwestern.
When I told Natalie what I had done, she was horrified. “You can’t quit college, Sidney.” Her eyes were filled with tears. “We’re going to be all right.”
But I knew we were not going to be all right. I started looking for another job, but 1935 was the height of the Depression and there weren’t any to be found. I tried advertising agencies, newspapers, and radio stations, but no one was hiring.
On my way to another interview at a radio station, I passed a large department store called Mandel Brothers. Inside, it looked busy. Half a dozen salesmen were servicing customers. I decided I had nothing to lose, and I walked in and looked around. I started walking through the store. It was enormous. I passed the ladies’ shoe department and stopped. This would be an easy job.
A man came up to me. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to see the manager.”
“I’m Mr. Young, the manager. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a job. Do you have any openings?”
He studied me a moment. “As a matter of fact, I do. Have you had experience selling ladies’ shoes?”
“Oh, yes,” I assured him.
“Where did you work before?”
I recalled a store where I had bought shoes. “Thom McCann, in Denver.”
“Good. Come into the office.” He handed me a form. “Fill this out.”
When I had finished, he picked it up and looked at it. Then he looked at me.
“First of all, Mr. Schechtel, ‘McCann’ is not spelled ‘M-I-C-K-A-N.’ And secondly, it’s not located at this address.”
I needed this job desperately. “They must have moved,” I said quickly, “and I’m a terrible speller. You see—”
“I hope you’re a better salesman than you are a liar.”
I nodded, depressed, and turned to leave. “Thanks, anyway.”
“Wait a minute. I’m hiring you.”
I looked at him, surprised. “You are? Why?”
“My boss thinks that only people with experience can sell ladies’ shoes. I think anyone can learn to do it quickly. You’re going to be an experiment.”
“Thank you,” I said, gratefully. “I won’t let you down.”
I went to work, filled with optimism.
Fifteen minutes later, I was fired.
What happened was that I had committed an unforgivable sin.
My first customer was a well-dressed lady who approached me in the shoe department.
“Can I help you?”
“I want a pair of black pumps, size 7B.”
I gave her my best salesman smile. “No problem.”
I went into the back room where shoes were stored on large racks. There were hundreds of boxes, all labeled on the outside—5B . . . 6W . . . 6B . . . 7A . . . 8N . . . 8 . . . 9B . . . 9N. No 7B. I was getting desperate. There was an 8 Narrow. She’ll never know the difference, I decided. I took the shoes out of the box and brought them to her.
“Here we are,” I said.
I put them on her feet. She looked at them a moment.
“Is this a 7B?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.”
She studied me a moment. “You’re sure?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You’re sure this is a 7B?”
“Positive.”
“I want to see the manager.”
That was the end of my career in the ladies’ shoe department.
That afternoon, I was transferred to haberdashery.
CHAPTER 5
Even though I was working six days a week in haberdashery at Mandel Brothers, seven nights a week at downtown hotel checkrooms, and Saturdays at Afremow’s drugstore, the money was still short. Otto got a part-time job working in a boiler room on the South Side, an operation that would now be called telemarketing, the object being to sell products to strangers over the telephone.
This particular operation was in a large bare room, with a dozen men, each with a telephone, talking simultaneously to prospects, trying to sell them oil wells, hot stocks, or anything else that would sound like an inviting investment. It was a high-pressure operation. The names and phone numbers of potential customers were obtained from master lists sold to whomever was running boiler rooms. The salesmen got a commission on the sales they made.