Radio "Spots"

                        Peoria, Illinois

                     December 7, 1960

 Scooping dead minnows from a hundred gallon aquarium, the tall, slightly balding, though youngish man turned his head, “Good morning!” as the door to his bait/tackle/hunting shop was opened.

“’Morning.” Approaching the aquarium, “Are you the owner here?”

Most people entering his shop did not wear a tie and jacket, nor did they carry a briefcase, and the only ones that do, are, “Yes...” salesmen. “...I am definitely the owner here.” The man said guardedly.

“Hi,” offering his hand. “I’m Mitch Lipensky from Radio W.H.I.P.”

Looking to his left, at the radio on the shelf beneath the cash register that was continually tuned to ‘his station’: W.H.I.P., which was presently playing one of last years biggest hits, ‘Mack The Knife’. “Hi,” taking the offered hand, shaking it heartily, “I’m Jim... Jim Magoun.”

Assuming, rightfully, that a man that sells worms for a living would not mind being addressed by his first name, “Good to meet you Jim.” Looking about the double storefront shop, “Nice place you have here.”

Always fascinated by hand guns, walking to the short side of the ‘L’ shaped counter, Mitchell peered through the glass showcase.

“Looking for a gun, are you?”

“Nah. My wife would kill me if I ever brought a gun into the house.”

Sighing, “Yeah,” Jim said, “some women are that way.”

“No.” Not wanting Marsha placed in a ‘some women are that way’ category, though he knew she would even if it weren’t because, “Her father was shot to death last July.”

“Jesus, that’s tough!”

“Yeah.” Silent a moment, “The reason I’m here, Jim...”

“You know,” cutting him off, “W.H.I.P’s my favorite station,” nodding his head towards the radio. “I listen to it all the time.”

Great! Mitchell thought, knowing that would make his job that much easier. “We love hearing that, you know! And that’s kind of the reason I’m here, Jim... How’d you like to hear your shop here advertised on W.H.I.P. ?”

“Yeah, believe me, I’ve thought about it, but there’s no way I can afford it.”

“Jim, we have a contest going, between the sales people at the station, to see how many small accounts, such as yourself, that we can get on the air, along with some ‘beginners’ special reduced rates.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Hold on,” opening his briefcase, “it’s not as expensive as you might think. “Reaching inside, into a manila folder, removing a sheet of orange colored paper, Mitchell laid it on the counter. “Here,” turning it so the man could read it. “Look at this, Jim. It’s our new ‘beginners rate chart’ and it’s made for small businesses like yours so that you can get into ‘radio’ without it costing an arm and a leg.”

His interest piqued, “Yeah, but...” Jim said weakly as Mitchell cut him off.

“Look! Here’s a program that’s just made for small shops like yours. It calls for five, thirty second announcements spread throughout the day for thirty days including one a.m. and one p.m. drive time spot.”

Watching Mitchell’s finger as it moved along the rate list, his eyes moving ahead to ‘the bottom line’, “Yeah,” Jim said, “that’s...”

“Okay, yes, it’s five dollars and seventy-five cents for each of those thirty seconds. But do you know what you’ll get for that five-seventy-five?” Making a ‘minor close’, stopping, he waited for Jim to speak.

“Uh, I’m... My store’s on the radio five times a day?”

Knowing he had him then. “Jim, those two prime time spots will hit, minimally, two-hundred-fifty, to three hundred thousand people each time its played! And those are adult people driving to and from work. So that’s five to six hundred thousand, mostly adults, that will be hearing your commercials. Then there are the three other spots throughout the day that will reach another three/four hundred thousand people. So that’s approximately, minimally, three quarters of a million people that will be hearing this, your business advertised each and every day for thirty days. Three quarters of a million people ...” Hesitating, he let the figure sink in. “So this advertising has got to, at least, pay for itself, wouldn’t you say?” Quiet now, waiting for a response...

“Yes, I guess so.”

“That’s three quarters of a million people!" Repeating, "Wouldn’t you think, at the very worst you’d have to break even?” Waiting for a response...

“Yeah, it would seem that way.”

“Most other W.H.I.P. clients using this very same program,” – tapping the rate chart – “have told us that they’ve had a five to ten percent increase in business within the first two weeks of being on the air, and there’s no reason why we couldn’t that for you, too! And with Christmas coming, now’s a great time to start, and we can have you on the air as early as tomorrow morning. Would you like that, Jim?” Shutting up now, he waited for Jim to say the next word, to make the next move.

Mitchell’s eyes remained on Jim’s face. Jim’s eyes shifted from Mitchell’s face, to the left, to the right, to the ceiling, out the window.

Neither man spoke for ten... fifteen... twenty long seconds...

“How would I pay for this?”

The ‘assumed close’: Reaching into the briefcase, removing a contract, “So the bill doesn’t hit you all at once,  we’ll invoice weekly for ‘time’ purchased.” Beginning to write... “That’s James...? How do you spell your last name?”

Twenty minutes later, Mitchell Lipensky left the bait/tackle/hunting shop with a completed ‘Production Information Form’ and a  signed contract for eight hundred-sixty-two dollars and fifty cents, with, unless notified in writing, an automatic renewal for the following month also.

                                  *

 “Jesus, Mitch, where in the world did you dig this one up?”

In ‘Production’: “Hey Jim, it’s small town radio, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jim Husk said, “but what in the hell do I do with...”

                                  *

 Tape recorder in hand, running the produced spot to the bait/tackle/hunting shop later that afternoon, receiving approval from Jim Magoun, the next morning...

                        December 8, 1960

Driving to work, hearing for the first time,

“Ta-did-ta-ta-tata!”

Smiling, Mitchell listened to the sound of bugles, then, because Jim Husk didn’t have shotgun blasts in his sound library, rattling the windows,

“KA-BOOM! KA-BOOM!” came two atomic bomb blasts, then: “Located at 4769 North-East Glen Oak Avenue, just one block north of Highway Seventy-Four, it’s ‘Hook and Worm’ for all your hunting... KA-BOOM! KA-BOOM! and fishing needs. For all you anglers, now at off-season, sales prices, we feature all quality Shakespeare rods and reels! Hunting this season? ‘Hook and Worm’ carries a full line of Remington guns and ammunition! Located at 4769 North-East Glen Oak Avenue, just one block north of Highway Seventy-Four! Ladies remember, 

KA-BOOM! KA-BOOM! ‘Hook and Worm’ for Christmas for all your hunters and fishermen!”