The Huckster Wagon

The huckster wagon man came to our farm about midmorning every Wednesday during the warm weather months. We kids looked forward to his visit as a welcome break in the routine--and, if we were especially lucky, Mother sometimes might buy a nickel candy bar for us to share. He was a friendly fellow, so it was almost like a neighbor dropping in for a visit. He stopped at nearly every farm, so he often brought news about what was going on down the road.

The huckster wagon was a medium sized truck with sides that lifted up to reveal a small grocery store that offered mostly staples. Dozens of food items were neatly fitted into shelves and little drawers. There was a little ladder to the top of the truck where he had egg cases. He would buy our eggs “in trade” for groceries. In those depression days we could get only eight or ten cents a dozen for our eggs. Mother seldom bought very much from the huckster because she thought his prices were a little higher than at Patton’s and the stores in Bethany. But she usually bought two or three things to “keep him coming” since he sure was handy if she had run out of baking soda or cocoa or something.

I think huckster routes have been gone from the country for more than fifty years. Their closest counterparts today are probably those small trucks that regularly park near a busy intersection in the city, or near a big industrial plant, that sell coffee, sandwiches, snacks, etc.

The “Watkins man” and the “Raleigh man” also came around on a fairly regular basis, but they came only three or four times a year. Each man carried a huge case that opened up to show all kinds of extracts, spices, face powder, liniments, tonics, and things like that. Mother always kept a wider variety of extract flavorings in her kitchen than is generally used today: strawberry, lemon, lime, peppermint, banana, etc.

In the 1920s a salesman or peddler of some kind would come to the house every couple of weeks or so during the summer months. But in the 1930s nobody had any money, so the prospects for a successful sale were pretty slim. Nonetheless, two or three times a summer some persistent salesman would come by with a “special deal” on magazines, aluminum cookware or something. In fact, I tried my hand at selling a couple of times while I was in grade school. The first time was with a magazine offer that came through the school; I sold a subscription to Mother, but had no luck elsewhere. The other time was selling garden seeds to win my own personal Bible with “the words of Jesus printed in red!” I was inspired and it probably showed. (As I look back over about 70 years I wince at the awkward position this must have been for Mrs. Lindley and Mrs. Burrows, who were tenants on the Garman and south farms and probably felt obligated to buy something from me.) Anyway, I won the Bible and was proud of myself when I showed it off, with my name in gold on the cover, at Sunday School the next Sunday after it arrived.

Since life on the farm was rather isolated, we really looked forward to getting our mail. But we never referred to the carrier anonymously as the “mail man;” it was Mr. Lynch, a very friendly man who had been our carrier for many years. If you were low on stamps you could leave a note in the mailbox, clipped to a dollar bill, and Mr. Lynch would leave the assortment you wanted. (In those days postcards were a penny, letters for delivery in the local postal area needed a two cent stamp and a three cent stamp would deliver a letter anywhere in the USA.) Much of the time before we got electricity in 1939, we didn’t have a radio, so the Decatur Herald that arrived in the mail each day was our major source of news. We also enjoyed the Saturday Evening Post that came each week; back then it only cost two dollars for an annual subscription. And Uncle Sile always gave us a subscription to American Boy.