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First in a series of Cape Cod Parables
01/04/09 · 2:25 pm :: posted by CCToday
Cape Parable #1
Marketing on Olde Cape Cod
Orleans, 1965: I was ad manager at The Cape Codder weekly in this town named for a French Duke, but I brought my Greenwich Village, NYC habits with me.
Every evening after work, I would stop at the long-gone Livingston Pharmacy on Main Street (where Westie's Shoes is today).
I had reserved a daily copy of the New York Herald Tribune, and I always grabbed a Skybar along with it.
That sequence proceded without a problem for two years until one afternoon when I picked up my Tribune there were no Skybars in their accustomed place on the candy shelves.
There weren't any the next day or the next or the next.
I assumed they had run out of my favorite candy bar, a correct assumption I later discovered, and allowed a week to pass before I asked owner Urban (yes, that was his name) Livingston if he was going to get some more Skybars in soon.
That special form of Olde Cape marketing
He replied, "No."
I asked if he could still acquire them, and he said, "Yes."
Being a smart marketing genius I asked if it was because they were not selling well enough to handle, but he said, "no, we sell lots of them."
So, naturally I inquired, "Then why aren't you going to reorder them?"
Urban replied with a olde-time Cape Cod wisdom which escapes me to this day, "Because I can't keep them in stock."
Moral of the story
Never let your customers tell you how to run your business.
I swear this account is true word-for-word, and anyone who has lived around here more than forty years will get a sense of déjà vu.
I hope that any readers who did will add a comment or send me their "Olde Cape" experience to retell here.
19 comments
Blog posts and comments are entirely the thoughts and ideas of the people who write them and in no way represent the views of CapeCodToday.com, eCape, Inc., or its employees or owners.
01/04/09 @ 5:10 pm
Peter Kenney [Member] writes:
Not much has changed.
[ Show all comments by this user ]
possee [Member] writes:
Walter
Your 'official" spellcheck blogger's going to nail you this time.
Be ready.
Great article..
possee
Your 'official" spellcheck blogger's going to nail you this time.
Be ready.
Great article..
possee
Jonathan [Member] writes:
From their website-
"NECCO (New England Confectionery Company) dates its start back to the summer of 1847. It is the oldest multi-line candy company in the United States. NECCO’s new Corporate World Headquarters in Revere, MA, manufactures timeless candy classics such as NECCO® Wafers, Sweethearts® Conversation Hearts, Mary Jane®, Clark®, Mighty Malts®, Haviland® Thin Mints, Candy House® Candy Buttons, and Squirrel Nut Zippers®"
One time I bought squirrel nut zippers and there were cocoons and tiny insects inside the candies. When I complained I was told that the candy was expired and tiny insect eggs were able to hatch.
They sent me about ten pounds of taffy.
"NECCO (New England Confectionery Company) dates its start back to the summer of 1847. It is the oldest multi-line candy company in the United States. NECCO’s new Corporate World Headquarters in Revere, MA, manufactures timeless candy classics such as NECCO® Wafers, Sweethearts® Conversation Hearts, Mary Jane®, Clark®, Mighty Malts®, Haviland® Thin Mints, Candy House® Candy Buttons, and Squirrel Nut Zippers®"
One time I bought squirrel nut zippers and there were cocoons and tiny insects inside the candies. When I complained I was told that the candy was expired and tiny insect eggs were able to hatch.
They sent me about ten pounds of taffy.
Ned [Member] writes:
bite me possee... whatever the blooper is, I will now give Walter a pass on it.
balognasamich [Member] writes:
The truth is that I prepaid Sparky and Bob Livingston of
'Livingston's Pharmacy' for any Skybars they ordered, courtesy of my paper route
I like your retelling of an old tale. The one I heard concerned the Railroad Depot store in Eastham on Samoset road and Squirrel Nut Zippers.
Sparky retold it much later at 'Dick's Coffee Bar', an establichment I'd like to revisit with you, Ned and Solon, and a legitimate Editor, someone you could employ for all blogs. You know, spelling, content, smell test; 'sniff, sniff,' yuppers, you been ingesting Orleans finest home grown.
'Livingston's Pharmacy' for any Skybars they ordered, courtesy of my paper route
I like your retelling of an old tale. The one I heard concerned the Railroad Depot store in Eastham on Samoset road and Squirrel Nut Zippers.
Sparky retold it much later at 'Dick's Coffee Bar', an establichment I'd like to revisit with you, Ned and Solon, and a legitimate Editor, someone you could employ for all blogs. You know, spelling, content, smell test; 'sniff, sniff,' yuppers, you been ingesting Orleans finest home grown.
Ned [Member] writes:
Tales of Dick's Coffee Bar could become a Blog unto itself. I had my first one-man art show there in early '06 curated by The Grateful Dead Guy.
somebunny [Member] writes:
I'd love to see more old cape cod pictures... anyone know where I can find some?
balognasamich [Member] writes:
He would bring fresh air in here.
But some like the windows closed, and most 'opinions' are bought and paid for.
The Grateful Dead Guy likes to stay focused on the positive, a trait sorely needed on this blogging 'team'. As Robert De Niro said in the film 'Brazil'
'we're all in this together'
But some like the windows closed, and most 'opinions' are bought and paid for.
The Grateful Dead Guy likes to stay focused on the positive, a trait sorely needed on this blogging 'team'. As Robert De Niro said in the film 'Brazil'
'we're all in this together'
bipr [Member] writes:
I like the idea of reserving a daily copy of a newspaper. I'm still mourning the passing of dead-tree media. I love the feel of the paper and the excitement of what's on Page One. We used to get the afternoon paper in Minneapolis (there was a morning one, too) so we'd be "more current" on the day's happenings.
christy at christy's [Member] writes:
that is why the "category killers" have won over the markets. CVS, Walgreen, Walmart, BJs, Super Stop & Shop---pretty soon Boston will be a one-newspaper town--can you imagine just the Boston Herald printing daily? with the Globe losing $1million weekly, its just a matter of time. no takers at $27million.
excalibur [Member] writes:
To Christy's list of "category killers" must we not add service stations which have morphed into no-service stations and then combined with delis that have morphed into convenience stores to create a new hybrid called....what? Just sayin'...
Solon [Member] writes:
Walter, about that same time my uncle bought the Orleans Inn. When I visited, I saw that his policy was no shorts or sandals for dining. People had to wear shirts, pants (or dresses), and shoes.
I told him this was Old Cape Cod and asked him why the rather strict dress policy. He was an old-time Greek from the northern border area in the Balkans who said, "I don't want any Gypsies in here."
I still laugh at that remark. I don't know if he carried Sky Bars.
I told him this was Old Cape Cod and asked him why the rather strict dress policy. He was an old-time Greek from the northern border area in the Balkans who said, "I don't want any Gypsies in here."
I still laugh at that remark. I don't know if he carried Sky Bars.
Buzz [Member] writes:
The original "Jacks" before it moved and became "Jacks out back". The sign over the counter said it all..."We guarantee fast service... no matter how long it takes".
Or back in the day, my parents were miffed after dinning at the Dolphin in Barnstable. The waitress came by and said..." Listen-up, I'm only going to say this once, our specials are...."
Or back in the day, my parents were miffed after dinning at the Dolphin in Barnstable. The waitress came by and said..." Listen-up, I'm only going to say this once, our specials are...."
Peter Kenney [Member] writes:
This is not parabolic but it is worth sharing: My father taught high school in Boston for 34 years and he became well known in Boston as his 'kids' went out into the world. He schooled me in the real City of Boston on weekly expeditions downtown and elsewhere. One such trek brought me for the first time to the venerable (original) Pizzaria Regina in the North End. A gruff, round little man came from behind the bar and pushed people out of the way as he took us from the end of the usual long line outside the door to a corner table. People were not happy but he growled over the stub of his Parrodi, "Shahddupa you! Dis is my kid's professori, Mr. Kenney." My old man was incapable of stealth in Boston.
We sat for awhile in the swirl of lunatic activity that was then and remains still an ordinary afternoon at Regina. I asked if we had to order and fetch our own food or if there was table service. Pop's answer - the one with the moustache will be here soon. And so she was, all 5' of her (height and girth) with her rumpled widow's black dress and stockings rolled down to her knees.
We sat for awhile in the swirl of lunatic activity that was then and remains still an ordinary afternoon at Regina. I asked if we had to order and fetch our own food or if there was table service. Pop's answer - the one with the moustache will be here soon. And so she was, all 5' of her (height and girth) with her rumpled widow's black dress and stockings rolled down to her knees.
Peter Kenney [Member] writes:
She stood beside our table glaring at us, pulling one of several pencils from the gray bun that clung to one side of her head. "Eh, professori, commo esta? This your youngest, yah? Nice lookin' boy. Bene'. Whaddaya wanta...da usual, eh? Va bene, gimme a couple o' minoots, K?
Pop spke not a word, just nodded and started to say things when as her train of though careened toward the kitchen.
Almost instantly the bartender, also the resident 'sports consultant' arrived with two wine glass and a huge carafe of deep red wine. Pop turned mie upside dow and shook his head but the bartender insisted, "Ey, Mr. Joe...thisa my place, you know, my citchina...eh? He'sa ina my house so he drinks my vino. Managea Madonna Mr. Joe...it's good for the boy, prego. The glass returned to its upright position and I had my fist taste of true Italian wine, made in Boston in someone's back yard and basement; velvety sweet, rich, real.
then came the pizza, an enormous affair with Regina's signature sauce on its fresh made dough and incredible cheese probably from the same precincts as the wine.
Pop spke not a word, just nodded and started to say things when as her train of though careened toward the kitchen.
Almost instantly the bartender, also the resident 'sports consultant' arrived with two wine glass and a huge carafe of deep red wine. Pop turned mie upside dow and shook his head but the bartender insisted, "Ey, Mr. Joe...thisa my place, you know, my citchina...eh? He'sa ina my house so he drinks my vino. Managea Madonna Mr. Joe...it's good for the boy, prego. The glass returned to its upright position and I had my fist taste of true Italian wine, made in Boston in someone's back yard and basement; velvety sweet, rich, real.
then came the pizza, an enormous affair with Regina's signature sauce on its fresh made dough and incredible cheese probably from the same precincts as the wine.
Peter Kenney [Member] writes:
But the thinly sliced mushrooms were surely from heaven and along the way to earth the delivery man stopped for Pepperoni such as appears only at places such as Regina. Fresh basil, cold pressed olive oil from Sicily and a crust that is nearly magical in its quality.
Then came the matter of the bill. Our old friend with the mosutache, the pencils and black stockings returned for what I soon learned was a ritual reserved for my father and certain other favorites, such as Fr. Pius Dello Russo, the Franciscan Priest at the local school who had grown up in a tenement apartment over the family store of the man who eventually became Boston's Don, an occasional mayor, and the president of Harvard University, who loved Regina's pizza. Hovering over us once again she clutched the rumpled check to her Vesuvian bosom and begged to be assured that everything had been 'multo bene' Then, of course Regina could not charge Proffesori Joe. That would be infamnia.
Pop smiled and gave a grand nodding gesture. She disappeared to skewer the new arrivals, he threw bills on the table and we left.
Then came the matter of the bill. Our old friend with the mosutache, the pencils and black stockings returned for what I soon learned was a ritual reserved for my father and certain other favorites, such as Fr. Pius Dello Russo, the Franciscan Priest at the local school who had grown up in a tenement apartment over the family store of the man who eventually became Boston's Don, an occasional mayor, and the president of Harvard University, who loved Regina's pizza. Hovering over us once again she clutched the rumpled check to her Vesuvian bosom and begged to be assured that everything had been 'multo bene' Then, of course Regina could not charge Proffesori Joe. That would be infamnia.
Pop smiled and gave a grand nodding gesture. She disappeared to skewer the new arrivals, he threw bills on the table and we left.
Peter Kenney [Member] writes:
Not a few of the other patrons had seen our reception and treatment and although we appeared much the same as they did there was a curious uncertainty in their eyes as we walked past them on our way to the door. Just as we reached the door the bartender, who was actually the owner caught up to us. He shook my father's hand with both of his and then decided to go to work on me. He gave me a pat on the shoulder that nearly launched me into the street and smiled with his glistening gold teeth, telling me how honored he was that Il Professori Joe liked his pizza and his humble establishment. He told my father, both hands translating as he spoke that I should feel free to come in whenever I wanted and that I should always have some of his wine..."But not too much iffa you gonna be drivin', eh?" Then he pulled me aside and explained about my father not ever being expected to pay the bill and how he appreciated the gentleman's response he received for this gesture. But, he proceeded to advise, in a low, almost conspiratorial voice..."But, he alaways leave a biga tip. Is our little game.
Bethany [Member] writes:
I bought my first Charleston Chew in Livingston's, with the proceeds from fetching Mrs. Marsh's newspaper from the store. Thank you for the photo, it looked much the same when I frequented it in the late 70s or early 80s. Brings back memories.
nthomash [Member] writes:
Great Story. You can buy Skybars at Vermont Country Store (online) and enjoy!
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Blogeto, ergo sum.
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Walter Brooks is the cctoday publisher & editor and a lifelong journalist who has worked in media on Cape Cod since '65.
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