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First in a series of Cape Cod Parables
Cape Parable #1
Marketing on Olde Cape Cod
By Walter Brooks
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
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Your 'official" spellcheck blogger's going to nail you this time.
Be ready.
Great article..
possee
"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.
'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.
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'
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.
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...."
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.
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.
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.
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About This Blog
Blogeto, ergo sum.
I blog, therefore I am.
Walter Brooks is the cctoday publisher & editor and a lifelong journalist who has worked in media on Cape Cod since '65.
Julie Brooks is the president & founder of eCape.com. She is Walter's daughter-in-law.
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