Traveling salesmen were some things for sure, but they were not primarily a joke in prairie farm country in Montana in the ’50s.
~They were mostly unnecessary. Farmers did not plan to buy things from traveling salesmen because if they needed something they went to town and bought it and figured the business of acquisition was best handled that way. They didn’t think it showed good judgment to make unplanned purchases from an unknown source with limited inventory who showed up uninvited. That just didn’t makes sense on a lot of levels.
The one exception to that rule for our family was the Watkins man. His presence and the fragrance that wafted in the door with him was always welcome, along with his merchandise.
The smell of Watkins salve takes me back to the kitchen on a November night at the end of the day, or to a cold and windy
April afternoon as Dad comes in for coffee. The chapping of his hands from the raw work of repairing barbed wire fences takes him to the old red can to spread on some farmer-style healing. After darkness falls on such a day, the pungent aroma lingers in the living room where he had spent the evening reading before heading to bed after banking the coal for the night.**
~They were a nuisance. They didn’t have a clue about how not to be a pest during spring planting, fall harvesting, evening chores or afternoon gardening. Half the time they didn’t know how to drive in the mud or change a tire, so the local farmers helped them out when they got in trouble on the roads. (more…)









