wanted was what he never believed he could have. All he wanted was a job. Enough money to pay his rent, purchase his food, buy his clothes, to save against the day when he might have enough to make a down payment on an automobile.
So of course he believed in a man named Howard Johnson, and what the twins and triplets had suggested seemed as naive to him as anything he’d ever heard.
It was Lotte, the girl who made the wish, who had looked into it, who found out that for $40,000—this was 1951—he could purchase a Howard Johnson franchise from the headquarters in Boston.
“What? He sells his name? His name? ”
“Oh, there are rules, Ben. You have to buy everything direct from the company.”
“The eggs?”
“No, I don’t guess you have to buy the eggs, but the fried clams, the ice cream, the syrups and cones. And you can’t serve after midnight unless you’re on the turnpike or something. There are all kinds of procedures you have to follow.”
“He sells his name? ”
“Ben, you graduated from the top business school in the country. Didn’t you learn anything?”
“I made Dean’s list seven times. They didn’t give Shorthand, they didn’t give Franchises.”
“ Oh, Ben.”
Lotte was seventeen. They were standing in the driveway of the house in Riverdale beside the bus.
“He sells his name ” was all Ben could say. “His name . Do other people do this, do you know?”
“Oh yes, Ben, lots. Lots do.”
He was excited because he knew that he had something going for him now. He would discover which men’s names were for sale and he would buy them and have that going for him. He would have them at the rate banks gave their favored customers and he would have that going for him, too. He was very excited. He had never been so excited. They stood in the driveway on the left-hand side of the bus and Ben took Lotte in his arms and kissed her beside the sprigs of mistletoe, the painted, official flower of the state of Oklahoma.
4
It was something like the beginning of his fiscal year. His dealings with Nate, his brief stay in Youngstown, his drive with the kid he’d dropped in Chicago, all that was outside of time.
He’d gone to Youngstown to discuss the purchase of the Westinghouse affiliate there. He dealt with Strip and Girded, Cramer’s lawyers. He’d known them for years.
He’d misunderstood. It was a television station.
Not radio?
No, TV.
I’ll be damned, television. Well, how much?
Two and a half million was the asking price.
He’d thought it was radio.
Television.
How could he have gotten something like that mixed up?
Strip didn’t know. Girded asked why he hadn’t called first or written a letter. These things had to be cleared with the FCC. It could take years.
He’d thought it was radio. Well, it was good to see them again anyway. They were his lawyers, too. Did they remember when they’d handled the 7-11 deal for him?
Oh yes.
Well.
He really should have called.
“It’s all right. I’m on my way to Chicago anyway.”
“Chicago!”
His Fred Astaire Dance Studio.
“Oh yes.” How was he feeling? Strip wanted to know.
“Fine.”
That was good, Girded said.
“What are you looking down? Your shoes match. Fine means fine. F-I-N-E.”
Well, that was good.
“Remission.” If he could think radio, they could think remission.
“Really?”
“Knock wood, yes.”
Well, that really was good.
TV. Jesus, he could have sworn radio. Two and a half million for television. “What’s the market?”
“A quarter million.”
Ten bucks a head?
Something like that, yes.
Gee, he’d thought radio.
They took him to lunch and shook hands and he went back to his hotel.
Well, not his fiscal year, his geophysical one, his minute rounds. He patrolled America. In a way Nate was right. He should fly more. He recalled how astonished he had always been watching through the oval windows of airplanes the gradual dissolving of the clouds, America appearing like an image
So of course he believed in a man named Howard Johnson, and what the twins and triplets had suggested seemed as naive to him as anything he’d ever heard.
It was Lotte, the girl who made the wish, who had looked into it, who found out that for $40,000—this was 1951—he could purchase a Howard Johnson franchise from the headquarters in Boston.
“What? He sells his name? His name? ”
“Oh, there are rules, Ben. You have to buy everything direct from the company.”
“The eggs?”
“No, I don’t guess you have to buy the eggs, but the fried clams, the ice cream, the syrups and cones. And you can’t serve after midnight unless you’re on the turnpike or something. There are all kinds of procedures you have to follow.”
“He sells his name? ”
“Ben, you graduated from the top business school in the country. Didn’t you learn anything?”
“I made Dean’s list seven times. They didn’t give Shorthand, they didn’t give Franchises.”
“ Oh, Ben.”
Lotte was seventeen. They were standing in the driveway of the house in Riverdale beside the bus.
“He sells his name ” was all Ben could say. “His name . Do other people do this, do you know?”
“Oh yes, Ben, lots. Lots do.”
He was excited because he knew that he had something going for him now. He would discover which men’s names were for sale and he would buy them and have that going for him. He would have them at the rate banks gave their favored customers and he would have that going for him, too. He was very excited. He had never been so excited. They stood in the driveway on the left-hand side of the bus and Ben took Lotte in his arms and kissed her beside the sprigs of mistletoe, the painted, official flower of the state of Oklahoma.
4
It was something like the beginning of his fiscal year. His dealings with Nate, his brief stay in Youngstown, his drive with the kid he’d dropped in Chicago, all that was outside of time.
He’d gone to Youngstown to discuss the purchase of the Westinghouse affiliate there. He dealt with Strip and Girded, Cramer’s lawyers. He’d known them for years.
He’d misunderstood. It was a television station.
Not radio?
No, TV.
I’ll be damned, television. Well, how much?
Two and a half million was the asking price.
He’d thought it was radio.
Television.
How could he have gotten something like that mixed up?
Strip didn’t know. Girded asked why he hadn’t called first or written a letter. These things had to be cleared with the FCC. It could take years.
He’d thought it was radio. Well, it was good to see them again anyway. They were his lawyers, too. Did they remember when they’d handled the 7-11 deal for him?
Oh yes.
Well.
He really should have called.
“It’s all right. I’m on my way to Chicago anyway.”
“Chicago!”
His Fred Astaire Dance Studio.
“Oh yes.” How was he feeling? Strip wanted to know.
“Fine.”
That was good, Girded said.
“What are you looking down? Your shoes match. Fine means fine. F-I-N-E.”
Well, that was good.
“Remission.” If he could think radio, they could think remission.
“Really?”
“Knock wood, yes.”
Well, that really was good.
TV. Jesus, he could have sworn radio. Two and a half million for television. “What’s the market?”
“A quarter million.”
Ten bucks a head?
Something like that, yes.
Gee, he’d thought radio.
They took him to lunch and shook hands and he went back to his hotel.
Well, not his fiscal year, his geophysical one, his minute rounds. He patrolled America. In a way Nate was right. He should fly more. He recalled how astonished he had always been watching through the oval windows of airplanes the gradual dissolving of the clouds, America appearing like an image
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