Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller I sold insurance for a time, in between teaching and newspapering. My district manager taught me a lot of sales tricks, though he called them “ techniques.” That ’ s kind of like calling that place at rest stops where dogs go the “ pet exercise area.” We all know what they really do there. We all ca ll ed on farmers. One of my boss’s tricks was to size up the place as he drove up. He would look at the outbuildings and judge whether the man or woman was the leader of the house. Sturdy barns with a fresh coat of paint, or a well - fenced pasture, told him the man was in charge, and he would address his sales pitch to the man. If the house looked shabby, or the buildings were leaning, but the kitchen looked like it belonged in ladies Home-Journal, he would direct his comments more to the woman. His theory didn’t always work. It was too simplistic. I have to tell myself that when I look at my woodpile and woodshed, or else admit abject slavery to Cindy, something ...

David Heiller Here’s a tale of customer satisfaction. About a month ago I was at Stanton Lumber. I stopped to admire their Schrade knife case. Every good hardware store has a display of jackknives. And Schrade (which rhymes with spade) is as good as they come. I pulled out a Schrade jackknife that I often carry. The knife used to belong to my wife’s father, Gordon Olson. We found it in his belongings after he died in 1993. The knife has been used a lot. You can tell because the main blade is thin and curved from many a sharpening. One of the three blades is broken. David loved his jackknives, and was never without  one.  He is  posing here with his  booty  from   a Christmas laden with jackknives. I like this knife. It’s very good quality. The blade holds an edge, which means it is good steel. It is small. I can keep it in the pocket of my dress pants without it being noticeable. Some of the people at work don’t like the knife. Th...

David Heiller Cindy and I drove home from book club on Monday night, February 9, just like we always do. Cruising along at about 55 miles an hour. Talking a little, listening to the radio. Just after we crossed the Kettle River Bridge on County Road 46, a deer ran in front of the car. One second the road was clear, and the next our headlights were full of a frightened, wild animal. Cindy screamed. I hollered. I swerved to the right. All in a split second. The deer’s head hit the left headlight of the car. Its body smashed into the left front side of the car, and spun away into the night. I fought for control of the car. We were in snow on the shoulder of the road. For a second I thought we’d go in the ditch, but I was able to pull the Taurus back onto the road. I stopped the car. Cindy and I both sat there in a state of shock. But we were OK. No one was hurt. ‘I took the flashlight out of the glove compartment and got out of the car. I checked it over. The headlight...