Amaze Your Friends. Peter Doyle

sherry, examined some of the things I’d previously ruled out.

      Which led me to Uncle Dick, the blackest sheep of the Glasheen family.

      It had been a while, but I could still remember his last words to me: ‘Money won is twice as sweet as money earned—remember that, Bill.’ That was just after he’d swindled me out of a hundred quid. Three or four years later he’d written to me from Adelaide to say he’d started a business and that there might be a place for me if I was interested. I hadn’t replied to that letter and there’d been no communication between us since. He could be anywhere by now.

      I put aside thoughts of lost uncles and looked at the jobs section in the newspaper. I was shocked and appalled to see how little money was to be made for forty hours’ hard yakka. I closed the paper, ordered another sherry. I wrote a letter to Dick right there at the bar and sent it straight off to his old post box at the Adelaide GPO. It couldn’t hurt, I thought.

      Eight days later I received a reply.

      Dear Bill

      It was a very pleasant surprise to get a letter from you after so long. I’m glad to hear that you’re interested in the mail order business—after all, it’s only right that family should stick together. Of course, I’d be delighted to do anything I can, even though your late father, God rest his soul, had some reservations about me. But I know I don’t need to tell you about that.

      I’ve enclosed two adverts cut from the sports pages of the Adelaide Advertiser. These ads are for my two best-selling products. As you can see, one is a cure for nicotine addiction, the other a cure for bad luck. The latter consists of a small booklet (which stresses the importance of mental outlook) and an accompanying good-luck charm, the patented Lucky Monkey’s Paw. At the moment I have a number of different products for sale. They include Stop Now! (a cure for bed-wetting), Straight Talk (a cure for stammerers), and Love Secrets for Young Marrieds (a ringing indictment of prudery and narrow-mindedness). I also offer a nerve tonic and a series of life-study photographs for artists and students of the human form.

      I have long been in favour of expanding the business into Sydney and possibly Melbourne. The only thing holding me back has been a lack of suitable business partners.

      With you working the Sydney end, and me the Adelaide end, we could do very well, I’m certain. And who knows, maybe you will be able to introduce some new products to the range?

      There’s nothing wrong with commerce and enterprise so long as you are doing better than the other fellow. You may remember me once advising you to avoid any line of work in which you are required to join a trade union or similar association—not that I’m against the working man, heaven forbid! But the way I see it, any such occupation must by definition be strenuous, possibly dangerous, and will almost certainly be poorly recompensed. That is not for the likes of you or me (although it was for your father, God rest his soul).

      Anyway, in the postal sales area, you will find that not more than a few hours’ work a day, for two or three days a week, will produce a handsome return, leaving you plenty of time for the finer things in life.

      I look forward to hearing from you.

      Yours Sincerely

      Dick Glasheen

      There were two press clippings with the letter:

      That night I put through a trunk call to Uncle Dick. We had a yack about the old days. About how he used to drop by to pay his respects to my recently widowed mum and see that everything was all right. Or sometimes take my brother and me to the Easter Show or the fights, and sling us ten bob each. There were other things we didn’t talk about, like when he used to stay over at our place, supposedly sleep in the spare room. After lights out he’d tiptoe into Mum’s room, a bottle of scotch in hand, be gone before daybreak. Then there was the time he shot through suddenly and the housekeeping money went with him.

      Anyway, we got the cherished memories stuff out of the way and then I hit him with some questions about the business. The Lucky Monkey’s Paw, he said, was a plastic thing he had made up at a factory in Hong Kong. The nerve tonic was a harmless concoction put together by a bloke in Melbourne. All the items were small; you could squeeze the entire stock into a couple of suitcases.

      ‘I’m telling you,’ he said, ‘the mail order business can be marvellous. Every week there’s a slew of money orders in the post box.’

      I said, ‘But are there really that many mugs out there?’

      ‘We call them customers, Bill. And yes, armies of them, have no fear. Didn’t you have a Phantom ring when you were thirteen?’

      ‘One for each hand.’

      ‘I rest my case.’

      ‘How legal is it?’

      ‘Pay your taxes, don’t send any filth through the post, it’s legal enough.’

      ‘What’s in it for you? I mean, to be frank, you’re being much more co-operative than I expected,’ I said.

      ‘Blood’s thicker than water.’

      ‘With the greatest respect, Dick—’

      ‘Let me finish. Blood’s thicker than water and therefore a good basis for a business relationship. This is what you do: you get some stock produced, sell it in Sydney. You pay all your own expenses and keep whatever you can make. In return you pay me a royalty for use of the idea, say ten percent of your gross sales. Twice-yearly payments would suit me. Cash, of course. And, naturally, I pay you the same for any of your ideas that I use.’

      ‘All right then, I’ll think about giving it a go, for a trial period. But listen, Dick, there’s a mate of mine, he’s good at thinking up schemes and shit. How would you feel about him coming in on it?’

      ‘If you trust him, then so do I. What’s his name?’

      ‘Max Perkal.’

      ‘He’d be of the Jewish faith?’

      ‘Does that matter?’

      ‘Not at all. I was just going to say, your four-by-two tends to be skilled at this sort of thing. Good money managers. He could be a real asset.’

      Max Perkal was a pretty fair musician, he knew loads about the entertainment game, and he’d never once rooked me, not really. But what he wasn’t one little bit of was a good money manager.

      I said to Dick, ‘Yeah, a real asset.’

      The following week Dick sent me an ancient battered book called The Business of Life, by T. Whitney Ulmer. According to the cover it was a book of original mottoes, epigrams, oracles, orphic sayings and preachments for Men of Enterprise and Seekers of Wisdom.

      In his accompanying letter Dick said:

      Have a good look at this almanac, Bill. It has been my constant companion and adviser in business and all other areas of my life. It is the key to knowledge and financial success. It has helped immeasurably in attaining clarity of thought and prudence in action, and it may even help you make your fortune.

      The way to use it is this: whenever you are facing a dilemma, are confused, unsure or otherwise at a loss, you hold the problem in your mind, close your eyes and open the book at random, and then read the preachment or motto. I cannot tell you how or why it works, but it usually comes up with an answer which is uncannily pertinent to the problem.’

      I put the letter down and opened the book. It matters not whether the cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice, I read.

      Max didn’t take much convincing to come on board. The dance game was running dead but his cabaret show was firing, especially since he’d added the sultry exotic dancer Lovely Lani to the act. He was on a winning run, so he thought, and the time was right for expanding his enterprises.

      We got together, reviewed Dick’s merchandise and