I left the streetcar just as twilight was beginning to settle over one of South Boston's dingier neighborhoods. This was to be my night watching the Wearever Waterless Cookwear salesman prepare a dinner. The Wearever Company offers part-time jobs to students, and requires each applicant to spend some time with one of the Company's representatives as training for the job. After a five-minute walk I reached the three-decker walkup where I was to meet the salesman.

I climbed the murky back stairs and found ten people of assorted sexes waiting for Al, the Wearever man, to give them a free meal. Ten minutes later he bounded up the stairs.

"Hello, folks," he said. "I'm Al, the Wearever man. Boy are you going to get a dinner tonight--like you never tasted before."

Al wore a cheery manner, long hair, and a dirty white shirt. He grabbed me by the arm and said "come on down stairs. We've got some things to bring up." The things turned out to be two large and heavy boxes filled with Wearever Waterless Cookwear.

"All right, now," Al said when he had unpacked some twenty pots and pans, "all you folks except Liz (the lady of the house) go into the living room and relax, and I'll show you how to get a dinner ready in half the time, with half the effort, and twice the quality as your regular meal."

Then he rolled up his sleeves, produced a bag full of vegetables, and a small piece of meat. "Wait 'til you see this cheap cut of meat swell up to twice the size after it's been cooked. You know, we can use smaller and poorer cuts of meat in our pans--and they'll serve more people. And we don't use water."

Al then poured some water into one of the pans, threw in some carrots which he had just diced (he almost cut off his finger with a wild sweep of the carving knife), and lit the burner on the stove. He was working fast, and Liz followed him about the kitchen admiringly.

"Now Liz," he said, "I want to show you how we cook four kinds of food on only two burners." Watch this," he whispered, jabbing me in the ribs.

After some complicated motions, which neither Liz nor I could follow, Al was able to put meat, potatoes, cabbage, and a budding chocolate cake in one contraption which rested on top of the stove's two front burners. Next he produced eight apples, a large aluminum cone which looked like an inverted dunce cap with holes drilled through it, and "The best applesauce you'd ever want to taste."

The preparations for dinner began at 6:30 p.m. and it was 9 p.m. before we could sit down to eat. "I've only been in this racket for a couple of weeks," Al whispered. The somewhat awe-stricken guests sat down without a word.

"Now folks, just take a look at that succulent meat. Isn't it wonderful, and those golden-brown potatoes. You'll never find them anywhere else."

The portions were small and the potatoes had a graytinge. But the entire company began to nod and compliment the cook. When he produced the dessert, "my specialty," he had difficulty removing it from the pan. The cake was burnt and had stuck to the bottom.

Al explained: "Wearever's food is so rich you don't want to eat much of it."

When the meal was over, we all adjourned to the living room: and the evening's big sales-talk started.

"You folks saw what a wonderful meal we had tonight. This is just a sample of what you'll get with regular use of our equipment. Now I'm not going to quote you any prices tonight. I just want you to relax and let me talk about our wonderful line."

"How much?" Liz asked.

"Now I'm not going to quote any prices," Al repeated.

"How much?" Liz persisted.

"Well, you realize that I'm really not allowed to talk about money at this time. But we do have the large economy size set for just a little over $100. All you need is a small deposit, and you take care of the rest on our easy monthly payment plan."

Before the evening was over, Al had sold Liz the $100 bargain, and her mother a $69 broiler combination.

As we walked down the stairs on the way out Al turned to me and winked. "It's as easy as falling off a log."

"Yeah," I said.