Pie in the sky?

The term “pie in the sky” originally meant to be a promise of heaven while continuing to suffer through living in the material world. It was coined by Joe Hill in a song written by him in 1911. Joe was a Swedish-born itinerant laborer who migrated to the United States in 1902. The Web site The Phrase Finder described his songs as radical as he fought for labor organizations. “The phrase appeared first in Hill’s ‘The Preacher and the Slave’, which parodied the Salvation Army hymn ‘In the Sweet Bye and Bye’. The song, which criticized the Army’s theology and philosophy, specifically their concentration on the salvation of souls rather than the feeding of the hungry, was popular when first recorded and remained so for some years.”

You will eat, bye and bye,
In that glorious land above the sky;
Work and pray, live on hay,
You’ll get pie in the sky when you die.

Today, pie in the sky can allude to many things, such as asking for more than you end up with or expect, for that matter. You may ask for the sky and end up with pie, which is better than nothing. It reminds me of an experience I had while selling advertising for a newspaper many years ago. Ed Mack, now gone, was the editor. He was also a member of the Rotary, the Chamber of Commerce and very active in the Hunterdon County YMCA, volunteering many hours of his personal time.

Ed and I got along great. A wall about 7 feet high is all that separated the editorial department from advertising and my desk sat closest to the line of demarcation. The ceiling was high, so we could hear each other as one side got stories and the other sold ads.

One afternoon, Ed came over to my side with an idea. Bear in mind, in the world of newspapers, in particular, a common argument prevailed and it probably still does to this very day. The Advertising Department pays the salaries, we’d cry, while the Editorial Department would adamantly point out that its news that sells a newspaper and without news, there would be no newspaper. In the end, those key points were muted by the mere fact that, either way, we had jobs, and that’s what mattered most. Today, it’s not so easy.

Ed knew that I was a member of the now defunct Flemington Area Jaycees. On this particular afternoon, he wanted to know if I could get a band of fellow Jaycees together to man phones at the telephone company, which had already given its permission to do so. It was a simple request. The intent was to ask for donations from members of the Y and the general population in order to build the first installment of a large complex that was in the works, an Olympic-sized swimming pool to the tune of $150,000. He knew I was an officer of the club and, with mild coaxing, that I could easily table the idea at our next meeting. Sure thing, I said, and to fast forward, about 8 or 9 of us showed up to sit in open booths at the phone company the following month. Ed was the man in charge and he gave us stacks of 3” x 5” filing cards with the names, addresses and phone numbers of potential donors. My close friend, Frank Foran, was and still is a top-notch sales rep, and he was in fitting form for the occasion.

Of course, we all focused on the cards we had. Initially, I called people and introduced myself as a member of the Flemington Jaycees and that we were proudly supporting the YMCA in their effort to bring our area a large and highly professional educational and recreational sports facility. We all know the Y. All of Hunterdon County would shine because of it. Perhaps you saw it written up in the newspaper? Oh, yes, of course you did. Well, the first leg is the swimming pool and we need to raise $150,000. Could you please help out by donating $50 toward our goal? No? How about $25? No? Yes, I understand times are tough. [Gee, that was back in the late 70s.] OK, well, thank you, and if you can ever help, please call me at the newspaper and I will make sure you are contacted by the right people. That meant Ed, whose office was a mere stone’s throw away from my desk.

After about a half-dozen disappointing phone calls begging for money, I got zero results and I thought about it. I had to change my tune or I would end up a major flop to the man who was directly under the publisher, my employer. This wouldn’t sit well with Bengt Gaterud, the sales manager, either. I rewrote some of the lyrics. I had my eye in the sky for pie in the sky.

Hi, I said, as I gave the same opening spiel with the hundred-and-fifty grand price tag. There was no need to change that, but when they asked me how much I was expecting them to give, it wasn’t $25 or $50 I requested. Instead, I asked for $2,000. Yes, $2,000 would be great. Of course, they exploded with raw emotion.

“Two thousand dollars?!!! You gotta be nuts! I can’t afford anything like that!”

“OK, how about a thousand?”

“You gotta be kidding me?”

“No, I’m serious. How about fifty?

“Fifty, you got it.”

And with that change in tactics - the rapid-fire subtle suggestions, I ended up making the second-most money of the night and it was a huge success. Of course, Frank made the most, and no one expected less from him. He’s that good.

The next morning, Ed and I purposely crossed paths. He thanked me and the fellow Jaycees. I asked him how well we did. He said it was huge, a lot more than he figured. He told me one other thing.

“I don’t know what you did, Dave, but I gave you a list of deadbeats. I didn’t expect you to make any money at all, but you came in second. I gave you that list because you are a salesperson for this newspaper. I wanted to see what you had in you. You really surprised me.”

OK, now you may think I’m strutting my stuff, but I’m not. As long as I’ve known Frank, he’s encouraged me to go into sales. When he’s 95-years-old and I’m 90, I can hear him in his decrepid, soft and gravelly voice, “Dave, you need to go into sales.”

I never will. I’ve found my niche; it’s writing, and there’s a point to my story - the case against Casey. I constantly hear from people who think she deserves the death penalty, but won’t get it. Some people think she should get life without parole so she can live out her days in prison, wallowing in the memories of her precious daughter and what she, herself, could have become in life. Some people don’t think she’s guilty of murder, but none of that is my point. To use the old cliché and cut to the chase, the state has requested the death penalty. Does the state seriously intend to execute her? You bet, or it wouldn’t have been placed on the table to begin with. This ain’t no dress rehearsal, as my old friend Tom Corkhill always said. This is the real deal, only there is a ‘what if’ formula here, just in case. Because of the death penalty, the jury must be made up of people willing to sentence a person to death. It doesn’t automatically mean they will, but means they might be more prone to finding her guilty. The odds increase exponentially with a death qualified jury and the state knows it. There’s the sky, but will the aim be too high?

In the end, the defense is going to put on a much better show than originally anticipated by us, the general public. Perhaps, in all their seasoned wisdom, the state knew that as time went on in the sweet by and by, things would get tougher. Today, with the recent addition of several more well-seasoned defense attorneys, please allow me one more cliché. I think that, from now on, this is not going to be a piece of cake for the state.