When we lived in Montana, Dad (Dick Slater) supported our family by selling Encyclopedia Britannica sets. He would send out scores of postcards toting the numerous benefits of owning a set of encyclopedias to every Montana nook and cranny that he could think of. (The EB company made their salesmen pay the expense of buying and sending out these "leads" out of their own pockets. After a card was received (by a "prospect") the reply card would be received by the company--then re-circulated to the particular salesman that originally sent them out. (If there were cards returned from salesmen that had "dropped out" then these cards would be "divied up among remaining salesman operating within the respective field. If a salesman was relocated--any old cards, that were returned, were also divided "out". If a sale was made from one of these "divided out" leads, the "re-located" salesman was due a small entitlement from the lucky man that eventually "closed" the deal.
Dad was always checking the mail for his current stack of leads. (I sort of remember that for every lead received, that Dad would be sent a given number of "free" additional blank cards that he wouldn't be required to buy). Dick would sort the cards and arrange them by location. When he had enough leads to make a sales trip feasible, Dad would gather a bunch of clean clothes (plus a suit, or two--as he was required to appear "snazzy" to the prospective buyer--at all times) and prepare to leave on a sales trip. Dad was gone the majority of the time. He stayed at motels, etc. along the way. We had several relatives living in various Montana localities--spread around--and he would visit them, along the way, as well.
Dick would travel out to faraway homes and ranches all year long. When the farmers and ranchers were "snowed in", it was a good time to be "entertained" by a traveling salesman. Dad was always entertaining--and could be quite inspirational too. He could win over almost anyone and was a top-seller--just like his Dad was in selling J. R. Watkins products. Once, I think Dad even sold a set of "books" (as we referred to the encyclopedia sets) to the Edgar school where I attended the eighth grade and Frances (freshman) & LuAnn (sophomore) attended high school. Dad presented the school with a free EB atlas as a bonus.
Dick was sure to be out selling after "the harvest" as that season was normally a prosperous time and more lucrative in selling expensive encyclopedias (A FAMILY ENRICHING INVESTMENT!)
Dad took me on one of those "trips", one time, when I was on a "break" from school. We first headed towards Miles City--then up to Glendive--then on up the "Hi-line". It was a long trip but lots of fun. Dad loved to drive. We owned a 1958 Renault Daulphine as it was really good on gas. I never tired of roaming my eyes across the expansive prairie landscape searching for wild game of any type along the way. On one occasion, I spotted some antelope (lying in the high prairie grass); I hollered at Dad to "slow down" so we could get a better look. Dad proclaimed that I couldn't possibly have correctly sighted anything low in high grass--so far away-- at the speed that we were traveling. But, he slowed down, anyway,and, sure enough---there they were! A big antelope herd started getting up and began furthering the distance from their position and ours.
Dad taught my sisters and I, that when around antelope, you could often attract their curiosity by tying any type of a streamer from the car's radio antenna and as this streamer would wave, it would attract the antelope and draw them closer to the vehicle.
Another time, when we were "on the road", remotely between towns, a dove flew up from the side of the road only to become a victim to the car's front end. When we reached Sydney, the next town, Dad decided that we needed to "gas up". When we stopped at the Conoco Service Station, I checked out the little car's grill and found the killed dove still there. I tore the breast away from the rest of the body and removed the remaining "stuck on" feathers. After rinsing off the breast, I wrapped it up and stored it away in our ice cooler. When the trip was over, Mom cooked this dove breast for me. I learned, in Montana, not to waste good meat. My mother sure could cook. Oh, how I loved those days, and good old Montannna!