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---re 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, March 11, 1986 Editorial Comments Nice Work, If ...... How would you like to land a part time job. for two years and get paid $3.2 million for your work? Not bad if you can get it. Well, an American expert'in gold bullion got just that from the federal government, no less, for his efforts in helping the Canadian Mint market the new Maple Leaf gold coin. Admittedly, Morrie Sandler is a recognized expert when it comes to the tricky and volatile international gold market, but really, $3.2 million for two years of part time consulting work is a bit much, even for the folks at the Mint. Here's how Mr. Sandler made his millions. He received $250,000 in U.S. funds each year for two years as a straight consulting fee, plus $50,000 in Yankee bucks each year for expenses. He also work- ed under an incentive contract, based on the number of gold coins sold by the mint during those two years. In the first year, Mr. Sandler received a paltry bonus of $480,000, but in the second year, when sales of the gold coins really took off, he literally struck gold and was paid a nifty $2.7 million. Officials at the Mint explained last week when they had no idea the sale of the Maple Leaf coins would take off in such dramatic fashion, and in hind-sight the open-ended incentive clause with Mr. Sandler was probably a bit on the high side. Granted, Mr. Sandler's efforts did help the Maple Leaf coin grab a 64 per cent share of the world market in gold coins (up from 22 per cent) and that has to be worth something. But $3.2 million? A major reason for this dramatic climb in the Maple Leaf coin's world market share was the decline in popularity of the South African Krugerrand because of that country's apartheid politics. Could the people at the Mint not look into the crystal ball and conclude that with all the political stability in South Africa, gold buyers are going to back away in a big hurry from the Krugerrand? Any first year political economy student could have predicted that scenario without too much difficulty. But maybe all the fuss about the fees paid to Mr. Sandler is an over-reaction. He's obviously very happy. The people at the Mint are delighted with sales of the gold coins, and who knows, maybe this kind of publicity will further boost sales. After all, marketing experts say any publicity, even the bad kind, is O.K. as long as the names are spelled right. The Canadian gold Maple Leaf is now the darling of the international gold buying set, tucked away neatly in vaults in Zurich, Hong Kong and any number of Caribbean Islands. About all that we can conclude about Mr. Sandler is that it's a good thing for the Canadian tax-payer that he was only working part time. the (QQ PORT ALREY $140 CO LINTLD g } 1S GRIN" Co) ! 20 80190 ch | PORT FLIRT ONTANO -- . 08 m0 [| Loy ™ BR 4 J. PETER HVIDSTEN Member of the Publisher Canadian Community Newspaper Association Manager and Ontario Community Newspaper Association Advertising Published every Tuesday by the Port Perry Star Co Ltd . Port Perry. Ontario J.B. McCLELLAND E itor Authorized as second class mail by the Post Office Department, Ottawa. and for cash Cany ROBB payment of postage in cash News & Features Second Clas Mail Registration Number 0265 'AN COM = Cr w (Qs ws » Peay 3395 Subscription Rate: In Canada $15.00 per year. Elsewhere $45.00 per year. Single Copy 35° a, OOOPYRIGHT -- All layout and composition of advertisements produced by the adver tising department of the Port Perry Star Company Limited are protected under copyright and may not be reproduced without the written permission of the publisher by Cathy Robb a Chatterbox DOOR TO DOOR RELIGION Twenty-five years old and quaking in the attic. That was me Sunday afternoon when two friendly religious types dropped by the house to- sell me a little soul food. At first I wasn't even slightly suspicious. Two men, a middle-aged dapper type with tweed hat, and an extraordinarily handsome dark-eyed man with brooding Latin looks, parked their car at the bottom of our driveway and walked up the hill to our back door. They didn't look familiar, that's for sure, but I thought they might have been a couple of Dad's friends. So naturally, when they knocked, I open- ed the door. "Hi, I'm Daryl and this is my brother Daryl," said the tweeded gent, gesturing to his companion. Actually he didn't say that but he did make in- troductions and he didn't use last names. I looked at the briefcase in the tweeded man's hand and automatically blocked the doorway with my body. We stared at each other for a moment, my pulse quickening, and finally, for lack of anything tter, I said, "What can I do for you?" Tweed responded excitedly, 'We're here to- day to talk about your future." Oh, great, I thought. Insurance salesmen. I was just about to tell him I'm already insurance poor when he reached inside the briefcase and pulled out a Bible. The tall dark handsome type didn't say anything, just smiled hazily and focussed somewhere above and beyond my left shoulder. "In the Bible," Tweeded Type began, "there are many answers to questions we all ask about our future .... " "'Just a moment," I broke in, panic-stricken. My mother warned me about these guys. "'Let them in your house," she said, "'and you'll never get them out. Just close the door in their faces. Be rude. It's the only no these guys ever take." With my body still blocking the door, I look- ed at Tweeded Type balancing briefcase, Bible and assorted paraphenalia in the fresh snow. It was cold outside and any good Christian would have at least invited these men into their homes to talk in warmth. I looked carefully at these two men and read the message in their ex- pression. They wanted me to see how uncomfor- table, how cold they were in the snow. They wanted me to feel guilty about leaving them on the porch. I saw this, and I knew it was all part of their ploy to get into the house and fill my ears with holy rollerdom for three or four hours. I didn't want to be rude to them but I didn't want to hear what they had to say, either. So I lied. Desperately. i "I'm on the phone right now," I babbled. "Can you hang on a second?" The Tweeded Type nodded.unsurely and the screen door closed in his face. I picked up the phone in the kitchen and carried on an inane con- versation with the dial tone for a while before returning to the two men standing outside. "I'm sorry," I lied, 'but I really can't talk to you right now. Maybe some other time." This last statement was made only to soften the blow of my lie. I didn't really believe they Would come back. But they did, about an hour ater. : : I heard their car pull into the drive and my blood pressure soared. Blindly I ran into the kit- chen and locked the door. "C'mon Lad," I'yelled at the dog. "We've got- ta find some place to hide." I grabbed the poor mutt by the scruff and dragged him to the attic door. Struggling with the door for what seemed an eternity, I opened it, shoved Lad's hind quarters up the stairs and stumbled behind him. Breathing hard, I leaned against the slanted attic wall, waiting to hear their knock. Sure enough, it came a minute later. My heart leapt into my mouth and I fought back the urge to scream. Lad jostled uneasily at my feet, pro- bably wondering what the heck he was doing in the attic. I was wondering too. Here I was, a grown 'adult, quivering in fear over a couple of harmless religious salesmen. They knocked again. This time Lad barked and I clamped his muzzle together with both hands. A second later, I heard the door knob rat- tle in its lock. "Go away," I hissed under my breath. "Please, just get lost." And miraculously, they did. I listened to their footsteps down the porch stairs and across the crunch snow. Their car started, rolled down the drive and pulled away. I sank down on the attic floor, overcome with relief. Lad settled by my side and broke into a steady pant. We must have sat there for 20 minutes, waiting for the tension to drain, still half afraid they might come back. (Turn to page 6)