Subject: Boston Globe > >Street smart >Jehovah's Witnesses tackle one doorstep at a time >By Marcella Bombardieri, Globe Staff, 6/23/2002 >Vacuum cleaners are sold in stores, not on porches. The Fuller Brush man has made himself scarce. Most mothers work, kids are often told not to open the door to strangers, and it's hard to find Americans at home much at all these days. Yet the Jehovah's Witnesses haven't given up. One doorstep at a time, they doggedly carry out what might be the most systematic and comprehensive campaign of one-on-one marketing in the United States today. They intend to speak to every American family at least once this year, preferably twice or more. >The Supreme Court last week reaffirmed the First Amendment rights of Jehovah's Witnesses to knock on any door they like, invalidating local bylaws that require noncommercial canvassers to get a municipal permit. And so the work goes on. Many people have answered that knock from a pair of earnest, impeccably dressed Jehovah's Witnesses. Some people have been annoyed, maybe chatted a bit out of politeness or boredom. But what is the view like from the other side of the screen door? >Ann O'Malley is often tongue-tied by shyness, especially, she said, when the person she has approached seems highly educated. June Tench could charm a lawn sprinkler, but she's scared of dogs, and skips a house if she hears a dog barking and sees no double door to keep the animal from charging her. But someone else will be back. Little is left to chance in this remarkably organized operation. >One day last week in Dorchester, a woman told Tench she couldn't ta! lk because she was on her way to lunch. Tench politely asked her name and suggested she not forget her umbrella. Tench recorded the visit on an official form. She'll try again this week, saying something like, ''Shirley, I know you were on your way to lunch last week, so I thought I'd come back and ...'' >Every Jehovah's Witness is supposed to fill out the same form for every house visited, with standard abbreviations like ''NH'' for ''not home.'' Every hour they spend is reported to headquarters to track the perpetual campaign: 179 million hours in 2001. Jehovah's Witnesses value the human touch, studying and practicing the best ways to approach people in different regions of the country, people from different cultures. Yet they eschew modern marketing techniques. They don't buy CD-ROM directories or lists of subscribers to Reader's Digest. >''We try to see that we can reach everyone, so individuals can say yes or no,'' said J.R. Brown, spokesman for the Witnesses at their headquarters in Brooklyn. ''We are not forcing ourselves on anyone, but our responsibility is to give them the opportunity.'' >The Jehovah's Witnesses, a group founded in 1879, has its roots in the >United States and claims a million members here, out of a total 6 million worldwide. They interpret the Bible literally, and all along have been predicting the imminent end of the world as we know it. Because ti! me is limited to save souls from destruction, they see the work of proselytizing as urgent. Anyone with the physical health to go door to door is expected to do so on a regular basis. Those who spend at least 70 hours a month on ministry, like June Tench of Dorchester, are called ''pioneers.'' >The movement is also seen by critics as insular, discouraging outside interests and higher education. Members who are ''disfellowshipped'' are shunned by friends and family. These are among the reasons that Bob Pardon of the New England Institute of Religious Research calls it a highly destructive group. >But if the religion has harsh elements, there was no evidence of it on a recent day in the field with canvassers. They were unfailingly cheerful and polite, expressing sympathy and caring, and talking about the problems that most concern their audience - anything from sickness to financial struggles to fears about terrorism or moral decay. The Shawmut Congregation, to which! Tench and O'Malley belong, is one of nearly 200 in the state, and covers part of Dorchester and part of Milton. For each grouping of about 100 households, the congregation has a numbered, laminated card with a map and a list on the back of ''do not calls'' - households that asked the Witnesses not to return. But those are few, as are slammed doors or harsh words. >Mostly, it's just that people aren't home. Only 20 percent answer the door during the week, 50 percent on the weekend, according to Juergen Burghardt, an elder in the Shawmut Congregation. Those who answer are usually polite but most still decline to take literature. >Each circuit of 20 congregations has a full-time overseer who gives advice and sees that the work runs smoothly. Shawmut's circuit overseer, Tommy Bucher, has worked in a dozen states all over the country, giving him perspective on what works in different places. In the Bible Belt or on a South Dakota Indian reservation, he said, saying ''We're Jehovah's Witnesses, we came to talk about the Bible,'' will often lead to an invitation inside and a hearty discussion. New Englanders are both less conversant with the Bible and ''more, what shall we say, set in their ways.'' That's why Tench, O'Malley, and Burghardt introduce themselves as neighbors and then say they'd like to discuss pressing issues. ''Families are in a lot of stress,'' Burghardt said to one middle-aged Milton woman as her kettle whistled in the background. ''Where do you think we can turn for comfort and direction?'' >''Well, I certainly know where I turn,'' the woman answered, but she accepted a brochure and politely wished him luck as he left. Tench, a per diem nurse at Boston Medical Center who is in her early 50s, has been a Jehovah's Witness for 25 years. She said that, perhaps because society is more troubled, people today are more open and friendly than they used to be. >Whatever the reason, it seemed true at least in the section of Milton they walked last week. Ed Keohane, 21, said that when he was a child, if a Jehovah's Witness or an environmentalist came into the neighborhood, families would call down a phone tree to warn each other to shut the front door and pretend they weren't home. But last week, most people were friendly, if uninterested. One >80-year-old man tried to engage Burghardt in a discussion about Afghanistan and Yasser Arafat. >Keohane himself was on the phone when he answered the door to O'Malley. >He took a magazine and said ''sure, no problem,'' when she said, ''Maybe another time I can come back and discuss it with you?'' He had no idea, he said later, that O'Malley would be marking her calendar. In Dorchester, Tench had the biggest success of the day. About 10 minutes after she stopped at Laura Drayton's door, the two of them were acting like sisters, hugging goodbye and calling each! other darling. ''I have a Bible; I'm not into it like I used to be,'' Drayton, an MBTA worker, told Tench. They read a scriptural passage together. Tench gave Drayton some advice on good middle schools in Boston. And they made an appointment for Tench to return on Thursday. Tench is not so lucky every day, but she said she's happy all the same. ''It's a joy,'' she said. ''If a person says `I'm not interested,' maybe they're on the phone or not feeling well. We'll just go to the next door. Somewhere along the line, someone will listen.'' >This story ran on page B1 of the Boston Globe on 6/23/2002. >? Copyright 2002 Globe Newspaper Company. > >http://www.boston.com/dailyglobe2/174/metro/Street_smart+.shtml