We round the corner and stop at the foot of a freshly paved driveway that glistens in the late-afternoon sun and is cordoned off with yellow caution tape. I'm tagging along with Federation of Ontario Naturalist (FON) canvasser Andrew Radzik, and am convinced that I am something of a jinx tonight: after ringing doorbells for more than an hour we've only found three people at home. "It gets better around 8 pm, once people are home from work and have eaten dinner," he says. "Really."

 

At the sight of the tape, I assume we'll skip this house, but Radzik leads onward. Maybe he sees something in the house that I don't. As we make our way up the driveway, our shoes sticking slightly, I take a good look at it. With its four-car garage and ceramic-tiled front porch, it looks the same as all the others we've seen tonight in this enclave of homes built around a golf course just north of Bolton, nestled among the rolling green hills of the Oak Ridges Moraine.

 

Radzik rings the doorbell, and a young woman of about 15 opens the door and regards us impassively. He told me earlier that he doesn't bother pitching to kids-even teenagers-because they're unlikely to make donations, so I smile as he asks if her parents are home. She informs him they're busy and asks what he wants. He introduces himself as being with FON and says that since her parents are occupied, we'll be on our way.

 

"You can talk to me, I'm more of a nature freak than my parents anyway," she replies. Radzik launches into his pitch, explaining the history of FON and how it helped establish the Bruce Trail and protect the Niagara Escarpment and Oak Ridges Moraine. When she says she doesn't quite understand all the fuss about the moraine, Radzik patiently explains it to her. Five minutes later, she takes off down the hall, hollering for her father ("Daddy, can I have some money to support nature?") and returns with a small cash donation.

 

It isn't much-not even a $25 student membership-but Radzik is happy. "Some of the best nights I've had aren't necessarily the most financially rewarding," he says. "It's only when I don't get one good conversation that I feel like I've wasted my night." As we head down the street to the next house, I realize this is what makes the work different than, say, selling vacuum cleaners. Although the two jobs appear to have much in common to those of us who have never done them, they are very different. Because the FON canvass is part membership drive and part public outreach campaign, making one's quota isn't the only focus. If you manage to inform someone about an important issue, at least you can go home at night and feel like you've made a difference.

 

Door canvassing has played an important role in the life of many environmental organizations, most notably since Greenpeace began its program to enlist new members in the 1970s. Over the years, the focus of its canvass shifted to fundraising and reached its peak about 10 years ago, according to Rebecca Moershel, Greenpeace Canada's director of development. Four years ago, Greenpeace started reducing its door canvasses in favour of devoting more resources to more cost-effective fundraising models. "Door canvassing can be a very powerful outreach tool," says Moershel, but it can be costly and time-consuming. "Often when you're trying to get a new supporter, you may not net very much revenue because you have to knock on a lot of doors before you get even one donation."

 

Today, Greenpeace, like a growing number of non-profit organizations and political parties, targets people who are already interested in the issues to sign up for monthly donation plans. It does this through direct mailings to existing donors as well as through "direct dialogues," in which canvassers stake out a street corner and only approach passersby who appear interested. "It's an 'approach the converted' model," explains Moershel. "You want to find people who are already interested because they're more likely to donate."

 

Although Moershel says this very targeted approach is the way of the future when it comes to fundraising for established organizations, there is still a place for door canvasses. "The way door canvassing has been done traditionally, there's a very strong feeling that it's not effective," she says. "But it can be very effective, as long as you push the monthly giving plan."

 

That's one reason FON canvassers keep track of and revisit areas that have proven fruitful in the past, as we're doing tonight. Still, it can be daunting to ask someone who may not even recognize the FON to sign up for a monthly contribution plan, even for a seasoned pro like Radzik. By canvassing standards, Radzik, a 24-year-old religious studies student at York University, is a veteran, having joined the ranks two years ago. "I was looking for summer employment after I had a crappy job in a factory," he says. "I lasted one day and remember thinking, 'This might be the most environmentally unfriendly job in the world.'" He came on board at a time when FON moved from having a annual summer canvass to a year-round campaign. According to organizer Rick Boudreau, so many organizations canvass in the summer because of the availability of student workers that it makes for a crowded marketplace. "In winter, spring and fall, there are fewer canvasses to compete with, more people are at home and many people have more disposable income," he says.

 

Although some canvassers are still students, they come from different backgrounds and are of all ages, though Boudreau notes that many are artists who have flexible schedules and don't mind working evening shifts. Ten to 12 canvassers work five nights a week, from 4 to 9 pm, in towns and cities across the Golden Horseshoe area. They are paid an hourly wage and earn commissions on any monies raised above and beyond their nightly $100 quota. Boudreau says there isn't one personality type that works best, and his group has a range of presentation styles. "Sometimes you get strong personalities in canvassers, because the one thing you can't be is shy if you're doing this job," he says. "You have to have confidence in yourself and be able to take rejection."

 

Maintaining your self-confidence can be tricky, though, as I am learning tonight. At the halfway mark of the evening, I leave Radzik to join Rebecca Orr, who has been working the other side of the street. She's been canvassing for only a month and is still getting used to it. Her spirits are clearly flagging-she hasn't made a sale yet and only found a handful of people at home-but she puts on a brave face. "It's an interesting job, but it is tough," she says. Originally from England, Orr, 34, was looking for ethically sound work after being laid off as an animator at Nelvana, where she had worked for 12 years. She saw an ad for canvassers in a newspaper and having done similar work as a teenager for Friends of the Earth and Save the Whales, she applied.

 

It's now about 8 pm, and we're reaching the end of the golf course neighbourhood. Although she is 10 years older than Radzik, Orr has the same problem he does with this kind of turf-with her petite frame and blond curls, she looks too young to be taken seriously. "Alternative guys work best for me," she says with a laugh. "If they've got tattoos or piercings, it's a breeze." We approach a dark house with gravel for a front lawn. "Some people can tell by the vehicles in the driveway whether to bother or not, but I'm too new to be sure," she says, pointing to the red pick-up in the driveway. "But this is not a good sign." We ring the doorbell and wait. Orr counts to 30 before giving up on a house, which is what we end up doing.

 

Having finished this block, we cross the highway to what Orr calls estate turf, where each three-storey home is perched atop a hill overlooking at least an acre or two of land. Orr says she hopes she'll have better luck here, where there appear to be more people at home. When she began canvassing, she was making $500 a night, but things have leveled off to $100 a night since then. "I pray to the canvassing gods each night, but they're very capricious," she says.

 

At the first house, a young mother and her daughter greet us, as an Irish Setter bounds out the door. Like Radzik, Orr highlights FON's history and its recent work to protect the moraine and fight urban sprawl. She speaks slowly and quietly, forcing the woman to listen carefully. It is an effective tactic, because when Orr ends by saying, "We really do need public support to do this," the woman agrees and goes for her chequebook. When she asks how much she should donate, Orr suggests the $45 family membership, and just like that, she has her first donation of the night. As we head for the next house, I ask her if she had any inkling that the woman would end up donating. Orr just shakes her head and smiles. "I never know until they hand me the cheque," she says.

 

By the end of the night, Orr collects a few small cash donations, including one from a woman who asks her where the Oak Ridges Moraine is, apparently unaware that her house sits atop it. But as we wait with Radzik by the highway for the FON van to pick us up, Orr says she'd hoped for a better night. Radzik, the veteran, is more optimistic. Although he didn't make quota either-no one in the group did that night except for one woman, who sold a $140 supporting membership-he reminds us that we did get the chance to talk to people about the issues that were important to them. Besides, he says, you never know how a night of canvassing will turn out. After all, he did drum up almost $300 the previous night in Aurora, so there's no telling what their luck will be like the following night in Toronto.