The Newspaper Boy
In the almost fifty years I've lived in Alaska, I've never had a newspaper delivered to my doorstep. If I want to read the newspaper, which increasingly I don't, I have to go to a store to purchase one. It wasn't always that way though.
When I was eleven or twelve, I joined the ranks of the young lads who were willing to abuse their bodies in exchange for a few dollars a week, delivering the news to people who cared; or at least wanted to see what was going on in the world at the time. It was brutal work, regardless of how it might have been portrayed in shows like Leave it to Beaver.
Six days a week a lady named Dolly Tibbles came by my house and dropped off a bundle of newspapers. They were tied together with a thin, hemp rope, which at times cut into the edges of the papers. That always made the customers happy, and you can imagine who they complained to. I would have to retrieve a knife from the kitchen and cut the rope, then proceed to fold the papers in such a way that they wouldn't fly apart when I tossed them onto the front porches of my customers. Good luck with that. On Wednesdays, all the local advertisers filled the papers with fliers and ads which added pages to papers I was delivering, which meant added pounds. I hated Wednesdays.
I experimented with different ways to fold the papers. There were actually only two or three ways that I'd ever seen to fold them. One resulted in them being almost square, which I thought was cool, and held together after being tossed, but I couldn't really get the hang of it, and it took too long. If the papers had lots of pages, there really was no way to fold them, they were too bulky. I suppose having rubber bands and rolling the papers and banding them would have been a preferred method, but I never really gave it much thought, and there wasn't anything like a newspaper boy school that I could attend to learn all the tricks of the trade.
Most of the routes for delivery were given close to where the newsboys lived. Of course I was the exception to the rule. My route was about six or seven blocks away, and across one major highway. More than once I almost didn't make it across the road. I didn't mind the slog so much in the summer, but winters were pretty brutal. Ohio would get multiple inches of snow at a time, and below freezing temps. Once I got to my route, I still had to deliver to about fifty houses. Some folks wanted their papers put in the mailbox, some wanted them between the screen door and the main door. Most people didn't mind just picking the paper off the porch, but if it was windy, or the porch was wet or snowy, I had to take the time to climb up the stairs and put it somewhere it wouldn't blow away or get soaked. People took their newspapers pretty seriously. One or two people had mail slots in their doors that I was supposed to shove the papers into. Sometimes the paper would be so thick it wouldn't fit through the slot. I would get into a panic trying to figure out what to do. It would be like trying to shove a Sears catalogue into that slot. I'm sure that more than once the top two or three pages had to have ripped in my desperate attempt to shove the blasted thing into the hole. The pressure I felt was enormous.
On Friday nights I would go out collecting the money I was owed for the papers. I had a love/hate relationship with collecting. There was a big round, stainless steel ring with a bunch of thin cardboard cards with the names of my customers, and the weeks printed on them. The customers also had a card that I had to punch when they paid. Some folks liked to pay in advance, so instead of weekly, they only paid monthly. Being a bit of a knucklehead, I would sometimes try to collect from someone who had paid in advance, but I had forgotten to punch the card I had for them. That was always embarrassing. Then there were the people who never seemed to be home when you came to collect what they owed you. It's not like you had a baseball bat that you could threaten them with if they didn't pay up. It was really a pain. I had to pay for the papers whether or not I got paid, so sometimes I'd have to go to the slackers house when they least expected me. It was a lot of responsibility for a kid.
To make matters worse, the newspaper had the brilliant idea of offering its customers life insurance once. For the most part no one wanted to buy insurance that a newspaper was offering, but true to form, there was one couple who filled out the form and gave it to me to turn in along with the money. Of course being the irresponsible buffoon that I was, I managed to lose the paperwork. Instead of telling the old couple that I had screwed up, I lied through my teeth every time they asked me where their insurance papers were. I hope they had insurance when they died. I hate to think they didn't have enough money for a proper burial all because of me. It really bothered me for years.
One of the upsides of being a paper boy was that I had money, at least for a few hours after collecting. Shortly after I got my route, I discovered I was only a few blocks from Meister's Drug Store. Meister's was great. They had a soda fountain, comic books and a pin ball machine. At the time comic books were twelve cents each. A turn at the pin ball machine was a quarter, and I can't recall what I paid for all the junk food I partook of there. Needless to say, I consumed enough sugar to set me on a path towards poor dental health for years. On the plus side, after my time delivering papers was done, I had a stack of comics I was proud of. I wish I still had them, I'd be rich.
I guess at the time, with limited ways to make any money, being a paper boy offered some opportunity. I can't imagine that anyone would send their young men out to deliver papers to stranger's homes in this day and age. God knows what things might happen. If I had the choice to do it over again, I don't know if I would. I survived, and I suppose I learned some things, and I did make a few dollars, but it wasn't a fun job. For better or for worse, I was a paperboy once.
When I was eleven or twelve, I joined the ranks of the young lads who were willing to abuse their bodies in exchange for a few dollars a week, delivering the news to people who cared; or at least wanted to see what was going on in the world at the time. It was brutal work, regardless of how it might have been portrayed in shows like Leave it to Beaver.
Six days a week a lady named Dolly Tibbles came by my house and dropped off a bundle of newspapers. They were tied together with a thin, hemp rope, which at times cut into the edges of the papers. That always made the customers happy, and you can imagine who they complained to. I would have to retrieve a knife from the kitchen and cut the rope, then proceed to fold the papers in such a way that they wouldn't fly apart when I tossed them onto the front porches of my customers. Good luck with that. On Wednesdays, all the local advertisers filled the papers with fliers and ads which added pages to papers I was delivering, which meant added pounds. I hated Wednesdays.
I experimented with different ways to fold the papers. There were actually only two or three ways that I'd ever seen to fold them. One resulted in them being almost square, which I thought was cool, and held together after being tossed, but I couldn't really get the hang of it, and it took too long. If the papers had lots of pages, there really was no way to fold them, they were too bulky. I suppose having rubber bands and rolling the papers and banding them would have been a preferred method, but I never really gave it much thought, and there wasn't anything like a newspaper boy school that I could attend to learn all the tricks of the trade.
Most of the routes for delivery were given close to where the newsboys lived. Of course I was the exception to the rule. My route was about six or seven blocks away, and across one major highway. More than once I almost didn't make it across the road. I didn't mind the slog so much in the summer, but winters were pretty brutal. Ohio would get multiple inches of snow at a time, and below freezing temps. Once I got to my route, I still had to deliver to about fifty houses. Some folks wanted their papers put in the mailbox, some wanted them between the screen door and the main door. Most people didn't mind just picking the paper off the porch, but if it was windy, or the porch was wet or snowy, I had to take the time to climb up the stairs and put it somewhere it wouldn't blow away or get soaked. People took their newspapers pretty seriously. One or two people had mail slots in their doors that I was supposed to shove the papers into. Sometimes the paper would be so thick it wouldn't fit through the slot. I would get into a panic trying to figure out what to do. It would be like trying to shove a Sears catalogue into that slot. I'm sure that more than once the top two or three pages had to have ripped in my desperate attempt to shove the blasted thing into the hole. The pressure I felt was enormous.
On Friday nights I would go out collecting the money I was owed for the papers. I had a love/hate relationship with collecting. There was a big round, stainless steel ring with a bunch of thin cardboard cards with the names of my customers, and the weeks printed on them. The customers also had a card that I had to punch when they paid. Some folks liked to pay in advance, so instead of weekly, they only paid monthly. Being a bit of a knucklehead, I would sometimes try to collect from someone who had paid in advance, but I had forgotten to punch the card I had for them. That was always embarrassing. Then there were the people who never seemed to be home when you came to collect what they owed you. It's not like you had a baseball bat that you could threaten them with if they didn't pay up. It was really a pain. I had to pay for the papers whether or not I got paid, so sometimes I'd have to go to the slackers house when they least expected me. It was a lot of responsibility for a kid.
To make matters worse, the newspaper had the brilliant idea of offering its customers life insurance once. For the most part no one wanted to buy insurance that a newspaper was offering, but true to form, there was one couple who filled out the form and gave it to me to turn in along with the money. Of course being the irresponsible buffoon that I was, I managed to lose the paperwork. Instead of telling the old couple that I had screwed up, I lied through my teeth every time they asked me where their insurance papers were. I hope they had insurance when they died. I hate to think they didn't have enough money for a proper burial all because of me. It really bothered me for years.
One of the upsides of being a paper boy was that I had money, at least for a few hours after collecting. Shortly after I got my route, I discovered I was only a few blocks from Meister's Drug Store. Meister's was great. They had a soda fountain, comic books and a pin ball machine. At the time comic books were twelve cents each. A turn at the pin ball machine was a quarter, and I can't recall what I paid for all the junk food I partook of there. Needless to say, I consumed enough sugar to set me on a path towards poor dental health for years. On the plus side, after my time delivering papers was done, I had a stack of comics I was proud of. I wish I still had them, I'd be rich.
I guess at the time, with limited ways to make any money, being a paper boy offered some opportunity. I can't imagine that anyone would send their young men out to deliver papers to stranger's homes in this day and age. God knows what things might happen. If I had the choice to do it over again, I don't know if I would. I survived, and I suppose I learned some things, and I did make a few dollars, but it wasn't a fun job. For better or for worse, I was a paperboy once.
 Recognized |
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I was a fellow paper pusher, too. A friend and I split a route for the freebie newspaper that came out once a week. We delivered approx. 273 of them each weekend. I can't remember how long we did it, altho I'm thinking it wasn't that long. Being a freebie, we didn't have to collect paper money from folks, but we made less than a nickel per paper if I remember correctly. (I think it was 3 cents each). I remember being chased by a german shepherd once, and another time a big dog knocked me down. Guess that's why I prefer cats....
ReplyDeleteHi Jill,
DeleteIt seems like I vaguely remember something about you passing out papers. You made less than I did, I didn't think that was possible. I can't recall any bad encounters with dogs, but there might have been and I just pushed them out of my mind. If I'd had any insight, and a place to store my comic books, I'd probably be wealthy by now. I had quite a stash of them, but I gave them to my brother Brett years ago. Oh well. There was a fellow in my grade school who used to make three cents a week allowance. Once a month he'd go to Meister's and buy a comic book. He probably has all of his and is most likely a millionaire by now.