The Paper Boys

Fifth and sixth grades...we paper boys were a serious lot.  After school let out, we met up at the neighborhood paper drops that we were assigned to.  I lived nearby, so I had time to drop the books and the terror off at home before I rode my bicycle the five blocks up a small hill to get to the paper drop.  A handful of other paper boys waited for the gruff truck driver who would hurl our stack of daily newspapers onto the sidewalk.  Most days a few papers got torn or smashed on the sidewalk.  

We didn't shoot the breeze at the drop-off before starting the paper deliveries.  The good aspect of running a paper route--in my case the 'Staten Island Advance,' was that we had cash in our pocket--mostly change--but back then banks would give you the paper coin rollers for free and would exchange your rolls for bills.  At home you were also the 'go-to' guy when someone needed cash to buy milk or a pizza.

Sundays were tough.  Thick, heavy papers.  A truck driver dropped your paper sections at your home.  Customers needed their papers early on Sunday mornings.  A paper boy had to arrange the sections together into one neat paper and get moving.  

Collecting every Friday was challenging.  Most customers were fine, and tips were generous.  A small percentage of customers were cheapskates or had no cash on hand.  'I'll get you next week.'

'Do you have change of a ten or twenty?'  I did.  I was ready for their tricks.

You owe me for two weeks.  'You sure?  I think I paid last week.'  No, I have it written in my book.  The Advance gave us a notebook for the back pocket for us to keep our customer records.  There were a few customers who would pull the window shade open a crack, and see it was the paper boy and hide.

It was a great job.











"The first time you quit is the last time you try."