The paper delivery to each house was a unique scenario, and sometimes a mini-drama. We had to know which lawns could be crossed, which doors opened. These nuances exercised our logistical talents; just laying out a route was an exercise in optimization.
A paperboy developed “street smarts” and had to be able to tell the difference between neighborly friendliness and something more sinister. From customers as well as other kids.
There were weather problems a factory or construction worker wouldn’t tolerate. We had to contend with heavy rains, winds and icy streets — even on snow days.
Collecting? Collecting also exemplifies the difficulty in being a 12-year-old paperboy, touching on finance, management, customer relations, sales and psychology. Like buying a couple of extras to sell in the neighborhood “beer joint.”
The paperboy was a small business owner, buying papers at wholesale and selling at retail. It sounds easy, but there were times I didn’t even collect enough to make my weekly bill. Again, I can’t image a factory worker or any adult being paid that way.
Dogs? A Hollywood myth, like the bike-riding kid throwing papers onto roofs. Despite lack of leash laws, I never had any problem with dogs. They all just seemed to get used to me as I got used to them. They aren’t that much different from people in that regard.
I learned a lot about myself and about people. Gained practical knowledge about record-keeping and finance. Learned about punctuality and honesty. Learned how to save money for a bicycle (a Western Flyer). Learned that I could work under conditions that would intimidate older and better-paid factory workers.
It’s too bad they’re extinct — another sign of of the changing times. My son had a route in the 1970s, and I think he was near the last of the line. We both mourn the passing, and remember it with affection. Mostly.
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