Beyond Day Six

Ten Cents Per Week
I made 10 cents per week per customer delivering daily newspapers for the Kokomo Tribune. The customers paid 40 cents per week for newspapers Monday through Friday and I could keep a dime plus any tips. I was glad to have this work for newspaper routes were hard to get because kids held on to these jobs and they often got passed down to younger siblings. And you had to be at least 11 years old to work for the newspaper. My dad had somehow got acquainted with a man named Glen who was the circulation manager for the newspaper and dad must have put the word in for me because in 1960 when I was 12 years old I got a route which included my home address. It was basically two streets and had, I think, 60 customers, which meant I could make $6 per week. Every afternoon after school I would pick up my bundle of newspapers that had been dropped off on a street corner about a block from my house. I would take them to the front porch of my house and roll them into tubes and wrap a rubber band around them and stuff them into a canvas bag furnished by the newspaper. Two things that stick in my mind were how black my hands would get from handling the freshly inked newspapers and the smell of the rubber bands. Initially, I would fold the newspapers into squares, but it seems like the preferred method became the rolled version with the rubber bands. I would buy a big white box of green rubber bands from the newspaper. I hooked the strap of the bag around each handlebar grip of my bike and the bag would rest on the front fender. Some days it was tricky balancing the weight of the newspapers and the bike and me. I remember the sense of pride I had as I rode down the street with "The Kokomo Tribune" emblazoned on the front of the bag. I felt like I was doing something important in delivering the news.

Every Saturday morning I would take what I had collected from my customers down to the newspaper office to pay for the newspapers. I remember passing the Colonial Bakery with the aroma of baking bread. There were several buildings grouped together near the center of town that I knew well and visited often. The Kokomo Tribune was just north of the Carnegie Library where I would spend hours in during the summer and voraciously read books during the summer reading program. Just south of the Library was the YMCA where I learned to swim (although it was little more than floating and kicking at the time) when I was eight years old. And south down Union Street from the "Y" was the Victory Cycle Shop. So after I paid my bill at the Tribune I would often drop in Victory Cycle because the store was a hobby extravaganza. It was a bicycle shop that carried more than bikes for large wooden airplanes hung from the ceiling and there were shelves along the wall that were filled with plastic model kits and paint and glue, so it smelled of rubber tires and balsa wood.

I had bought my first model car in 1959 at the drug store across the street from Columbia Grade School where I attended fourth through sixth grade. It was a 1959 Ford convertible. But the greatest variety and the newest kits were at the Victory Cycle Shop. I suspect that the newspaper boys were the shop’s best customers. We had just paid our bill at the Tribune up the street and we had money in our pockets. If it wasn’t the lure of the newest model car or plane, it was replacement parts for our bikes that took part of the week’s profits. I remember the man that ran the store as being especially patient with us kids as we pondered what model car we were going to purchase.

I didn’t spend all that I made because I saved $1.00 per week or more at the savings and loan. I think it was through the encouragement of the newspaper that I had a savings account. The newspaper may have taken it out automatically as part of my bill but it was kept at the nearby savings and loan. I guess it was the beginning of a college fund or something else important. I know it had grown to over $400 when my family was having difficulties and I "loaned" it to my father with his promise of paying me back. He didn’t. It would have taken a long time and much effort to save $400.

That first Christmas, I had money of my own to buy gifts for my family. I bought a bottle of perfume for mom, a play rifle for my brother (I recall it was a replica of the Rifleman with the circle shaped cocking lever. "The Rifleman" was a popular TV Western at the time). I admit I don’t remember the specific gifts for my sister and dad, but I know I bought something for everyone because I was so proud I had money to purchase Christmas gifts.

I hated collecting money each week however. People weren’t home and I would have to come back or they would say they didn’t owe me for the week. I had a book with a page for each customer that had perforated receipt tabs for each week. When they paid me forty cents I would tear out the tab in exchange. Some folks got so far behind that I would simply tear out the tab rather than deal with the fact that they owed me as much as $2.00 Occasionally folks were convinced that they owed more than I would ask for and the considerate ones would pay what they owed. Once in a while I had customers who would protest that they didn’t owe me for previous weeks. I learned that some people would cheat a kid out of 40 cents. Fortunately there were very few. I think it interesting that so few people colored my perception when I doubt that I had trouble with most people. Some of my customers were fun though. I recall a delightful couple who loved to joke with me. The fellow taught me how to bend a nail around my finger and wrap it with gauze so that my finger looked like I had a nail piercing through my bandaged finger. A great April Fools joke!

The newspaper encouraged the carriers to get new customers. Two spring campaigns I got enough new customers that I could take a trip on a charter bus to the Indianapolis 500 Time Trials. I was there at the 2 ½ mile oval "brickyard" when one driver was the first to make it around the track in one minute flat which was the average speed of 150 miles per hour, a record at the time. Another time I got enough points to get an Xacto hobby knife kit with three knives in an hinged wooden box, which I have to this day. I cut my finger many times with those razor sharp blades. Another time I received a packet from the newspaper which included a wallet, tie clasp, cufflinks, mechanical pencil, ball point pen and letter opener with an image of a newspaper carrier on them. I still have the tie clasp and the letter opener.

Part of my money went for Boy Scout equipment because at the time I belonged to Boy Scout Troop 61. Our scoutmaster was George Lee, a local architect. But it was "Mr. Lee" until you earned your tenderfoot badge and then you had his permission to call him "George". Just a block east of the Tribune was a store that sold Boy Scout uniforms and equipment. Included among my purchases that I remember were a pocket knife, salt/pepper shaker, flashlight, canteen, backpack, and neckerchief slides to be carved from balsa wood.

After about a year I got a larger route of more than 100 customers. There was a produce store halfway around the loop where I would buy chunk chocolate. The chunks, as big as my palm, were wrapped in cellophane and piled in a small barrel. They probably had a million calories in them, but I rode my bike so much that there was little danger of gaining weight. It was on this route that I got so very cold one winter night that I was unable to finish my delivery. The road was covered with ice and I slipped trying to get traction on the brick road and fell frequently on my bike. The newspapers would scatter each time and I would have to pick them up and put them back in the bag. I remember that my toes and fingers were numb when I finally got home. I don’t recall ever being as cold again as that night. Some customers called the newspaper office wondering where their papers were. I delivered them the next day however. But it was still cold!
I only recall getting bit by a dog once in the three years that I carried newspapers. It was a German Shepherd that only barked once and then he bit me on the calf as I tried to ride past him. After that I carried rocks in the canvas bag in addition to newspapers.

But of course, what really slowed me down on my daily delivery trip were the girls who lived in the neighborhood and who needed the benefit of my adolescent flirting. What an adventure for ten cents!