I was a paper carrier. All of us kids were. I got my route when I was ten. It was an afternoon route, five blocks long, but one block was a school and playground. I had 50 to 60 papers on my route. It was pretty easy and my sister was on the other side of the street with her route.
And then it went to mornings. My sister quit her route and got a real job. I was on my own except for my parents. They helped me out a lot. Sometimes, Mom would do the lower half of the route while I did the upper half. But most of the time, Dad and I would do the route together before he went to work. We would put the stack of papers in the middle and Dad would drive and I would fold. We had a great system. I would jump out and deliver a long stretch and Dad would pull up to the single house and toss a paper on the porch.
Sometimes I would do the route on my own and that was always a little unnerving for me. I would find myself looking for the houses with lights on, just in case. I would also keep an eye out for the Des Moines Register delivery boy. He always did his route with his doberman pincher. And the doberman was never on leash. I would always let out a sigh of relief when I saw that sleek black dog lollop down the sidewalk. Sometimes, he would be on my side and we would greet each other. The delivery boy always waved to me, too. Then I didn't feel so alone.
One time, while I was doing a stretch of houses, a man followed me. It wasn't like he was out for an early morning stroll, he crept from tree, to car, to tree. Dad saw him and quickly got the truck to me. I was completely oblivious to this and couldn't understand why we tore around the corner, totally skipping two houses. Dad couldn't find the guy. I was followed once while I was collecting the bills. I did that in the afternoon. I had a little money on me and I would have been an easy target to mug. Again, I was completely oblivious to the man walking behind me. Luckily, the guys playing basketball on the school playground had noticed. As I cut through the playground, one of the guys approached me. I wasn't scared of him. I saw him every week and all of them always said hi. But this week, he came over to let me know what was going on. The man following me took a different route and the basketball player walked me to the next house. I was a carrier at the same time that the boys in Des Moines and West Des Moines were kidnapped, it was never lost on my parents that I would be an easy target. I often think that they were torn between me being safe and me learning some responsibility. They sided on my safety.
Several years after I had my paper route, I had a recessed memory come to the surface. I had just started my route and it was still in the afternoon. I was in front of Pooky Hobbs house (that is another story). I car pulled up and the man inside asked me for directions to JCPennys. He told me that he was a catalog photographer and said that I could be a model for him. He asked for my phone number and address. Now I don't think I had ever really heard of stranger danger. Nor did it occur to me that a grown man that needed directions would not ask a ten year old. And as I am thinking about that incident again, what the hell was he doing on Park Ave. It was no where near downtown or any street that you would take to get downtown. Well, when I got home, I told Mom and Dad all about this guy and they flipped out. I was thoroughly educated in Stranger Danger and I never approached a car again. Years later, after I was an adult, it occurred to me that this man had his fly wide open and his junk on full display. How freakin lucky was I that I wasn't pulled into that open window and never heard from again. Thank you Guardian Angel.
I loved it though, especially in the winter. We were the first to make tracks in the snow. I would be all bundled up in my brother's old camo snowsuit. Dad would have the heat cranked in the truck, his window would be down so I could hear the crunch of the snow under the tires. And Dad's truck only had A.M. radio.
A.M. radio at 4:30 in the A.M. is fantastic. The DJ didn't have much to say, probably because he was so damn tired. But he did play the best music from the 40s and 50s. I would start my day with Frank and Sammy, Dean and Rosemary. Dad might sing along or tell me a little something about them. I loved my dad's voice and I always felt special because he was singing just for me.
I will forever remember the Christmas that I fell in love with Bing Crosby's rendition of White Christmas. From Thanksgiving on, I listened for it. I heard plenty of Perry Como and Andy Williams. There was some Johnny Mathis and Burl Ives, but never White Christmas. The morning of December 25th had arrived and this was it. If I didn't hear it that morning, I was out of luck for quite some time. And then those distinctive notes began to play, Dad pulled the truck over and we just sat there. The papers were going to wait for just a couple of minutes. I thought Dad's voice blended perfectly with Bing's.
I kept that route until I was sixteen. My mom saved half of what I earned, which was enough to get me to Europe when I was seventeen. It was a good job with good pay. I met a lot of neat people. And I can toss a newspaper on to a porch without ever slowing down my stride!
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