My “Real” First Job - 1961

Early morning, freezing temperatures, deep snow, and grumpy customers, that was my first job…a newspaper boy! I delivered the “Minneapolis Star” newspaper to about 35-40 houses six days a week. My paper route was a couple of miles away from home, I’d ride my bike to the route every day except Saturday. The Star was a morning paper from a big city and was popular with many folks because our local paper, the Huronite, did not have a great deal of national and international news.

I didn’t mind the early hours, except in the winter. Most of the time, the quiet and solitude were perfect for me. I’d found the job because I wanted spending money and the pittance of an allowance I received from my parents certainly wasn’t enough to keep me in Snicker bars at Ravine Lake. The newspaper office was in downtown Huron, a small, run-down building in the 300 south block of Wisconsin Ave.

The newspapers themselves were dropped off at a corner half a mile from my route. Several flat stacks of papers held together with string were left at that corner. We paperboys would find the stack with our route number on it, fold the papers, and put them in our canvas bags. I’d put the bag on the front fender of the bike, next to and attached to the handlebars. Then off to the route. I had to throw the papers so that they landed on the customer’s front porch or very close to it. Fortunately, the papers were very thick and we’d learned to fold them so they were “tossable.” Or at least most of the time. And, of course, because it was so early, no one was typically up so riding on the front lawns next to the porch was an option. Except, of course, in the winter. Winter was a bitch but I looked at it as just one more thing.

The worst part of the job was collecting from the customers. Paperboys had to do all of the collecting. We each had a book. The book had a page for each customer. That page was full of small, postage stamp sized, tear outs. The idea was that you would go to the customer’s house, collect the subscription money for the month, and give the customer a receipt which was that tiny stamp-like thing with the date written in. After collecting, I’d ride my bike down to the newspaper building on Wisconsin and turn in the money I owed the newspaper. The idea was that if I collected from everyone on my route, I’d make a profit and that was my wage. Sadly though, people seldom paid the first time I went to collect. They either wouldn’t answer the door or were at work and not home. Sometimes I was lucky to collect from half of them. A big payday when I could collect but I don’t think I ever really caught up. And to this day, I hate the thought of those little stamp/receipt books.

A quick digression. One day I was told that I had the highest number of new subscribers and so was entitled to a “prize.” I was to come down to the newspaper building and pick out my prize. Eagerly I showed up to see what the selections were. Sadly, they were mostly crap. I did see and selected a dagger, a long, sharp, ornate thing that just looked wicked. I took it home, my mother saw it, scooped it up, took it back to the newspaper place, and brought me one of the pieces of crap that were available.