Paperboy Chronicles: Collections

No 4 in a series about being a paperboy in the 60's

There was something about earning my own money that gave me a sense of purpose and worth. I wanted a job, not because I needed something to do, but because I wanted to have some independence by earning my own money.

I discovered that money is like water on wax. It’s hard to get and even harder to keep.

It was one thing to deliver newspapers and totally another to collect money from people once a month. Providing a good or service is the easy thing. Taking money for it is the hardest part.

I learned all of the tricks people play not to pay, and how and when to collect from the evasive and illusive customer. There were those angel customers who gave tips, hot chocolate and cookies. But not as many as those who tried to stiff me.

Some customers kept track of every single paper that got soggy, wasn’t delivered (or stolen by neighbours) and had their list ready when I appeared for collection. There was no point arguing, customer’s always knew they could threaten to cancel and that was bad news for a paperboy. My afternoon daily paper was ten cents and twenty-five for a Sunday paper. In food terms both of those were a hamburger and fries.

I kept a mental note of when people were home. One of the biggest tricks was pretending not to be home. I could somehow hear muffles and see shadows moving around in the house behind the curtains. “Oh, it’s the damn paperboy”.

There were a good number of customers several months behind. I was to learn the more I let accumulate the greater chance of not getting anything. It was important to collect every month and not let arrears accumulate.

When I got my route the other kid left me with several customers in arrears. I naively accepted the situation later to regret. I had to pay for to the paper shack and wasn’t able to collect all of them. Some of the customers claimed they had already paid the other boy. I had no clear way to call them out on that lie, even though I could ask if they had a receipt, it didn’t matter.

I was a sucker. I would end up feeling sorry for people and would somehow forgive the dept. Maybe I was just scared of confrontation, or not brave enough to insist. The result turned out to be I had less money for me at the end of the month. The paper shack always got their full amount regardless if I got paid or not. That was true business. The buck stopped with me the lowly paperboy.

It broke my heart to see an elderly person hunt for coins to pay me. I knew they didn’t have much money and my newspaper was their connection to the outside world. Television news was only highlights. The newspaper had many things to read and do, like crosswords and letters to the editor, lifestyle, coupons and such. You could tell they really looked forward to that newspaper. The newspaper was a lifeline to the outside world. The morning paper covered the news the day before while the evening paper was always carried the breaking news of the day. That was the reason why there were two newspapers in many cities across America. Many people subscribed to both the morning and evening papers.

Collections happened just at the end of the month, best around or on pay day. If I waited too long I would get the, “Oh, wish you would have come the other day, I had money to pay you…. “, and so on. There was a pecking order about what got paid first and paperboys were somewhere towards the bottom.

I really never played the, “You won’t get a paper then”. I had a bleeding heart, and that probably cost me plenty.

One of my customer’s had a small monkey. Their house smelled like poop. I was invited in to sit and wait while the older man went into his kitchen to get money. The little monkey was all over me. Making shrieking noises and I suppose having fun at my expense. When his master came back he stopped and gave that really innocent look like he didn’t do anything. I tried to act like I wasn’t scared, but I noticed he had plenty of sharp little teeth. I had no idea if he would bite me or not.

The owner came back and said, “Oh don’t worry he’s just playing and his bites don’t hurt.” That made me really scared. I don’t think I even counted the money he gave me. I never looked forward to collecting from him. I preferred the dogs.

Even though most of the dogs on my route had a “your’e my enemy ” relationship with me during delivery times, they were surprisingly nice to me when their masters were with them. There was a sort of truce. I can say some of them were even wagging their tails and looking at me in a friendly manner. I still didn’t pet them, thinking that it was just a rouse to take a bite out of my hand as soon as I would reach down. It was sort of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde situation. As soon as I was back to deliveries they acted as though they were seeing me for the first time, barking, chasing and making a big scene.

Perfect collection cycles took a minimum of three days. The first day was for those who were punctual and paid on time, didn’t hide, had cookies or tips. The second day was for those who were hardly home or weren’t so visible but not averse to paying. For them, the newspapers seemed to mysteriously disappeared from their porches and paper boxes. I only ever say them when I went for collections. The third were those who I had tried two to several times and managed to get on the third or fourth try and a good many of these were delinquent until the next month. Many times I managed to get them just to hear they had no money and would gladly pay me next month.

In the beginning I was happy to have so many on the books that. I had considered that like money in the bank. Later I resized like my dad always warned me, “don’t count your chickens until they hatch”. I soon came to recognise these as liabilities and bad loans rather than money in the bank. The eggs were hope and expectations and the chickens fact and reality.

One of my traditions was to treat myself to a lavish meal at a fast food joint. The one I went to was not a big brand. It was like a copy of a copy, cheaper but still had great burgers, fries and shakes as far as I was concerned. That was once a month and the one thing I looked forward to as being a paperboy. It was one thing to go with the family somewhere and be told what and be limited in what i got, and quite another putting my own money on the counter and ordering whatever and however much I wanted.

I was never robbed and never lost money. Not a dime. I was very careful with money and timing. I didn’t go out late and made sure I looked reasonably poor. There were no bullies who tried to get anything from me, because I was not the kind of kid you would want to bully. I got along with everybody and only in a few instances got in fights that I would decisively win and would ever since be given wide berth.

My dad took me a few times to go out and do my collections when it got dark really early. He was a bit concerned about me being out there in the dark riding around with money in a small sack. I only told him later in life all of the crazy adventures that I did as a kid that made going out late with a money bag look like one of the safer thing I did.

Having my own paper route business, was a real early life experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything. It was not a job any kid could get substantial money doing. I got plenty of valuable experiences, met a variety of personalities and characters, build up my stamina peddling tons of papers up and down hills. Most of all it gave me a real sense of purpose that I could do something gave many people a connection to the world, a world that I would one day get to see in a big way.

As far as collections go, I did manage to accumulate a bit of savings and what I did with my earnings is another story.