Paperboy Chronicles: The last pioneers

No 3 in a series about being a paperboy in the 60's

I was lucky to have a convalescent home on my route, which we knew as the “Old folks home”. Why I say I was lucky is because of the stories and awakening sadness I learned and having them be in part preparation for what would happen in my life later.

When I got my customer, or as we called it “subscriber” book, I was quite surprised to find a section with many names crossed out. They had a payment history, then it just stopped.

I later realised what that meant in both a happy and sad way.

There was this very trendy building, somewhat modern for the time, that was on the other side of the woods from my house. It overlooked a downward slope to a small valley that had a creek and an active railroad line. Why I say active, is because some of the railroad lines were hardly used while others were in constant use.

The building was an “Old Folks Home”. From the outside it looked a bit like a hospital and on the inside had two main areas. A big open area where there were many beds separated by curtains like in an emergency ward, and then there were different sizes of rooms, some shared and others private. I suppose it depended on how much money the elderly person or their family had.

When I took over the route the previous boy would leave me outside and would go in and come out after a while. He didn’t say anything in particular except to say, some papers you have to deliver and other leave with reception. That was it. I understood.

My first trip there I went in and was a bit bewildered because I didn’t really know what to do, even though he made it clear. I had the names in my book. I approached the reception and nobody was there. There was an old man on a wheel chair very close to the entry. He said, “Just ring the bell, they’ll hear you”. So I did. A lady dressed in a white nurses outfit came from the back room. She said to me, “are you here to see someone?”. I said no, “I am the new paperboy”. Ah, “what happened to”, and she said his name, which I don’t remember. I said, “it’s my route now, just started, he got a job”.

She was very nice to me and pointed out the direction I was supposed to go naming the people she knew I was supposed to give a paper to. There were just two at the time. One had a very nice room and the other was in the main area behind a curtain. I went to the nice room first and entered. There was an old man on a bed with tubes in his nose. He looked up and motioned me to bring him the paper. So I did. He didn’t say anything so I left.

The other person was in the main area. I asked the lady where the second person was, who was also a man. He was not far from the nurses station. I went to him to give him the paper. When I put my hand forward with the paper he took my arm and held it looking into my face. “You are not the same boy?”, I said “yeah, I am new”. He said he liked the other paperboy because he talked and listened. I think that was a clue I was supposed to do the same.

I stood there a bit scared and looked for him to say something so I could just answer. I had no idea what to talk about. I didn’t feel uncomfortable about him holding my arm. There was something kind and loving about him and I had no fear. He started. “You know I used to be a dairy farmer”. Then he went on to tell me a story about how he used to own the land all around the area as it was a big dairy farm. I found out my house and our whole complex was built on what used to be his land.

Every day I spent sometimes up to a half hour listening to his stories and the stories of other elderly people around him. One they knew I was a listener, they came in droves. I was fascinated and learned all about what they did in their lives, where they came from and how things have changed. They were hungry for somebody to hear their story. I could tell they wanted to share with somebody like me. Young and new to the world. They could tell by my eyes how I drank up every word they said and was always looking for more.

Over time I got in trouble spending too much time at the Old Folks Home so I decided to make it the last stop on my route so i didn’t have the pressure to leave in the middle of a long story. I could hardly say no to a good story.

One day I came to deliver the paper and the nurse stopped me. “I’ll take that”, she said, “He wan’t be needing it anymore.” That hit me pretty hard and taught me a hard lesson. I was happy to have learned so much from these old timers that gave me an oral history of my area that could be found in no book. It was also sad that life, no matter how pleasant had an ending.

I crossed the name off of my book and got chills and a poignant feeling of sadness. It made me think hard, but also made me appreciate the fact that I carried their stories in my life. Later my great great grandmother would also pass away. I had made many trips on my bike when we lived in the black house.

She was in a different home somewhere not very close to where we lived. One day after school my mother met me in the front of our house as I was coming back from the bus. She almost never did that. She must have been waiting. I thought I was in trouble for something. She came up to me with a serious but kind face and said, your great grandma has passed away. The experience in the Old Folks Home had already prepared me for this eventuality and somehow my heart and soul was ready for the news.

I didn’t cry, but was sad at the news. I suspect mom was maybe expecting me to cry since she knew I had spent so much time staying over at grandma’s. Looking back, I hope I didn’t disappoint mom about my reaction. The fact she was concerned about me was comforting enough. Our relationship was more like Tom and Jerry. I was a pill with too much energy pointed in the wrong direction and she was just looking for peace and quiet.

There were other older people on my route. I loved to talk with all of them. They had so much respect and natural love for their paperboy. I don’t know if it was because I was a captive audience or because I was doing something for them, rain sleet or snow.

I think older people are more reflective about life and can appreciate when they see slow moments that they can grasp on to and share. Stopping to collect or delivering the paper in their hand gave them that chance to talk so somebody young.

My mother was fortunate to have my father around 24x7 and didn’t have to go to a home. She had her whole family around her when she was in her last of days. I made her write on a piece of paper “I love you Christopher”. I don’t think she ever said it, but I knew she did love me. I just wanted to carry that proof around in my wallet.

It was my father who many years after my mother passing ended up living in a home. We did get to have a big series of bucket trips together, China, The Middle East and England. I called him every week for four years on Skype and we talked, and laughed and played games.

It was sort of full circle. For me it was the end of my weekly video calls since I was so far away. The video calls that became part of my daily life. I knew what was coming. His last breath, I saw it, reminded me of the feeling I had way back on that day on my paper route when the nurse said. He won’t be needing it anymore.