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By Tom Boggs

I got some vivid recollections about chunking, talking and collecting.  I reckon it must have been the summer I was about twelve or maybe younger when I landed my first newspaper route.  I peddled my bike behind Little Drug Store before day that Monday morning, and waited for my bundle of The Montgomery Advertiser to come rolling in on a truck with other bundles of The Birmingham News, The Birmingham Post Herald and The Mobile-Press Register. I had been driven around by somebody to show me the route, but I naturally knew where most Linden folks lived back in those days.  Can’t remember just exactly how I knew what folks got the paper, but must of figured it out somehow.  I do recall enjoying visiting and talking with the other paper boys as we waited for the delivery truck or trucks. 

None of us had a gas operated vehicle for the delivery job, which meant, back then, that for most of the summer, there was dust and dirt flying up from the mostly dirt roads, and after a heavy rain, we had to deal with flying mud, as well as mud caking between the wheels and the fenders of those Western Flyer bicycles. 

Some mighty friendly folks I got to waive at on my route, and there were several ladies that had me stop long enough for a cold drink of water sometimes, but most especially on that all morning long Saturday collection time, when I even took time to sit on a front porch swing long enough for a cookie and glass of milk while the lady of the house fetched her purse to gather up the 35 cents or so for the week’s papers.  

I remember one fellow who was always glad to see me, and he never missed me on collection day, including one time when he left the money with his family while he was in jail, and told them not to fail to give that nice paper boy his money. 

Daddy made me a whip to have aboard for the bad dogs, but I usually figured out how to make friends with dogs, as I loved them then, and I love ‘em now.  Now, I remember one little dog that resided at Jack McClinton’s house.  Unfortunate for me, Jack insisted on giving me an extra dime a week, to get off my bike, walk a pretty long way through the front yard, and lay the paper on the front porch. Well, that little dog came at me every morning, and twice on Saturday, but I was able to keep him at bay. Now, one Saturday, I strutted with pride on account of I figured I had tamed that little fellow, and he even let me pet him.  Next morning was a rainy Sunday morning, so Daddy said he was going to drive me around on my route.  Well, we got to the McClinton homestead, and I was looking forward to greeting my new buddy.  He seemed glad enough to see me. I got nearly bout to the car, and lo and behold if that critter didn’t sneak up and bite me on the back of my leg.  Never will forget Daddy looking kinda startled as he inquired, “What was that word you said, Son?”  Yep, he caught me uttering that famous four letter exclamation, and after I explained why, he sorta accepted it…pretty much.  

I enjoyed two more summers of that chunking, talking to folks, and taking a long time collecting and eating cookies, as I handled the Birmingham News one summer and Mobile Press Register the next. 

It was just special being around fine small time folks, and chunking ‘em something good to read. 

 

Tom Boggs is a columnist for the Demopolis Times and a native of Marengo County. His column, “Days Gone Bye,” appears weekly.