In seventh grade, I delivered the San Antonio Light, the afternoon newspaper, up and down the streets of Terrell Hills, a nearby suburb. I would ride my bike near the Fort Sam Houston shopping center to the back door of the Baptist Church on Harry Wurzbach Road. I would claim my bundle, and then shoot the breeze with the other paper boys as we rolled the Light with wet string or rubber bands.
Sunday morning deliveries were the worst. Although traffic was light, the weight of the morning edition was anything but. So I took my life into my hands every week. I would not slow down at the stop sign at the bottom of the hill; it was way too much effort to gain momentum again with 50 pounds of newsprint in my saddlebags.
There were few ads on Wednesday’s paper, so I was able to fold the pages into a triangle instead of rolling with a rubber band – and those triangles could sail like a Frisbee! I could skip it off the sidewalk for a perfect porch landing.
One guy would leave his garage door open eight inches; he wanted to pick up the newspaper without going outdoors. One Wednesday, I skipped the folded newspaper just under the door – and I heard the resulting crash as the paper rose to hit his storage shelves. No tip from him!
Few people tipped anyway. I had to go door-to-door to collect payment. My share was only $30 for more than 60 hours of work!
And to make matters worse, I failed seventh grade English. And my parents made me pay for Summer School out of my earnings. $30 down the tube!
Years later, I learned that was called natural and logical consequences. It was certainly a learning experience for me. I didn’t fail any other classes for years!
Funny thing; nowadays when I drive through the heights of Terrell Hills, my arm twitches. Although it’s been more than 50 years, the motor reflexes in my elbow’s memory tell me which houses are subscribers; and to throw the newspaper.