DELIVERING "THE CITIZEN" - Part II
Collecting
One of the most important paper route responsibilities was “collecting.” Paper boys bought their newspapers and paid for them by collecting the weekly subscription fee from each of their individual subscribers. When I started on Route 11 the weekly rate was $.42. Round numbers, that meant, if you had 120 subscribers you expected to collect $50.40 a week from which you would pay your paper bill of approximately $30, the $20 difference being what you earned. In eighth grade back in 1971, that was good money. More importantly, if you had a generous subscriber who thought you were doing a good job you would get a tip. The beauty of a $.42 per week subscription is that many customers would pay with two quarters and tell you to keep the change. With 120 subscribers, that could be another $9 or $10 a week!
But not all subscribers were generous or even, in a few instances, honest. The stingiest subscribers I can remember were the Maisley‘s at the corner of Owasco and Frederick Street. They absolutely never, ever, gave a tip. Typically, they had exactly $.42 at the ready, and if they paid with more, they expected exact change be returned. I will say, however, that no matter what, the Maisley’s paid on time.
For the most part, all the collecting could be done as papers were delivered during the day on Friday and Saturday. That slowed the day down, of course, but it was part of the job and the only way you could pay your bill on Monday. Many times, subscribers were not around to pay the bill. So, on Saturday evenings, it was good to walk the length of the route and knock on the doors of people who had yet to pay. Many worked during the day and simply weren’t home to pay in the afternoon, so they appreciated the fact that you came in the evening. Truthfully, my memory is that I would do this only when the weather was good between late spring and early fall.
Mike, Tom and I were fortunate. We never had to provide subscribers with those tiny little “paid” receipts with the day of the week printed on it. We trusted our subscribers, and they trusted us. Occasionally we would get stiffed by a subscriber who moved away and still owed us for a week or two, but that was very rare. And occasionally, when a subscriber got “behind,” we would make the tough management decision to stop delivering their paper or, as we called it, “cut them off.” That usually got their attention. (In business it is known as managing unpaid receivables.)
The most important thing about collecting was to keep good track of who had paid and who hadn’t in the Paper Book. This was a soft bound book that captured all the essentials of a paper route. On the left-side pages there were rows to record the name of the subscriber and their address. On the right-side page there was a grid, by date and subscriber that was used to keep track of who had paid and who hadn’t. An “X” mark on the grid meant paid. An empty space? You needed to keep knocking on the door: Friday, Saturday, Saturday night and on into the following week if necessary. The way to lose money on your route was to lose track of who had paid.
Imagine…if on Friday you were able to collect from 75 of your subscribers, that meant you had over $30, mostly in change, stuffed in your pocket at the end of the day. I have distinct memories of coming home with pockets bulging and emptying the change onto my desk to be counted. At the beginning of the route, when a subscriber wanted to pay with a dollar it was possible that you didn’t have proper change. By the end of the route, that was not a problem. Money went from my pocket to an old and empty Hershey Kisses can. No matter how much was in there, dollar bills and wrapped coins, it was not money until that week’s paper bill had been paid at The Citizen. (After that, straight to candy and coke from Sperdutti’s on Anna Street. And from there, some fun-filled visits to Dr. Nangle!)
There is no shortage of funny, strange and interesting stories that revolve around subscribers and collecting.
Some subscribers “paid at the office.“ That meant you didn’t have to collect from them directly, but it also meant you never got a tip!
Some subscribers could be a little confused. I distinctly remember an elderly woman in the Koon apartments, one of the second or third floor apartments, who could not remember that the weekly subscription rate had been increased from $.42 to $.60. She was sweet and never questioned whether I was being honest.
One subscriber’s paper had to be delivered through the back door of a big multi-apartment house on Owasco Street. Up the back steps to a porch, through the door into a dark hallway where, after a turn to the left, there was a small wooden mailbox attached to the wall beside the door. It was so dark you had to let your eyes adjust from the bright outdoors. Every week, a small envelope was paper clipped to the mailbox with payment inside. The envelope was there without fail. Except for one week. Rather than wait till the next day to see if the envelope appeared, I knocked on the door and heard someone ask who it was. I responded it was the paper boy waiting to be paid. Shortly, the door opened but only enough for an arm and a hand to stick out and hand me the money with no apology or words. Strange, and pretty creepy.
There was also the subscriber who, looking back now, was probably a very young woman, perhaps newly married. It was one of those addresses where collecting was pretty hit or miss. Maybe Friday, maybe Saturday. You never knew. But I do recall a time that they were two or three weeks behind and when I knocked on the door during the week the young woman answered. When I mentioned that they owed for two or three weeks, she seemed flustered and surprised enough for me to feel a little bit sorry for her. I kind of felt like telling her that she didn’t need to worry, plenty of people got a little bit behind. The strange thing is that she left and returned with her payment in just a few minutes. Later, as I walked to the next house, I noticed that most of the coins she used to pay seemed a little strange. In fact, they were all relatively old coins. Mercury dimes, a Buffalo nickel, and a pretty old quarter. I worried that she had taken coins from a coin collection.
·Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert were among our very best subscribers. Mr. Gilbert had essentially gone blind, and Mrs. Gilbert took good care of him. Without fail, they would be ready to pay for the paper on Friday. If Mrs. Gilbert was out, you could see Mr. Gilbert moving slowly through his living room, stopping to pick up the money, then approaching and opening the door. He would always chuckle and comment that he was slow responding to the doorbell. When Mrs. Gilbert was home, she would get to the door more quickly and, in the winter, say that the money was warm because it had been put aside in advance on the nearby radiator.
The best version of collecting was “Seasons Greetings” during the holidays. That is when paper boys purchased from the paper a slick, one-page glossy new year calendar for each of our subscribers. It had a relevant picture from somewhere in Auburn and, of course, the masthead for The Citizen. They cost about five cents apiece. Like the regular collecting routine, but a lot more brazen, a week or two before Christmas you would tuck the calendars into your newspaper bag and bang on every subscribers door to announce “Seasons Greetings!” and hand out a calendar when they appeared. That, of course, was code for “I’m your paper boy and it’s time to give me a Christmas gift.” Most subscribers were very generous and would give you a dollar or two which more than covered the nickel you paid for the calendar! Some of the nicest subscribers would even hand out a Five Dollar bill. I recall knocking on the door of a double house on Lizette Street where a young, single, male subscriber probably rented. At the time he seemed old enough to be an adult, but my bet is he wasn’t even 25 years old. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a teacher. He opened the door and I gave him my very best “Seasons greetings!” He responded with a pleasant thank you, accepted the calendar and closed the door. I left a little disappointed but not upset. I mean, it only cost a nickel. I turned the corner at Lizette doubling back on Owasco Street and had delivered one or two more papers when I heard a voice behind me. “Hey, hold up a second.” It was the fellow from Lizette Street following after me with one or two dollars, I can’t remember. Maybe he was only 23 years old, but he had figured it out. He got it. That little kid, lugging newspapers around in the winter and in the dark, deserved a little holiday cheer. It hadn’t bothered me that he didn’t get it right away, but it made me doubly appreciative that now he did and felt strongly enough about it to chase after me.
to be continued …