Christmas memories of throwing papers

It has been decades ago and I have more wrinkles and gray hair, but still remember with a warm feeling being a paper boy for the Northwest Arkansas Times. I would say late ’50s or early ’60s. The paper office was on the corner of East Avenue and Meadow, facing what is now the Chancellor Hotel. The Circulation Department was in the rear of the building facing Block Street. The paper was a six-day a week daily with the heaviest papers, 24 or 32 pages, on Wednesday, when the merchants would advertise.

Our circulation manager was a man named John Bristow. He was about 40, I would guess. He lived and breathed getting papers delivered. He was a firm but fair man and you always knew where you stood with him. If you received more than a few complaints about papers not being delivered you could expect him waiting for you about 3:30m p.m. when school-aged youngsters arrived. You knew why he was there.

During my tenure as a paper boy I had three different routes — route 11 and a half, route 10 and route 3. Route 3 started at the corner of Lafayette and Forrest and ended up at the corner of Wilson and Prospect. Having different routes was decided by time in rank: The longer you were there, the better route you could move up to.

Each year the carriers had a Christmas party. It made all of us feel somewhat anxious as the holidays approached. Mr. Bristow would announce the date of the party, usually a few days before Christmas, and we would assemble at the back of the building at 6 p.m. For two years that I recall, the boss handed me a $10 bill just as the party was ready to begin and send me across the street to the Blue Mill Cafe on Block Street. Uncle Ray and Aunt Edna Cole owned and operated this well-patronized eatery. I would hand over the $10 and get two bags of steaming hot hamburgers, 40 burgers wrapped in wax paper. Within about three minutes I was back at the party and everyone was digging in to enjoy this great treat. I remember it was cold outside and steam would come off the bags as I carried them.

After we finished eating, the boss man would make a little speech of appreciation for our delivery work. We would then have a few drawings for new sets of paper bags, which would fit over the handlebars of a bicycle for carrying our newspapers in. As we concluded and as we walked out, Mr. Bristow would stand there with his wallet out and hand each of us a crisp new $5 bill.

This memory has stayed with me for over 50 years and I still catch myself thinking about those days as I drive up Block Street to the square. My God, I was a fortunate young man to be raised in such a great city and community. ROBERT FERRELL

Fayetteville