Fade to Gray: Paperboy lessons

I played golf the other day in a charity event raising money for the Epilepsy Foundation.

I don’t play very often so I wouldn’t profess to being good at a game that takes endless hours to master. About a half hour into the tournament we were on the green and I marked the placement of the ball with a small thin liberty head mercury dime. One of the people in my foursome picked it up, stared at it a moment and said, “Where did you get this old coin?”

They were all shocked when I told them I received that coin from an old woman on Francis Street in South Troy around four o’clock one afternoon in 1975.

Right out of the gate you are wondering how I could be so precise about the coin and date. I’ll admit I could be off on the year by some small margin but I’m certain of the senior citizen who gave it to me and where she lived. Back then I was a paperboy in Troy and on Friday nights I would do my collections. A weekly subscription to the Troy Record back then was about a buck and since there was no internet or Pay Pal or money apps to swipe a card, customers paid you in cash.

Most used modern currency but I had one older customer on my route who had jars and jars of old coins keeping watch on the shelves that lined her kitchen. Even though I showed up like clockwork every Friday looking for payment my arrival always seemed to surprise her. She’d answer my knock on the door with a, “Oh my, is it that time already? OK, young man just hold on a minute.”

She’d then go into her purse for cash but whenever she was short she’d pull down a jar and shake out some old coins.

More than once I said to her, “Ma’am, some of these coins (the liberty dimes and buffalo nickels) are worth more than a dime or nickel so why don’t I stop back when you have current currency.” She’d wave me away and say, “Ah, a dime’s a dime” and hand it to me.

I started saving the coins and today, 40 plus years later I still have them. I pulled a few of the dimes out years ago when I started playing golf, to use them as ball markers and they always seem to generate a conversation with my teammates.

The other day I shared the story about how I came into possession of the old coins and the man listening lit up and said, “I had a paper route too.” We then reminisced about the good old days and the trials and tribulations of being a paperboy back in the day. We both agreed it played a major role in shaping who we turned out to be later in life.

Having a job that young taught both of us responsibility and money management. It also taught me how to deal with customers, face to face, and how to ask people to give you something they owe you without embarrassing or upsetting them. My “go to” line when collecting an old debt from a customer who seemed to be ducking me was, “I’m so sorry, I keep coming by when you’re not here. That’s on me.

“But since I have you now, can we settle up the bill?”

I also learned the value of a dollar and how spending your own money on things gives you a sense of ownership you seldom feel when things are handed to you. I remember saving for six weeks to buy an aluminum bat at Andy’s sporting goods store in downtown Troy and how well I took care of it because it was the money collected on that paper route that paid for it.

I also learned that people who worked the most blue collar, knuckle scrapping shower needed at the end of the day type jobs, were the ones who tipped you the best. I guess looking back with adult eyes and wisdom it made sense because the people who worked the hardest to pay their bills appreciated someone else doing the kind of job no one else wanted.

I mean who really wants to lug newspapers around when it’s 90 in the summer and below zero in January?

Working at an early age also gets you addicted to that feeling of accomplishment that comes from an honest day’s labor. You feel proud of yourself, even if you’re just washing dishes or bussing tables (two other jobs I’d have after I was a paperboy) and you like the fact that you don’t need to ask your parents for money every 10 minutes.

My golf buddy shared similar tales of his own youth in the Capital Region and the freedom that work brought him in every sense of the word. All that nice conversation and stirring of fond memories from one faded dime.

One final thought. In the comedy golf movie “Tin Cup” I noticed Kevin Costner marked his ball by placing a liberty head dime on the turf. I’m guessing Kevin was a paper boy.