Editor’s Note

My husband, Mark, and I met at the University of Toronto as student journalists. We both knew that we would pursue it as a profession. For me, it was because my brothers were reporters, and I so idolized them that I was honored to follow in their footsteps. For Mark, though, it was a calling. He grew up around Boston, and his first job was in eighth grade, delivering The Boston

Globe—the morning edition, which meant rising at 5 to meet the delivery truck, folding the papers and packing them in his bag.

Just before walking his route, Mark performed the part of his daily ritual that he loved best: He read the newspaper.

“I don’t know many paperboys who did that,” his mother, Joyce, told me. For years, neither did I.

But over the past few months, dozens of former carriers from across the country have written to us about their experiences delivering their hometown newspapers. And a few of them did read the paper—the funnies, mostly. It was one of the many details I noted as I absorbed their tales, which are at once charming and deeply moving. My heart went out to these children, some as young as 10, who employed herculean effort to get those papers to their customers—despite snowstorms, flat tires and nasty dogs. It was a tough job with poor pay, and customers weren’t always very nice. Yet carriers remember those times with good humor. Even a duty as distasteful as collecting payment, which all agree was the worst, left them grateful at least to have learned the importance of keeping accurate records and being a good tipper.

You’ll find 15 of these stories in “Read All About It”

(page 32). If we’d had the space, we’d have published

50—they’re that good.