“Even today, if we all went out on the sidewalk right now, we could probably porch the paper every time.” – Brady Connell, former member of the infamous Dolorosa Street Paperboy’s Dynasty.
If you had a newspaper route as a kid, you know what he’s talking about – porching the paper.
Whether you threw it with a forehand fling or used the backhand slice over the handlebars, the goal was to hit the porch, not the rose bushes. And, heaven help you if you missed them both and hit the window.
Of course, there were exceptions for the customers who pretended they weren’t home the night you came to collect the 65 cents a month the old Valley News and Green Sheet cost in 1962 when Kelly Connell was delivering the paper at dawn.
He was all of 10 years old and in 5th grade.
“Over time you knew the houses where it wasn’t worth your time to knock on the door trying to collect anymore,” the now 65-year-old real estate appraiser says. “I’d still throw them a paper, but I’d slide it up their driveway.”
“I have never stopped working since the day I started with the Green Sheet. The rest of my childhood was spent working at a car wash and gas station, but the paper route was different in that I was my own boss.”
— Jim Thomson
For 17 years, from 1962 to 1979 — with only one short break in service — the Connell and Thomson boys living next door to each other on Dolorosa Street in Woodland Hills held a monopoly on their neighborhood delivery route.
The six boys were about three years apart, which was perfect. When one boy was entering high school, he passed the route on to the next youngest in line entering junior high.
Most of them also passed on the same sturdy red bike with balloon tires that could support the weight of the papers in the canvas bags hanging from the handlebars. They paid for the bike out of the $30 or so they were making every month delivering the paper.
“It was a business transaction from the very beginning,” says Brady Connell, Kelly’s younger brother. “We got to run our own business at an early age, and develop skills and a work ethic that prepared us for life.”
Dick Thomson says he took his parents “encouragement” (orders, actually), and banked 90 per cent of the $100 a month he was making delivering three routes. When he turned 16, he bought himself a tour of Europe with the Foreign Study League.
“I have never stopped working since the day I started with the Green Sheet,” says brother Jim Thomson. “The rest of my childhood was spent working at a car wash and gas station, but the paper route was different in that I was my own boss.
“Is that too much responsibility for a 10-year-old? No.”
John Thomson, the last of the dynasty, says he can’t remember ever missing a delivery day. “Something about being a kid with his first job just brought about a loyalty and dedication. Besides, I couldn’t let down the generations between our family and the Connell’s.”
It’s been almost 40 years since he delivered his last newspaper. The route was taken over by an adult driving a car, who neighbors complained never hit the porch like those Connell and Thomson boys on their bikes.
The era of the morning newspaper delivery boy was coming to an end, but what a great run it had been.
“Where else could an 10-year-old kid earn $25 or $30 a month in 1962?” asks Kelly, who attended a reunion last weekend at the Thomson house to celebrate mother Jean’s 85th birthday.
“It could never happen today,” she laughs. “What 10- or 11-year-old kid is going to get up at 5 a.m. to deliver newspapers, even if his parents said it was okay.”
The boys would leave the house when it was still dark to walk to the corner and pick up the bundles of papers the route manager had dropped off.
“I’d hoist them on my shoulders and bring them home to fold on the brick steps outside because my mom was afraid the ink would get on the carpet inside,” Brady says.
“I’d put 100 rubber bands between my left thumb and forefinger and fold the paper with my right hand. It was freezing out sometimes, and if one broke as you were putting it on, it would snap your fingers. That was the most painful part of the whole job.”
Tuesday’s were the best days because the paper was light and easy to porch. It was Thursday’s fat paper crammed with ads and inserts they hated to throw.
“Fortunately, Thursday was also garbage day, so I’d park my bike between two garbage cans and spread out the empty canvas bags on top of the cans, and load them that way,” Kelly remembers. “I wouldn’t have to bend down and struggle getting the heavy bags up on my handlebars, which was tough for a 10-year-old kid.”
No, Tuesday was by far the best delivery day, the ex-paperboys of Dolorosa Street say. You could let the paper fly, backhand or forehand, and porch it from the sidewalk with no problem.
Until, of course, you came to the house that didn’t pay.
Dennis McCarthy’s column runs on Friday. He can be reached at dmccarthynews@gmail.com.
