The Paper Chase
The way I figure it, the Detroit Free Press could have saved themselves a lot of trouble and backlash if they had just kept paper boys in the first place.
You probably know the back story: in an apparent move to save some money -- presumably in the area of delivery overhead -- the newspaper, along with the Detroit News, will be reducing the number of days it home delivers. Beginning March 30, the only days you can find a paper on your front porch -- or in your bushes or elsewhere, depending on the quality of your delivery person -- will be Thursday, Friday, and Sunday. Otherwise, it's off to the nearest coin box or gas station or 7-Eleven, if you want an actual hard copy.
Or -- gasp! -- you can peruse the newspaper online, in a version that will "look like" the actual paper, sans the ink stains on your fingers. You can also receive a same-day copy in the mail.
I'm still not getting how this saves money. The paper will still be printed seven days a week -- just not delivered seven days a week. So the only thing I can come up with is that they're saving dough by not paying their carriers on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday.
I was a paper boy. It's an extinct term now, like bubble gum cards and free maps.
But in 1978, being a paper boy was still in its heyday.
I delivered the Free Press, which was the only morning paper in town in those days. The News was the afternoon paper. Some of my friends delivered the News, which meant they had to do their route after school, AND they had to pedal their bikes to a station to pick up their papers.
The way it worked with the Freep is that the papers came to YOU; someone dropped them off on your porch around 4:00 in the morning. Then you did your route before school. Piece of cake.
In the summertime, I'd occasionally have a friend or two spend the night. We wouldn't go to sleep; instead we'd simply wait for the papers to be plunked onto the porch, then we'd go out and do my route -- before sunrise. Enterprising youths as we were (age 14-15), we then could sleep in till noon, knowing the newspapers were safely near their respective doorsteps.
The Free Press couldn't possibly have had much overhead in the days of paper boys.
The racket moved onward, week-by-week. I'd deliver my bundle of papers, on schedule, and every weekend I'd get on my bike and knock on my customers' doors, shaking them down for the $1.25 or whatever it was for weekly delivery in those days. And STILL some of them would stiff me.
"I paid you last week," paper customer would say.
Despite overwhelming evidence, in the form of my two-ring ledger book thingie which had the week conspicuously un-checked off as being paid, I was still 14/15 and they were still the adults. So I'd have no choice but to shrug and agree, without even the feeblest of arguments.
I didn't say I was a good paper boy.
I'd have to pay my district manager for the papers delivered to me, then whatever left over was my "profit". Despite the occasional thief on the route, there were also some tips and sweet old ladies. But my "take" was hardly anything befitting an enterepreneur. Maybe on a good week I pulled down ten, fifteen bucks. I can barely remember. Let's just say that I certainly never felt rich.
But then the paper boy went the way of the dinosaur, as the newspapers felt it was more efficient -- and maybe more reliable -- to expand the routes (mine was barely 50 houses, tops) and hand them to adults, who had cars and things. No weekly collecting, either; checks were then being made out and papers paid for by the month-load. And, truthfully, there was a safety issue; the number of crazies seeming to increase exponentially, negating the desire to have young teens knocking on doors in the first place. Less thieving, and worse, I would imagine.
But now look at the newspapers. Having to trim costs, because folks simply aren't buying and subscribing to papers like they used to. Doing radical things, like cutting down on delivery days.
Would all this have been necessary if the paper boy wasn't excised, like a tumor?
If the newspapers hadn't thought big and broomed all their paper boys (and girls), their costs would have stayed down, not having to pay all those adults with their cars.
And just think of all the eighth and ninth-graders we could be employing today!
The paper boy is long gone. And so is his replacement -- the "carrier" -- four days a week, beginning March 30th. To save money.
Of course, good luck finding a kid on a bike anymore, anyway. Do they still ride those things?
You probably know the back story: in an apparent move to save some money -- presumably in the area of delivery overhead -- the newspaper, along with the Detroit News, will be reducing the number of days it home delivers. Beginning March 30, the only days you can find a paper on your front porch -- or in your bushes or elsewhere, depending on the quality of your delivery person -- will be Thursday, Friday, and Sunday. Otherwise, it's off to the nearest coin box or gas station or 7-Eleven, if you want an actual hard copy.
Or -- gasp! -- you can peruse the newspaper online, in a version that will "look like" the actual paper, sans the ink stains on your fingers. You can also receive a same-day copy in the mail.
I'm still not getting how this saves money. The paper will still be printed seven days a week -- just not delivered seven days a week. So the only thing I can come up with is that they're saving dough by not paying their carriers on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday.
I was a paper boy. It's an extinct term now, like bubble gum cards and free maps.
But in 1978, being a paper boy was still in its heyday.
I delivered the Free Press, which was the only morning paper in town in those days. The News was the afternoon paper. Some of my friends delivered the News, which meant they had to do their route after school, AND they had to pedal their bikes to a station to pick up their papers.
The way it worked with the Freep is that the papers came to YOU; someone dropped them off on your porch around 4:00 in the morning. Then you did your route before school. Piece of cake.
In the summertime, I'd occasionally have a friend or two spend the night. We wouldn't go to sleep; instead we'd simply wait for the papers to be plunked onto the porch, then we'd go out and do my route -- before sunrise. Enterprising youths as we were (age 14-15), we then could sleep in till noon, knowing the newspapers were safely near their respective doorsteps.
The Free Press couldn't possibly have had much overhead in the days of paper boys.
The racket moved onward, week-by-week. I'd deliver my bundle of papers, on schedule, and every weekend I'd get on my bike and knock on my customers' doors, shaking them down for the $1.25 or whatever it was for weekly delivery in those days. And STILL some of them would stiff me.
"I paid you last week," paper customer would say.
Despite overwhelming evidence, in the form of my two-ring ledger book thingie which had the week conspicuously un-checked off as being paid, I was still 14/15 and they were still the adults. So I'd have no choice but to shrug and agree, without even the feeblest of arguments.
I didn't say I was a good paper boy.
I'd have to pay my district manager for the papers delivered to me, then whatever left over was my "profit". Despite the occasional thief on the route, there were also some tips and sweet old ladies. But my "take" was hardly anything befitting an enterepreneur. Maybe on a good week I pulled down ten, fifteen bucks. I can barely remember. Let's just say that I certainly never felt rich.
But then the paper boy went the way of the dinosaur, as the newspapers felt it was more efficient -- and maybe more reliable -- to expand the routes (mine was barely 50 houses, tops) and hand them to adults, who had cars and things. No weekly collecting, either; checks were then being made out and papers paid for by the month-load. And, truthfully, there was a safety issue; the number of crazies seeming to increase exponentially, negating the desire to have young teens knocking on doors in the first place. Less thieving, and worse, I would imagine.
But now look at the newspapers. Having to trim costs, because folks simply aren't buying and subscribing to papers like they used to. Doing radical things, like cutting down on delivery days.
Would all this have been necessary if the paper boy wasn't excised, like a tumor?
If the newspapers hadn't thought big and broomed all their paper boys (and girls), their costs would have stayed down, not having to pay all those adults with their cars.
And just think of all the eighth and ninth-graders we could be employing today!
The paper boy is long gone. And so is his replacement -- the "carrier" -- four days a week, beginning March 30th. To save money.
Of course, good luck finding a kid on a bike anymore, anyway. Do they still ride those things?
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