Life in the Ville by Jimmy Del Ponte

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If you grew up in the ‘60s and ‘70s in West Somerville and delivered newspapers, you probably worked for Mr. Abe Learner. Abe was the boss. “Better get going” was one of Abe’s favorite sayings as he tried to get us out to start delivering our papers.

All my friends had paper routes down at Abe’s, including a few girls (his wife’s name was Stella). The office of The Davis Square News Agency was in the building that now houses that cupcake place near Cutter Avenue. Charlie was known as “Bay State,” because that was the name of his route. I was “Francesca.” He would say, “Hey, Francesca, fold those papers and get going!” I delivered the Globe and the Record American and afternoon Herald Traveler. We would head over to the office, get our papers, and start folding them and putting elastics around them. We would then pack them into a large white canvas bag and sling it over our shoulder. You would leave your bike parked outside. If you had a large basket, like I did, you would pack the papers into that. I remember wiping out a few times on my bike because the basket was so heavy and hard to balance and steer. I think a lot of my friends my age have shoulder issues from lugging those paper sacks. Lots of kids stood outside businesses or on traffic islands hawking their papers. Some kids would regularly go into the barrooms to sell papers.

“My friend and I would get up at 4 a.m. and wrap papers with this big box of elastics. All I remember that smell … and the ink all over my hands.” The odor was a mixture of the rubber from the elastics, cigarette smoke, and newspaper ink that filled the newspaper office. But delivering the paper was only half the battle. Collecting the money from the customers was a bigger pain. We relied on tips, and not everyone was that generous. It was very important to deliver a clean, dry and well-folded paper to your customers because that’s when the tips came. Christmas was a great tip-receiving time, too. If people blew you off or didn’t answer the door, you would have to cover it yourself – and that wasn’t good. My pal Danny had the worst possible house to deliver to. It was that huge house on Morrison Avenue once owned by Burt Faulkner. He had to walk up “a zillion steps” but he tipped “very well!” We had to go into Abe’s office to turn in our collection money. The worst thing you could possibly hear was… “YOU’RE SHORT!” NO! That meant I’d have to use my tips to cover. It didn’t happen often, thank God. My paper routes paid for my first guitar amplifier as well as a lot of school clothes at the “Truc” and “The Lodge” in Harvard Square. There were other news agencies in Somerville back then such as Burkes and Broadway News.

Delivering the Sunday paper was a whole different story. It cost an outrageous 25 cents. You had to get up very early (and sometimes insert all the ads and “colors”) and put the gigantic papers in a huge, rickety wooden cart. Snow and rain made it more of a nightmare. You would have to wheel it around the streets until all of your 35 or 40 papers were delivered. Once I skipped a whole street by accident and thought I had extra papers. Instead of wheeling the cart all the way back to Abe’s, I dumped them down the railroad tracks. Unfortunately, another paperboy saw me and ratted me out to Abe. He went berserk, and of course I had to pay for the papers.

One of Abe’s right hand men was Dixie Dumas. I wonder if he’s still around. And who could forget the colorful and outspoken character Mary S., who lived next door. She actually ran for mayor of Somerville! She kept us entertained.

Once I had to pay for denting a guy’s aluminum screen door with a paper. Except for that incident, I became pretty good at flinging papers from my bike. It also helped to develop my arm strength. Today it would be dangerous for kids to deliver papers because it would be hard balancing the bike, tossing the papers, listening to an iPod and texting all at the same time! I can still hear Abe’s gruff voice telling us to hit the streets with our papers. All my friends would imitate him and impersonate his voice, but I am grateful to him for giving me some of the best memories of my boyhood.