Delivering Newspapers
My brother and I shared a Washington Post paper route for over two years. We had over 200 subscribers on our delivery route. We would alternate days during the week and both go out on Sundays. Sometimes my father would drive us around on Sundays because the Sunday papers were so heavy. We had to get up at some ungodly predawn hour to get the papers all delivered before 6:30 a.m. The worst were the cold winter mornings. To haul the papers around with us, we used a large wooden wagon that had a canvas strap to hold the papers down on a windy day. The words "The Washington Post" were stenciled on the wagon's sides. Sometimes, going down hill we would sit in the wagon and coast, but this could be reckless because there were no brakes to stop with. I remember crashing into the curb a few times in order to stop. Going up hill, on the other hand, was a real chore with a fully loaded wagon. Here I am coming back home with an empty wagon (or maybe I'm just starting out to pick up the bundles of papers from the corner where the distributor droped them off for us). The shiny pants I'm wearing were waterproof plastic things called coverbutts and were worn over my regular trousers. I wouldn't be caught dead with them on in the light of day, but on these dark fridged winter mornings with no one around to laugh at them, they blocked the wind and kept out any wet slush. Note all the snow on the ground.
Delivering Newspapers
My brother and I shared a Washington Post paper route for over two years. We had over 200 subscribers on our delivery route. We would alternate days during the week and both go out on Sundays. Sometimes my father would drive us around on Sundays because the Sunday papers were so heavy. We had to get up at some ungodly predawn hour to get the papers all delivered before 6:30 a.m. The worst were the cold winter mornings. To haul the papers around with us, we used a large wooden wagon that had a canvas strap to hold the papers down on a windy day. The words "The Washington Post" were stenciled on the wagon's sides. Sometimes, going down hill we would sit in the wagon and coast, but this could be reckless because there were no brakes to stop with. I remember crashing into the curb a few times in order to stop. Going up hill, on the other hand, was a real chore with a fully loaded wagon. Here I am coming back home with an empty wagon (or maybe I'm just starting out to pick up the bundles of papers from the corner where the distributor droped them off for us). The shiny pants I'm wearing were waterproof plastic things called coverbutts and were worn over my regular trousers. I wouldn't be caught dead with them on in the light of day, but on these dark fridged winter mornings with no one around to laugh at them, they blocked the wind and kept out any wet slush. Note all the snow on the ground.