This picture was captured during the summer of 1963, on one of our weekends off, while my brother (on the left in the picture) and I still lived in the orphanage. After adding large saddle baskets, I used this same bike for my paper route a few years later. My brother received a new, larger bike like mine for Christmas, before he joined me on the paper route a year later.
The 14th Short Story
Seven Miles of Paper -- Part 3
"Seven Miles of Paper -- Part 3"
ANDY JUNIOR'S CHILDHOOD STORIES
Life After the St. Joseph Home for Boys
My 14th Short Story
When my dad remarried in 1965, he brought us three kids back to live at home on Sandstone Road in Spring Arbor, Michigan. I kicked off another new schoolyear that September at Western Junior High School in Parma, Michigan. My brother and sister went to elementary school in Woodville.
"Seven Miles of Paper -- Part 3"
“Keep your eyes on those headlights.”
--Andy Skrzynski
For the most part, the daily routines of my Jackson Citizen Paper route continued fairly smoothly. Unfortunately, I would occasionally be reminded of life’s unpleasant surprises.
Nobody should ever mistake me for being a fool. Even before my very first paper route run, I added lots of reflectors to my bike for the trips after sunset or before that ball of fire rose above the horizon. I attached one to the front and back and several more among the spindles of both wheels.
In the dark of early morning or evenings in the wintertime, my Huffy bike glowed like shining stars, as long as the brightness of a car’s headlights hit my red and orange reflectors the right way. How could I possibly be more careful than this?
One Sunday morning, while traveling west along King Road on the left side of the road, as I always did so I could see the oncoming traffic, a car, whose lights were plenty bright enough, headed east toward my direction. While the two dazzling orbs approached, they seemed to be a lot closer to the edge of the road than usual. I kept my eyes glued to those luminous beams like a scared deer as they approached. Why isn’t that idiot moving over? Can’t he see my reflectors?
The stupid car kept speeding straight at me while closing within 10 yards. Yikes!
I jerked my handlebars to the left and ditched my bike. Newspapers scattered in all directions while that hairbrained driver never swerved an inch.
Steaming mad, I hopped to my feet and proceeded to do what any full-blooded American teenager would have done under such circumstances. I flipped the bird and screamed, “Watch where you’re driving, you freaking idiot!”
Now that I think about it, my response was probably a bit more profane, but let’s just keep that between you and me, because I can’t remember whether I confessed that doozy or not. Well, just in case; Lord, please forgive me.
The harrowing incident prodded me to ponder my situation a little more urgently. Maybe, I wasn’t so safe after all. I certainly don’t want to get run over, for heaven’s sake!
The next time our family visited the local department store, I promptly marched to the sporting goods section to see what I might find to avoid such a life-threatening encounter again. I had built up the tiniest nest egg over the months of delivering the Jackson Citizen Patriot, so I decided to invest in a little more safety. Someone as important as me shouldn’t be splattered on the road, only to appear in some tiny article in the same newspaper I was delivering. That’s not how I want to leave this world!
While scanning the shelves by the new bicycles, I paused. Hmmm, this might do the trick. I picked up the package with a label that read, “Lights for Bikes.”
A little to the left of that was another item that caught my eye. Wow. I could find out how fast I’m going and how long my route is. How groovy is that?
I grabbed the light and the speedometer/odometer contraption and headed back to find the rest of the family. When we got to the checkout counter, I retrieved the requisite money to pay for my new wares.
After finishing off my dad’s to do’s, later that day, I immediately proceeded to attach my newfound instruments to my bike. First, I mounted the single headlight to the central portion of my handlebar. Then, I ran the wire down to the little generator with a rubber portion that made contact with the chrome wheel to spin in sync with the movement of the bicycle.
After tightly wrapping the wire around each metal piece, leading down to the left brace that held the front wheel in place, I attached the generator and aligned it as described in the instructions. From there, I neatly ran another wire along the top beam that ran toward the back of my bike and attached the red taillight to the rod that ran up to my saddle seat.
Finally, after everything was securely in place, I gave it a test run. Both lights got brighter and brighter the faster I pedaled. I hollered out loud, “Hallelujah, it works!”
I returned to where my small toolbox sat and finished the job by attaching and testing the speedometer/odometer device. When done, a big smile crawled across my face. I can’t wait to see how it works on Sunday.
Nearly getting pancaked on King Road should have been scary enough for most folks, but I learned of a far greater danger during my deliveries. This terrifying entity was far smaller than a car, but much more difficult to see or to even anticipate.
Most times, the attacks from these monsters came out of nowhere, but could leave you with throbbing pain and even some bruises and scars. With such horrors, size was not the determining factor. In fact, the smaller the attacker, the more aggressive they seemed to be.
One Saturday, while I was standing in the doorway and receiving my collections from a very friendly customer, she cradled her dear pet in her arms. There was a critically important thing I learned over my relatively short career as a paperboy up to that point.
I didn’t really care what creature someone might be holding. If I wasn’t familiar with it, I wasn’t exactly inclined to test its temperament or veracity.
Nonetheless, the lady kept insisting that I should pet her tiny Chihuahua. “Go ahead, Pepe wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
I shook my head. “No ma’am, I’d rather not tempt the cute fella. He seems fine just as he is.”
Smiling, she extended the rat of a dog closer to me. “Oh, come on. He doesn’t bite.”
The furry mutt kept staring at me but wasn’t growling. I sighed. It must be okay if she says he’s harmless. Ever so gingerly, I stuck my hand out to pet it.
Without the slightest hesitation, the devilish pooch clamped onto my thumb like a vise and shook its head to inflict even greater pain. “Ouch!” I desperately tried to retrieve my bleeding appendage, but the fiendish monster wouldn’t let go.
The terrified owner kept smacking it on the head and commanding it to let go, but it must have been deaf or something. The crazed mutt must have thought I was the latest and greatest in doggie meals.
Throbbing from the pain and fed up with its menacing shenanigans, I wanted to punch the lady. Being taught to be a gentleman at all times, I wacked the pouch on the nose as hard as I could instead. Stunned for a moment, the stupid beast finally released my thumb as blood dripped all over the floor.
Embarrassed and shocked from her pet’s reaction, the lady ran to the next room, and after a few seconds, slammed the door to keep her monster at bay before returning. She sobbed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what got into Pepe! He’s never bitten anybody before.”
After helping me clean and dress the wound, she paid me for her week’s newspaper. The well-meaning lady apologized up a storm again and handed me a nice tip.
Thankful the nightmarish ordeal had finally ended, I exited her little house of horrors. By then my thumb was swollen to the diameter of a hunk of kielbasa, and I could barely move the sucker.
I shook my head. “Why on Earth did I ever listen to that stupid woman. NEVER again!”
********
That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed the first three parts of my story as a paper boy. In case you were wondering, there will be a Part 4 to my newspaper experiences as well.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski
ANDY JUNIOR'S CHILDHOOD STORIES
Life After the St. Joseph Home for Boys
My 14th Short Story
When my dad remarried in 1965, he brought us three kids back to live at home on Sandstone Road in Spring Arbor, Michigan. I kicked off another new schoolyear that September at Western Junior High School in Parma, Michigan. My brother and sister went to elementary school in Woodville.
"Seven Miles of Paper -- Part 3"
“Keep your eyes on those headlights.”
--Andy Skrzynski
For the most part, the daily routines of my Jackson Citizen Paper route continued fairly smoothly. Unfortunately, I would occasionally be reminded of life’s unpleasant surprises.
Nobody should ever mistake me for being a fool. Even before my very first paper route run, I added lots of reflectors to my bike for the trips after sunset or before that ball of fire rose above the horizon. I attached one to the front and back and several more among the spindles of both wheels.
In the dark of early morning or evenings in the wintertime, my Huffy bike glowed like shining stars, as long as the brightness of a car’s headlights hit my red and orange reflectors the right way. How could I possibly be more careful than this?
One Sunday morning, while traveling west along King Road on the left side of the road, as I always did so I could see the oncoming traffic, a car, whose lights were plenty bright enough, headed east toward my direction. While the two dazzling orbs approached, they seemed to be a lot closer to the edge of the road than usual. I kept my eyes glued to those luminous beams like a scared deer as they approached. Why isn’t that idiot moving over? Can’t he see my reflectors?
The stupid car kept speeding straight at me while closing within 10 yards. Yikes!
I jerked my handlebars to the left and ditched my bike. Newspapers scattered in all directions while that hairbrained driver never swerved an inch.
Steaming mad, I hopped to my feet and proceeded to do what any full-blooded American teenager would have done under such circumstances. I flipped the bird and screamed, “Watch where you’re driving, you freaking idiot!”
Now that I think about it, my response was probably a bit more profane, but let’s just keep that between you and me, because I can’t remember whether I confessed that doozy or not. Well, just in case; Lord, please forgive me.
The harrowing incident prodded me to ponder my situation a little more urgently. Maybe, I wasn’t so safe after all. I certainly don’t want to get run over, for heaven’s sake!
The next time our family visited the local department store, I promptly marched to the sporting goods section to see what I might find to avoid such a life-threatening encounter again. I had built up the tiniest nest egg over the months of delivering the Jackson Citizen Patriot, so I decided to invest in a little more safety. Someone as important as me shouldn’t be splattered on the road, only to appear in some tiny article in the same newspaper I was delivering. That’s not how I want to leave this world!
While scanning the shelves by the new bicycles, I paused. Hmmm, this might do the trick. I picked up the package with a label that read, “Lights for Bikes.”
A little to the left of that was another item that caught my eye. Wow. I could find out how fast I’m going and how long my route is. How groovy is that?
I grabbed the light and the speedometer/odometer contraption and headed back to find the rest of the family. When we got to the checkout counter, I retrieved the requisite money to pay for my new wares.
After finishing off my dad’s to do’s, later that day, I immediately proceeded to attach my newfound instruments to my bike. First, I mounted the single headlight to the central portion of my handlebar. Then, I ran the wire down to the little generator with a rubber portion that made contact with the chrome wheel to spin in sync with the movement of the bicycle.
After tightly wrapping the wire around each metal piece, leading down to the left brace that held the front wheel in place, I attached the generator and aligned it as described in the instructions. From there, I neatly ran another wire along the top beam that ran toward the back of my bike and attached the red taillight to the rod that ran up to my saddle seat.
Finally, after everything was securely in place, I gave it a test run. Both lights got brighter and brighter the faster I pedaled. I hollered out loud, “Hallelujah, it works!”
I returned to where my small toolbox sat and finished the job by attaching and testing the speedometer/odometer device. When done, a big smile crawled across my face. I can’t wait to see how it works on Sunday.
Nearly getting pancaked on King Road should have been scary enough for most folks, but I learned of a far greater danger during my deliveries. This terrifying entity was far smaller than a car, but much more difficult to see or to even anticipate.
Most times, the attacks from these monsters came out of nowhere, but could leave you with throbbing pain and even some bruises and scars. With such horrors, size was not the determining factor. In fact, the smaller the attacker, the more aggressive they seemed to be.
One Saturday, while I was standing in the doorway and receiving my collections from a very friendly customer, she cradled her dear pet in her arms. There was a critically important thing I learned over my relatively short career as a paperboy up to that point.
I didn’t really care what creature someone might be holding. If I wasn’t familiar with it, I wasn’t exactly inclined to test its temperament or veracity.
Nonetheless, the lady kept insisting that I should pet her tiny Chihuahua. “Go ahead, Pepe wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
I shook my head. “No ma’am, I’d rather not tempt the cute fella. He seems fine just as he is.”
Smiling, she extended the rat of a dog closer to me. “Oh, come on. He doesn’t bite.”
The furry mutt kept staring at me but wasn’t growling. I sighed. It must be okay if she says he’s harmless. Ever so gingerly, I stuck my hand out to pet it.
Without the slightest hesitation, the devilish pooch clamped onto my thumb like a vise and shook its head to inflict even greater pain. “Ouch!” I desperately tried to retrieve my bleeding appendage, but the fiendish monster wouldn’t let go.
The terrified owner kept smacking it on the head and commanding it to let go, but it must have been deaf or something. The crazed mutt must have thought I was the latest and greatest in doggie meals.
Throbbing from the pain and fed up with its menacing shenanigans, I wanted to punch the lady. Being taught to be a gentleman at all times, I wacked the pouch on the nose as hard as I could instead. Stunned for a moment, the stupid beast finally released my thumb as blood dripped all over the floor.
Embarrassed and shocked from her pet’s reaction, the lady ran to the next room, and after a few seconds, slammed the door to keep her monster at bay before returning. She sobbed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what got into Pepe! He’s never bitten anybody before.”
After helping me clean and dress the wound, she paid me for her week’s newspaper. The well-meaning lady apologized up a storm again and handed me a nice tip.
Thankful the nightmarish ordeal had finally ended, I exited her little house of horrors. By then my thumb was swollen to the diameter of a hunk of kielbasa, and I could barely move the sucker.
I shook my head. “Why on Earth did I ever listen to that stupid woman. NEVER again!”
********
That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed the first three parts of my story as a paper boy. In case you were wondering, there will be a Part 4 to my newspaper experiences as well.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski