By Mike Johnson
In the quiet darkness of 4am, I sometimes wish I could step back into the solitude of a paper route.
I love the smell of newsprint in the morning.
It’s a rush to enter the outside world first, before others even awaken.
Million-dollar infrastructure, built for thousands, belongs to me alone.
No people in sight.
No cars on the road.
I can verify this by walking down the middle of the street.
My hands still hold the muscle memory of the practiced trifold that tightly folds a newspaper into itself.
With the right spin, it can be accurately tossed for a dozen feet, landing on a front step, without coming apart.
From 1968 to 1974, I delivered a quarter million newspapers.
160,000 on my own morning and afternoon routes, the rest helping my district manager deliver papers on open routes.
That works out to about one fried cinnamon roll for every 250 newspapers.
Bakeries are yet another benefit of arising early.
As for mileage, I walked or biked over 7,000 miles during those deliveries.
Two trips across the United States.
Before dawn.
Before puberty.
I often carried a transistor radio in my pocket.
Thanks to WDGY radio, Glen Campbell, Tommy Roe and Don McLean kept my toes tapping.
I learned early that living nocturnally is a valuable workaround to avoid the insanity of society.
Starting before everyone else easily defeats all competition.
Solitude allows your brain to function three times sharper.
The self-discipline learned by arising early was applied to force myself to do what needed to be done.
Few of the mediocre mass of men ever develop that power.
Newsprint is in my blood.
I’ve delivered newspapers.
Worked for newspapers.
Freelanced for newspapers.
Created, published and owned newspapers.
Fifty years later, I suppose I have the best of all worlds.
At heart, I’m still a paperboy, but without the responsibility of a route.
I don’t have to arise at 4am, but I CHOOSE to.
WDGY is now an oldies channel, playing the same paper route music on my Internet radio.
I don’t have to get ready for school, but can watch the bus drive across the valley below.
I have the solitude.
I have the memories.
I have the money and I have the bakery confections.
And wonder of wonders, like after every completed route, I have an unread newspaper waiting on the chair under the lamp.
I love the smell of newsprint in the morning.
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