Thanks to many for making my first job more than a job

A conversation-starter question at a meeting I was at last week asked those at the table to describe their first paid job.

It was right down my alley and those at my table had to suffer through my long story of paperboy to publisher.

We moved to Portales in 1970 and I turned 11 that spring. I saw an ad needing kids for newspaper routes, so I inquired about the opportunity. Circulation Manager Lewis Toland listened to my spiel and told me he was sorry but the minimum age to get a route was 12.

That bummed me out but gave me some time to get interested in football. About the time football season was winding down Mr. Toland called me back and asked if I still wanted a route. I told him I did and he fixed me up with one that was over a mile bike ride into the west wind just to get started. By the time I rode the route and biked home it was probably a 5-6 mile ride.

With help on Sundays and when I was playing football, I kept that crummy route until had acquired a couple of better routes closer to home. Eventually my brother and I had three routes, including the nice one in our neighborhood with lots of annual pay customers.

Back then a route was more than a job it was actually a business. You signed a contract and agreed to be billed monthly for the papers you delivered and you agreed to have a monthly amount taken out and put toward a bond, in case you defaulted on your bill. Most were monthly pay and you had to collect them yourself, so if people didn’t pay, you took the loss.

What an education this arrangement was — you learned to sell, budget, bank, pay bills and collect from all types with all kinds of stories. It also taught you responsibility, hard work and dedication. My folks made sure we did the job right, didn’t spend too much and got the papers out on time.

One thing everyone neglected to tell me about that bond, probably by design, was that when you got so much put aside, you didn’t have to keep taking it out. The money was put in a savings account with Mr. Stinnett, the newspaper’s business manager, as co-signer. Every year at our annual carrier banquet he gave us the same speech about saving a portion of our money.

That speech stuck with me and even after I figured out I had more than enough saved up for my bond, I kept putting it in the account and even added a little extra.

Interest rates on savings actually made 6-9 percent back then and by the time I had my driver’s license I had enough money put aside to pay cash for my first car.

Thanks to Mr. Toland, Mr. Stinnett and my mom and dad my first job was more than a job — it was a first class business degree.

Karl Terry writes for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at:

[email protected]