Faith: God's message of salvation is the best 'news flash' of all

Paperboy.

Now, there’s a term you don’t hear mentioned much in general conversation these days.

In my family, being a paperboy was a rite of passage, an introduction into the free enterprise system, and a valuable education.

I understand that my older brothers once held a bit of a monopoly on that honorable career in a then-smaller Kerrville, Texas. Still, I was and am impressed.

So, when I was growing up in Amarillo and became old enough to stick my head through a paperboy’s bag (a canvas bag now as archaic as a “skate key” and museum-worthy), I did. And Jim, my two years younger brother, soon joined me in this worthy effort.

My paper route was on the west side of West Hills Park, and his was on the east side. I was a bit envious of his because it included a few apartments. Houses are fine, and he had those, too, but apartments meant that he could walk through the main door and rapid-fire toss out multiple newspapers.

Not gluttons for early morning punishment, we steered clear of the morning edition and opted to throw the evening edition of the Amarillo newspaper.

After school, we’d find ourselves sitting on the designated neighborhood street corners and opening the bundles dropped there by paper folks above us in the chain. In our bags were plenty of rubber bands, and we’d sit there and roll and band the papers, stuff our bags, and launch out on our appointed rounds.

Sometimes, we’d walk and fold at the same time, a tribute both to our dexterity and multitasking prowess.

I should mention that, in those days, the papers were required to be on the customer’s porch. We became pretty proficient at paper-tossing. I still think a nice flick of the wrist, a controlled end over end in-the-air arc, and a satisfying “splat” as the newspaper slides in for a perfect porch landing, well, those are things of beauty. I only recall having to pay for one storm door glass when a paper sailed on me.

We evolved. And we combined forces. At first, we walked and tossed. Then we graduated to two wheels each. Bicycles. And we ended up with me driving my VW Beetle, rolling papers (which is distracted driving), and Jim perched on the “running board” as we literally delivered the news.   

Paperboys got to know their customers, for good or ill. It was mostly good. It’s a low form of life who tries to stiff a paperboy, but most of our customers were fine folks, and Christmas meant treats and tips.

We had to “collect” from each customer, and we had to keep rudimentary books on our business enterprises.

It was even a bit of a religious experience. We evening edition guys were condemned to join the morning guys, just on Sunday mornings. I soon found that my language suffered some as I got up that early.

Maybe that temptation is just part of the newspaper business, but mornings seemed to make it worse. I agree with a friend, another non-morning guy, who told me that he’s got nothing against mornings that couldn’t be cured by them coming at another time of day. Nothing about throwing papers early on Sunday mornings made the experience more enjoyable. But church a bit later was conducive to repentance for my linguistic failings.

I think our Creator holds each one of us in a special place in his heart. I wonder if he might not have a particular affinity for those who work with words (the good kind) and deliver the news. Our God’s message is the best news “flash” of all: “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (John 1:14a).

Special edition. Landing perfectly on this earth’s porch.  

Curtis Shelburne writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him at:

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