The Prince and the Papers

I remember those long, delicious evenings buried in piles of comic books, then loading them into the wagon for the trek home, where the marathon would soon begin. After reading Captain Midnight, Plastic Man and Batman late into the night, one of us would be up early the next morning, filling the same wagon with newspapers to start the paper route. I remember many a cold, snowy morning that you would take on that task when I was too sick (or tired) to get out of bed.

We delivered the Times-Union to most of the houses on Delaware Avenue from the VFW Post all the way out to the Normanskill Creek (inset), and side streets connecting. It was a long haul made easier by the reward at the end of that journey: the Schermerhorn Nursing Home, where for many of the ancient residents we were the only children in the world, and were thus received like heirs to the throne of England. (It was the same nursing home, by the way, where we would visit our great grandmother on her 103rd birthday.)

Though it was great fun to be the center of such attention, I must confess that my little capitalist heart was often focused on the money that was showered upon us (we were so cute!), and how I would spend it next door at DeRossi's grocery store, home of the most delectable treats a little prince could imagine. Whichever of us had the route, according to my phonographic memory, the other always got some of the loot. Ahh, those banana nut cakes.