The Paper Boy Miracle!
Dr. James Mellon
It was an unusually cold Thanksgiving on that Thursday morning in 1963. I was just nine years old as I stood on the corner of Cottman & Frankford Avenues, a suburb of Philadelphia. That morning I was selling the daily newspaper, The Philadelphia Inquirer. Perched in the middle of an island between two very busy streets there was a light covering of snow on the ground and the morning was just about to emerge from the night before. It was a little after 5:00 am, the usual hour for the paper boy to take his position selling papers to the people on their way to work. But this was Thanksgiving. How many people would be driving by?
I looked down to my rather large stack of papers and wondered how long I’d have to stand here, FREEZING, before I could go home and start my Thanksgiving holiday. In the first couple of hours, a few cars drove by and waved, but none rolled down their windows with a quarter in hand to grab a paper. Most just smiled and drove by. I think the smile came from the fact that I looked like an Eskimo in my snow suite, my gigantic hat with ear coverings, and just the slightest part of my eyes and mouth perceivable.
It was about 8:00am when a car came to a stop next to me. I looked into the car and saw this grey-haired man smiling up at me. To say he looked like Santa Claus would be putting it mildly. I figured he was on his way to Gimbels (a Philly staple back then) to juggle kids on his lap and see what they all wanted for Christmas. I will say there was a twinkle in his eye that made me smile. He rolled down the window and asked me how many papers I had left. “All of them,” I said, with a bit of sarcasm to my delivery. “Tough morning to be standing here selling papers. Everyone’s in bed. It’s a holiday.” “Tell that to The Philadelphia Inquirer,” I said with more of a laugh this time.
The man got out of his car, opened his trunk, and asked what it would cost for all the papers. I knew the exact price because I knew what I was supposed to bring $18.75, the next day, back to the office. Papers were a quarter back then and I was given 75 to sell. Doesn’t seem like much now but to a nine-year-old boy in 1963, it was a fortune. I told him the price, he smiled and said, “Okay, let’s pile them into my trunk.” With that, we loaded the trunk, and he gave me a twenty-dollar bill. The whole time he was smiling and humming under his breath as he helped lift the papers into his car.
I started to count out the change for the twenty-dollar payment, but he told me to keep it. He then got into his car and leaned out the window and called me closer. “Happy Thanksgiving – thanks for being here this morning.”
I wasn’t sure if he really needed those papers, or if he just wanted to help me get off the street and back into my warm house with my mom, dad and two brothers. Probably the latter. He definitely had that “feeling” about him. And after all, he did look like Santa Claus.
Every year at this time I think about that man and his generosity of spirit. There were a lot of paper boys out that morning on various street corners. But for some inexplicable reason, he chose my corner. I did run home right after that and arrived in time to help my mother make her (now famous) stuffing. The house was already stirring with the aromas of cooking. My older brother was in the back yard throwing around a football with my dad and I remember thinking how people always seem to be nicer during the holidays.
So, this year, as we move into Thanksgiving and all the holidays to follow, let’s be nicer. Let’s take our “Love Only” vision statement and put it into practice. Maybe find a cold, shivering paper boy and buy up his papers. Honestly, I think I might still be on that corner waiting to sell those 75 papers if Santa Claus hadn’t come along. Think of all the good we can do in the world if we just put our minds to it.
Happy Thanksgiving from me, Kevin, Will and Nora.