WET DREAMS AND NEWSPAPERS
After hearing my sound logic and constant begging, my parents reluctantly agreed that I could buy a motor scooter.
I had inherited a paper route from a retiring paperboy. The route essentially covered the center of Panama Park including 58th Street. Approximately one hundred fifty customers. One hundred fifty papers to deliver each morning, seven days a week. The Florida Times Union truck dropped the bundles of papers to the rear of Session’s barbershop at 63rd and Main Streets about 4:30 each morning. This meant: crawling out of bed at 4:00 AM, bicycling over to Session’s, folding the papers into neat rectangles, wrapping each paper with a rubber band, stuffing the papers into a canvas bag, securing the bag to the handlebars of the bike, riding through the neighborhood, throwing the papers in the general vicinity of customers’ front steps, bicycling home, washing black ink from hands, and falling back into bed.
After several months I had saved a enough of my profits (minus the numerous nickels I had fed into the pinball machine at Jarred’s Bait and Tackle Shop on Virginia Avenue), to purchase a used motor scooter.
Even with a motor scooter, Sunday mornings were difficult. Sunday papers were three to four times thicker than weekday papers. Therefore, three to four trips back to Session’s to refill the canvas bag was necessary. Sometimes, my Dad would drive me around in his car to deliver Sunday papers. On occasion, Charlie, Ernie and Knox would help me on Sunday morning.
One Sunday morning started off differently. Uncharacteristically, Ernie was the first out of bed and waiting for us in front of Charlie’s house. When Charlie and I had joined Ernie, Knox had not yet arrived. Knox was usually out of his house first, full of piss and vinegar. After a few more minutes of waiting for Knox, we went to investigate.
We quietly crept to Knox’s open bedroom window. Knox was asleep, lost in dreamland. Charlie scratched on the window screen and whispered, “Knox, Knox”. Knox did not stir, but continued to enjoy his fantasy.
We were afraid to yell and wake his parents. Charlie had a solution. Around the corner, a garden hose was coiled and still attached to the faucet.
Spraying water through a window screen reduced accuracy, but enough of the droplets landed on Knox’s face. ( I don't know how Knox explained the wet bed to his mother.) As Knox awoke we heard him mumbling, "I'm drowning! I'm drowning!" (Knox later explained that he was dreaming that he was lost at sea in a sinking rowboat.)
Soon, Knox was out of his house, his hair still wet. He jumped on his bicycle with his untied shoelaces flopping in the breeze. That the laces never got caught in the chain sprocket defied the laws of physics.
I was just about to start the motor scooter when Charlie said that he had an idea. We cringed. The results were not always pleasant when we implemented one of Charlie’s ideas.
Charlie proposed that we attach three lengths of rope to the motor scooter and attach the other end of each rope to a bicycle so the bikes could be towed. Initially, with the ropes of the same length, the result was bikes and bodies clanging together. We made the ropes of different lengths so that the bikes were staggered. A rider still had to be careful of the other guy’s rope, but it was an improvement.
Only a few minor mishaps occurred during delivery of the papers. Ernie broke a flowerpot with one of his throws. Knox put a dent in a screen door. Charlie threw one paper so hard that it created a perfect rectangular opening in a canvas awning.
On the way home, we were, luckily, not moving at maximum speed as we made the turn from Wakefield Avenue onto Bloxham Avenue toward 58th Street.
As we turned the corner, Knox decided to take a shortcut across the Spradley’s front yard. This would not have been a problem except for the tree that he had to circumvent. As Knox went around the tree, the slack in the rope tied to Knox’s bike was used up, jerking Knox and bike backward against the tree. The bike wedged against the tree. The rope going taut also caused the motor scooter to come to a violent halt, but I continued to travel over the handlebars onto the asphalt. Charlie and Ernie briefly continued on a forward path. Almost immediately, Ernie’s rope went tight and jerked his bike sideways. Ernie also landed on the pavement. Charlie, seeing what was happening, jumped backwards off his bicycle. His legs churned madly, but he could not overcome the momentum and eventually fell headlong into the hedges on the side of the road.
After we determined there were no serious injuries (we were just bleeding from minor cuts, scrapes and abrasions), we looked to the cause of our incident.
Charlie started walking toward Knox who was sitting on the lawn near his bike. “#&%X Knox -- I’m going to kill you!”
Ernie interrupted. “No you aren’t Charlie”.
I was stunned. Ernie defying Charlie and protecting Knox?
But Ernie continued. “I’m going to kill him first!”
After thoroughly “chastising” Knox, we assessed our situation. The motor scooter and bikes were still operable, but we were dirty and bloody. We dare not go home in such a condition. Ernie suggested that we go swimming at Little Talbot Island beach to clean up. So off we went. One motor scooter towing three bikes.
As we sat on the beach watching the sunrise, we suddenly realized our parents were probably awake and wondering where we were. As we prepared to leave a familiar looking car drove up. My Dad stepped out of the car and said, “I thought I might find you boys here.”
The motor scooter was confined to the garage for a month.
