Back in the 1940s, I was a paperboy and delivered the Durham Sun in the Westwood area. In those days, the school in Chapel Hill was where University Square is now. After school was over, I would ride my bike over to the Town Hall, which is now the community shelter.
I would find my bale of newspapers and loosen the wire binding. This was long before we had plastic bags, so I would fold the papers so they could be thrown, stuff them in my canvas bag, put the bag over my shoulder, and pedal off to Vance Street to start the route.
How the papers were delivered depended on the customers. If the customers were handicapped, I would put the paper behind the screen door, or inside the house. However, most of the papers were tossed from my bike as I pedaled. Usually my aim was good, but sometimes it was not. If I missed, and was in a hurry, I would not always go back and put the paper on the porch.
Most of the customers were kindly and charitable people; but one, who I will call "Mr. Smith," who lived on Old Pittsboro Road, was not. If a newspaper got wet, or missed his porch, even slightly, he would not pay.
I kept a weekly account of money spent and received, and at the end of each week I would calculate the profit for that week. I remember one week, going from house to house, collecting the money for that week. When I came to Mr. Smith's house, he informed me that I had missed his porch one day that week. Further, he said he would not pay me anything for that week in order to "teach me a lesson."
I got very angry. I remember it just as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. My face felt like it was burning.
When I finished collecting payments, I went back home to calculate the profit for that week. To may amazement, I found the profit to be one cent. One cent! One cent for a week's work! My anger mounted up threefold. Mr. Smith had stolen my week's profit.
The passing of time can sometimes change our point of view. Now, after many years of reflection, I would like to thank Mr. Smith. He taught me many things. He taught me more than he knew. He helped teach me the value of money, the value of having integrity in the job place, the lesson of doing a job right.
He helped teach me patience. Was my time so valuable that I could not go back and put the newspaper where it should be? It has taken me many years to learn these lessons, but he helped.
He also taught me another lesson that has burned brightly for all these years. He taught me that I should never, never treat another human being as he treated me.
Stanley Peele serves as an emergency judge throughout the state. Readers can contact him at chh@heraldsun.com or c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
