As we get older our brains discover some long forgotten memories around a corner of our cortex and they come quickly and sometimes go just as fast. On occasion they linger especially if there is a smell or feeling associated with the memory.
When I was twelve I had a paper route in Mobile, Alabama it covered an area in southeast Mobile of pre World War I homes and some of the projects built as housing during WWII. I threw the morning paper meaning I got up at four o’clock, that’s in the morning, rode my bike to the substation, where the papers came off the back of a truck in bundles. I cut the wire holding the bundles and either folded or rolled the papers, depending upon their thickness each day. Then I stood them upright in a large cloth bag that I hung over the upturned handlebars of my Roadmaster luxury cruiser (bought second hand and reconditioned). I then filled a second bag and set it atop the first. Sometimes I used a third bag mounted on the bike rack over my back tire.
Balancing myself carefully I pushed off and made my way the two miles from the substation to the beginning of my route. A catcher with a good arm I could lay papers on porches from the sidewalks. Unfortunately, some of the houses didn’t have porches and wanted their papers inside the screen door. This took time and me balancing the bike, opening the door, putting the paper inside and then having to push off again without having the bike tump over. It’s a skill you develop after several falls when you first start delivering the papers.
Rolling out the end of my route I would be near the intersection of Broad and Washington streets but long before I got there I was encouraged throughout the last half of my route by the aroma of fresh bread. Malbis Bakery was on Broad near the end of my route and it was baking the day’s bread for delivery and sale. A loaf would be delivered to our house later in the morning but at that moment every morning I was hungry and in the winter I was cold and sometimes I was wet. Now, Malbis had a small sandwich, bread, pastry shop on one side of the building and I would head there. Two hot donuts and a paper cup of milk from the milk dispensing machine were a treat. The donuts were a nickel apiece and the milk a dime.
After warming my insides with the donuts I would go stand at the corner of Washington Ave and Broad Street hawking the extra newspapers I had to the people headed to Brookley Air Force Base for work. Then I would ride my bike to school, but each day there was the memory of the reward for work done and the promise of tomorrow morning when turning onto Baltimore street I would get the first whiff of Malbis’ warm greeting. I’ve never had any other experience that was so satisfying, so often.
As a memory it is one of my most comforting. I miss Malbis and all it meant.