For decades mere children kept Black Baltimore abreast of pressing issues facing the race, current events, and pop culture.
Source: https://laurawmurphy.wordpress.com/2009/03/02/my-dad-the-afro-paperboy/
By Alexis Taylor
Special to the AFRO
Long before 24- hour news coverage, Facebook feeds, and Tik Tok videos, newspapers kept the masses informed through an intricate network that criss-crossed the nation.
Though the information was crucial- fairness in print was not- leading a mighty league of publishers, reporters, and commentators to call for equal rights, launch the Great Migration, and humanize a race of newly-freed people.
The barrels of ink used to print Black-owned publications undoubtedly improved the plight of African Americans, but the Black press couldn’t have wielded the power they cultivated without the linchpin of their operation: the paperboy.
“I harked, ‘Eady Afro, Get Your Afro’ twice a week from about 12 years old to 16 years old. I paid 10 cents per copy and sold them for 15 cents per copy,” said 82-year-old Pete Fulton, born in 1939 at 434 Aisquith Street.
“It was painful when I went to my dad and asked him for a quarter. He’d say ‘didn’t I give you a quarter last week?’ I had to find a way to make some change of my own. I started a paper route.”
“I was not a lazy lima bean.”
Fulton peddled whichever paper his customers requested, including the Baltimore News American and the Sunday edition of the Baltimore Sun. His motivation might have been penny candy and shoes, but Fulton understood that the work of putting ideas and positive images into the hands of an oppressed people was no trivial matter.
“In both cases, the only time you ever read about Black folks -in either paper – was if it was something negative,” he said. “If you wanted to know what was going on in Black culture you read the AFRO American.”
The junior high student only had about 25 customers when a media frenzy significantly increased his profit.
“The paper route grew from about 25 customers to about 100 and the story that really sparked my sales was the ‘Tunnel Joe’ Holmes story,” said Fulton, referencing the 1951 escape of the Maryland Penitentiary prisoner who dug his way out of the Baltimore prison. “That boosted the sales for several weeks.”
Since 1892 the AFRO American Newspapers has covered politics, health, community, and international affairs. Digitally available archives of the paper show what Black Baltimoreans have been reading for well over a century.
The rise of the Black vote, the sinking of the Titanic, the 1918 Flu Pandemic, the Tulsa Massacre, World Wars I and II, and the entirety of the Civil Rights Movement are just a few of the major events covered alongside countless debutante balls, church sermons, advice columns, letters to out of state family, and updates from soldiers abroad.
The barrels of ink used to print Black-owned publications undoubtedly improved the plight of African Americans, but the Black press couldn’t have wielded the power they cultivated without the linchpin of their operation: the paperboy. Source: https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/news-photo/african-american-paperboys-and-papergirls-for-th e-afro-news-photo/187172151
Fulton is one of the many who can attest to how mere children kept Black Baltimore abreast of pressing issues facing the race, current events, and pop culture for decades.
“You had people who would say they didn’t want to hear ‘old negro news,’ but then you had a lot of young people who were engaged in the community and wanted to know what was going on,” said Derek Bowden, who began selling newspapers at age 10.
“What inspired me was the AFRO Clean Block. It gave us a sense of purpose. They had little numbers in the paper. You clipped it, called the number, and someone would come and help you set your route up.”
Bowden, now 62, said that working for the paper in the 60s afforded him an opportunity to build “work ethic and a sense of community.”
Like Bowden, Michael Hickman was also a 10-year-old delivery boy for the AFRO. He carved out a route in West Baltimore while living with his father during the summer months.
“This was 1968 and 1969. There was a lot going on in Baltimore. There were civil rights riots and schools were being integrated. Baltimore was bubbling. It was thriving. It was coming up. People wanted to be in the know and the AFRO did that,” said Hickman. “I only traveled on the number eight bus. My customers were mainly on the bus or at bus stops.”
“When you hollered ‘AFRO,’ some people would want one just to see what was on the front page. Some people would want one just to help them on their ride further downtown.”
Young boys and men didn’t have exclusive reign over the delivery industry. Women were integral in all parts of the newspaper chain. Recalling her time delivering the AFRO, Angela Melendez said “It was hard work but it paid off.”
In 1971, 14-year-old Mike Grady was inducted into the trade by less official means.
“I lived in west Baltimore by Druid Hill Park with my father. A guy had papers in his car and he said ‘Do you want to sell AFROs?’
“I said ‘Im only 14,’” recalls Grady.
“He said ‘All you have to do is walk up and down the neighborhoods and sell papers.’ And that’s what I did. I never went down to the building, but the guy would come two days a week and I would look forward to that couple of dollars in my pocket.”
Grady said he would be given a stack of papers to sell and then return the money to his manager. “Before it got dark you’d stop and they would pay you at the end of the route.”
“The area I hit was the area where I lived because I wanted to be close to home. But then I started getting on the buses.”
The 64-year-old, like many that delivered the paper Baltimore, fondly recalled riding the bus free as he sold the paper.
“It gave me the gift of gab. That’s probably how it got started- dealing with the public without being shy,” said Grady. “From then on, I was a walking salesman. I sold AFROs one summer and then I worked at the stadium shining shoes.”
Marcus Wilson was roughly 11 years old in 1983 when he got his first job selling the AFRO American Newspaper.
“I didn’t know much about the history of the paper,” said Wilson. “I just knew I wanted a job. There was a man on Mt. Royal and North avenue where the squeegee kids are right now. That was our central office.”
“That corner has so much history. I would stand right there and sell all of my papers.”
“You moved in the hierarchy when you sold the AFRO American paper,” said Wilson. “That job helped me declare my independence. It showed me as a young man how to be independent, and it kept me out of trouble.”
Though most of the paperboys and girls employed by the paper were adolescent youth, Charles L. Koonce Jr. broke from tradition when he became a delivery man for the AFRO at 30-years old.
“At the time I delivered the AFRO I was also a detective with the Baltimore Police Department. I knew the city like the back of my hand,” said Koonce. “While I was servicing the business and collecting money it gave me an opportunity to see exactly what was happening in East Baltimore.”
Twice a week Koonce would pick up papers and deliver them to businesses listed on his manifest. He would collect money from the previous week and any issues of the paper that didn’t sell would go back to the AFRO.
Now 56, Koonce said he believes delivering newspapers in 1991 “built character and responsibility, but it also gave you a sense of awareness.”
“If I could do it all over again I would- just learning people and getting a better understanding of the City.”
The AFRO American Newspapers is currently searching for the oldest delivery boy or girl. If you know of a former member of the AFRO American Newspaper’s delivery network that is older than 94, please send email ATaylor@afro.com or call (410) 554-8200.
http://blackpressresearchcollective.org/2014/01/10/black-press-circulation/ http://www.oah.org/tah/issues/2018/august/the-jim-crow-era-black-press-of-and-for-its-readersh ip/
