Dangerous yet Wonderful - My First Venture as an Entrepreneur

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I was a restless fourteen year old -- school wasn’t inspiring me. My family gave me security, but I was searching for something more – my own money, my own sense of control.

Mom paused, turned from the sink to face me, potato in one hand, peeler in the other. “Why? What do you need that for?”

We were a family of savers, and I knew just what to say next. “I want to start saving, start my own bank account.”

Her answer was predictable: “We’ll talk about it when Dad gets home.”

Dad was away in the Yukon on a geological survey. Their decision would take time. In the meantime I did my homework, and found a route with The Province newspaper. By the time he returned, I was ready. And when they said yes, I felt elated.

I started my paper route in fall of ‘67, at 4:00 A.M. I checked the forecast: +3°C, 100% chance of rain. I quickly grabbed some working D-cell batteries for my bike lights before pushing off into the darkness. Delivering newspapers meant picking up the bundles of papers and ad flyers from the garage, that was known as a paper shack, then loading up the handlebar mounted basket.

My route was west of Alma on 11th avenue in Vancouver – steep, slick stone stairs led to elegant homes with views of English Bay. Each house meant a climb: somewhere between 15 and 30 steps up, and back down again. The thrill for me was going solo – cycling and hiking in the early hours to make money. Dangerous work for a lanky kid.

I earned 2.5 cents per paper. Delivering over eighty papers in three hours of pre-dawn work netted about $2. The route was six days a week; Saturday papers were extra heavy.

I learned how to fold the paper on the climb, how to arc it just right so it landed dry on the porch … quietly. If I soaked a paper or got a complaint, I was docked. Hit the door with the paper, another penalty. Once a month, I collected money from my customers, often having to return more than once to find someone’s home. When customers didn’t pay their bills, I would never see my money.

I learned in those early teen years facts many undergrads in commerce don't know. I gauged the level of what I could take on mentally and physically. I worked at my own pace, balancing risk with speed. I also calculated financial risk, discovering which customers were good and which were bad.

It's intriguing to gaze into my distant past and re-live what was dangerous, yet wonderful. I realize now that this job just may have been the raw material I was sculpted out of.

Like the old king who penned the poetry: “You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something… all the stages of my life were spread out before you…*

Was it the universe's energy, fate or God that began this entrepreneur's destiny?

Could a simple paper route be the first stage of a six-decade entrepreneurial career?

Maybe that experience, so long ago, were the early chisel marks of the sculpture. I do believe something – very loving – was looking out for me back then.

Peering into your history, maybe you have seen similar chisel marks.

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*The Bible, Psalm 139

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Image by Vecteezy​

I would love to connect with you on LinkedIn, Facebook, or Instagram​

See you next week,

Grayson

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