Take the 2nd Write

All of these stories take place in the 1970's. I still live there sometimes.


DELIVERANCE
The old man’s name was Eldon Bradford and he drove a 1970 Chevy Vega. He used his little red car to deliver newspapers, and the inside of his car was a lot like the outside of its driver - messy and disheveled. Bundles of newspapers were always piled high on the seats – front and back – and Eldon never had any passengers as there simply wasn’t any room for them. Even if there were, he lived alone and Eldon was very much a loner.

Eldon’s glasses were both thick in the frame and in the lens. His usual manner of dress consisted of blue work pants and long-sleeved, button-down shirts. Eldon’s shoes were black work shoes and were well worn on the sole from shuffling though life. Eldon’s hair, once black as young man, had turned gray and there was more scalp showing than hair available to cover it. He began losing his hair at the center of his skull at the age of twenty-four and each morning when he awoke and lifted his head off his flattened pillow he left a few more strands behind. By the age of sixty-one his hair was no more than an afterthought and a brush or comb was unnecessary. He merely used his hands to push the long, wispy wings from the side of his head up-and-over his naked crown. Eldon’s hairstyle was a “push-over”, as was Eldon the man.

Photo courtesy of Matt Wardman

He took his job as newspaper delivery man very seriously. For forty-seven years he delivered papers throughout the town, starting as a fourteen year old delivery boy for the local newspaper, The Minuteman Post. The Post was a daily newspaper that covered the events and happenings of three neighboring towns and whose name originated after a once known but long forgotten figure in American history: the Town Crier.

The role of the Town Crier originated in Greek and Roman times but their practices transcended time and rule, and the Anglican name was adopted by the English in the 11th century. Town Criers spread news to the masses and they spoke directly for the king. As Britain colonized the world, Town Criers eventually came to the Americas and they were important players in governing for there were few printing presses available and the populace was mostly illiterate. Criers stationed themselves in front of squares, market places, and inns and called the citizens to listen for the latest news, often by ringing a bell to gather a crowd and by shouting their words in loud, boisterous tones. After orating the news they nailed their announcement to a nearby wall or door and “posted their notice” for the educated townsfolk to read at their convenience. Eldon was his town’s Crier and he left his Post at the door of each citizen in town.

Photo courtesy of Brooklyn International Film Festival
At age 14, using his bicycle, he peddled his papers along his route in the afternoons, starting with the shuttered Colonial style homes on Main Street, many of which bore wooden plaques by their front door that identified them as members of the Historical Society - a coveted mark that distinguished one old home as more significant than the average, ordinary old home. He then circled back on Thurston Street, past the town cemetery (and home to the town’s Founding Fathers) and all the way to Marshfield Manor - the white-washed nursing home that sat at his route’s end. It wasn’t an overly ambitious route, thirty five papers on his busiest day, but it was his and it was only the beginning.

By the time Eldon turned seventeen years old he had quit school. He was left to his own devices as a child so that as a young man a job was worth more to him than an education. He expanded his route of The Post to include two hundred homes and picked up the route for the much larger regional paper, The Globe, which he delivered to two hundred and fifty homes and businesses each weekday morning, and two hundred and eighty every Sunday morning. Eldon was a hard worker but he was of limited ambition. He was content to deliver papers for a living and content to live in the same house and in the same town.

As an old man he still began his day by lifting his head up off his flattened pillow at 4:00am, dressing, and backing his Vega up to the top of his driveway where the delivery truck dumped the bundles of papers. He lifted each bundle, fifty papers per, by the string that held them together and loaded them into his car’s trunk and onto its seats.

Eldon held a monopoly on The Post and The Globe as, over time, he acquired route after route, outlasting every paper boy and girl, usurping and adding to his territory until he laid claim to the all routes in town for both publications. From the original route on Main Street in the town’s center to the most rural outskirts in the salt-marsh where some homes were built on stilts and sat surrounded by patches of red and pink sea lavender, it was all his. The only folks who didn’t receive a paper from the hand of Eldon were those who didn’t want one. But for a man so vital and prevalent about town, Eldon was largely invisible.


His job began long before most people woke, and even though he spent the day driving about town in his red, rusty Vega they only caught a glimpse of the man as he passed by, arm cocked with paper in hand. Eldon was no mystery since a mystery requires a party who wants to know something. Nobody wanted to know Eldon and Eldon was content to remain unknown. He did not attend town meetings or church services, and he only ventured out to buy groceries at the market and for breakfast every Sunday morning at the Wamesit Diner – only after The Globe’s Sunday edition was delivered, of course.

While they did not know the man, they certainly knew his work. When the town discovered the “War to end all Wars” had begun and ended, Eldon literally gave them the news. When the town lost its first son in the war that followed nearly thirty years later, Eldon put it on their doorsteps and in their mailboxes. "Prohibition Repealed," "Roosevelt Touts New Deal," "Man Walks on Moon," and "Ford Pardons Nixon" were just some of the headlines hastily grabbed by Eldon and neatly folded, wrapped tight with rubber band, and then tossed - never recklessly but always with purpose - for the subscriber to discover.

The Crier's reign came to an end on Sunday, July 4, 1976. When Eldon’s neighbor opened his door to retrieve his morning paper he paused and looked around in disbelief. The Globe was always on his front steps, waiting for him. Where was his paper? The neighbor slowly walked down his steps and up the stone walkway in his slippers and pajamas, under cover of a loosely tied and frayed bathrobe. He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, and glanced around in hopes of finding his paper and satisfying his need for news. When he reached the sidewalk that connected his yard to the neighbor he knew only as ‘the guy who delivers papers,’ he caught a glimpse of something sticking out beyond the white picket fence that separated their two properties. Squinting in the morning light he focused and suddenly realized that he was staring at the bottom of a pair of worn out shoes. Eldon’s body lay at the top of his own driveway, surrounded by bundles of The Globe morning edition, all with the headline, “Happy 200th America!” printed above the fold.

Eldon Bradford died as he lived - alone and with his newspapers. Eldon’s Vega, with its taillights throwing a reddish glow through the early morning air, sat idling above him with a full tank of gas and with the hatchback wide open, waiting to receive the day’s delivery. The paper route would live forever but the Town Crier was now dead.

Photo courtesy of Frodobabbs

Eldon’s body was claimed by a relative and the man did so out of guilt more than love. The relative reluctantly paid for the burial himself, for over the course of his life Eldon had only planned for the deliverance of the news and nothing else. There was no funeral service and there were no flowers placed on the stubby, plain granite marker that lay above the fold of earth where Eldon’s body would forever rest.

Many times unremarkable people lead very remarkable lives. This was the case for Eldon Bradford. His life was dedicated to his town and to the news that happened in and all around it; but Eldon's life - and his death - went without notice and without so much as a post.