Column: Limited Edition
I miss my daily newspaper as I remember it. Beginning at age 8, I delivered the Detroit Free Press starting at 5 in the morning. It was a small town that depended on two bikes and two people to get the paper out before the milk was delivered to most doorsteps by Alward’s Dairy. It was my world.
I still remember the streets and house numbers as well as some of the more scandalous family entanglements on “my route.” It was hard to keep anything from the paperboy since things seem to either happen or clear out just before daybreak. Recently, a retiree in Ann Arbor said that she grew up at 126 Tyrell Street in my home town. I blushed … [Full Story]