In past columns I’ve devoted much lineage to the way things used to be, to my childhood and the dogged determination of hundreds of boys who worked six days a week to earn a few bucks selling Optics.
I’ve made fleeting references to the Optic sellers and carriers who’d spend hours in an alcove at the rear of the building, waiting for an unreliable press to churn out 80 copies a minute, to be distributed first to the carriers with established routes, then to the more tenured street sellers, determined by money, age, size and bully-ness quotient.
It was harrowing for us improperly dressed boys who’d remain on the streets from 2 p.m. (or whatever time the press run began) to 7 p.m. Five hours on some mid-winter days with temperatures like those we experienced three weeks ago, for a dozen sales and a quarter profit, including tips — unless, however, Cristobal or Carlos jumped you and stole your papers and your day’s earnings. Continue reading