Mr. W.O. Rowland

Back in the day when I was in 6th grade I made money by throwing newspapers. I threw the Dallas Times Herald. It was an afternoon paper so each day after school I would run home and get to work. I would have to un-bundle the papers, stack the sections, and then either wrap them with a rubber band or put them in a plastic bag. Once I was done with this, off I would go delivering them on my old ten speed bike.

I started off with 1 route of approximately 60 papers then another became available. This let me jump to delivering 150 papers each weekday and 175 on weekends in a 5 square mile area. The cool part of this was getting to know the customers. Some were out in their yards waiting for delivery. Select others would offer conversation when I porched their papers. They were usually older people who needed such help and I was glad to oblige. Finally there was the interaction from collecting. Yes, every month I would have to go to 90% of the customers and collect the $6.25 monthly charge. It was challenging but the pay off was tips and in the case of W.O. Roland some great conversation.

During this time, it was for the most part “safe” to go into homes. I didn’t go into many, but some people would invite me in, especially when it was cold. W.O. Roland was one of those people. He was in his 70’s, kind of a grandfatherly figure. He loved to tell stories about a place called New Orleans. His stories were of jazz music, his adventures as a musician, and other tall tales. The French Quarter sounded fascinating, as did the above ground cemeteries, Mardi Gras, crawfish, and the Mississippi river with its boats and ships. It was through him I learned there was a far away "magical" place called New Orleans.

Mr. Roland convinced me to believe a story about him as a teen wanting to get into the music scene there. He told me he hopped a train bound for New Orleans. He rode in a boxcar for days until he almost made it. I pretty much just heard “hopped a train” and thought that was so cool. At a stop outside of New Orleans, he was caught and his mom was called. She had to drive from Dallas to New Orleans and pick him up. Eventually he made it on his own as an adult and gave the scene a try.

He must have loved it to go back and spend some years there and he must have loved it to share such tales. Mr. W.O. Roland (R.I.P.) was the first person to introduce me to New Orleans through stories and it was then, unbeknownst to me, that my path was set.