MESA MUSINGS:

I’ve wanted to be a newspaper columnist since I was 12. Now, 52 years later, I finally have my chance!

Born in Orange County at the end of World War II, I grew up in Newport Beach and Costa Mesa. My father met my mother at Santa Ana Army Air Base, where he was a staff sergeant and she a civilian secretary.

When I was 12, I published a few issues of a newspaper that I distributed to kids on my block. I’d write my stories longhand, and my long-suffering mom would type them using a half-dozen sheets of well-worn carbon paper.

In 1958, at the age of 13, I had a newspaper route with the Newport Beach News-Press, one of the Daily Pilot’s progenitors. My brother, who was 11 at the time, landed a much more lucrative gig with another Pilot forerunner, the Costa Mesa Globe-Herald.

Brother Bill’s route encompassed three neighborhood blocks and included some 90 customers. He threw to practically every house.

My route, on the other hand, had 18 subscribers spread out over 30 blocks or more. I had to warm up in the bullpen between throws.

Four days a week I started out from our home on Fairway Drive, took Monte Vista out to Newport Boulevard (stopped at Dick’s Market for a Royal Crown Cola and a Three Musketeers), followed 23rd Street (with numerous diversions into side streets and culs-de-sac) out to Irvine Boulevard, took Irvine down to Monte Vista, and followed Monte Vista home.

Oh, and I cleared nine bucks a month! Bill made $50 or more.

I particularly detested Thursdays. That afternoon I had to toss 500 free “throwaways” to all nonsubscribers along my route.

When I arrived home from school my mother, like a trouper, would be on the front porch folding my 500 News-Press throwaways. I’d help her finish, then would cram them into the bulging news bags hanging from the handlebars of my bike.

I spent the next three hours delivering the 500 newspapers — for which I didn’t collect a dime!

As you might suspect, I lasted only a few months on the job. During my final Thursday assignment, unbeknownst to my mother (who, for some reason, was unable to help me fold my papers that day), I buried the whole lot in a field behind our home and went to play ball with my friends.

Six months later I learned the meaning of the phrase, “chickens coming home to roost.” In the teeth of a fierce Santa Ana wind, the 500 papers were unearthed and blew all over the neighborhood. Our property was awash in newsprint. My dad had only to pick off a flying newspaper to see that it was a News-Press edition dated six months earlier. He quickly figured things out, and I paid a heavy price.

I went on to graduate from Costa Mesa High School, OCC, Cal State Fullerton and Pepperdine University. I retired last year after 36 years as director of community relations at OCC.

I love this community.

My wife, Hedy — an Estancia High School alumna — and I live in the same Costa Mesa neighborhood we’ve occupied since 1975.

I look forward to sharing insights and anecdotes with you. I promise never to miss a deadline…or to try to bury a column in the field behind my house!

JIM CARNETT lives in Costa Mesa. His column runs Wednesdays.