With the strap of her paper bag looped across her forehead and a stack of newspapers balanced on her hip, nine-year-old Lorene Desmarais hustled down Selkirk’s Eveline Street, determined to hit every doorstep. From 1977 to 1980, the Winnipeg Tribune carrier wasn’t just delivering the news — she was learning responsibility, resilience and the value of a hard-earned dollar.
For Desmarais and her siblings, who each ran a Tribune route through their Selkirk neighbourhood, those after-school deliveries were about far more than pocket money. The job taught them how to juggle responsibilities, handle setbacks, manage their own finances and build connections with the people on their routes — lessons that would shape their work ethic long after the Tribune stopped rolling off the presses.
After a quick stop to restock at the corner of Strathnaver and Eveline, Lorene would be back out again, making sure every copy landed exactly where her customers wanted it — on the step, in the mailbox or behind the front door.
“It was at times difficult juggling homework, delivering papers and other extra-curricular activities,” she said. “But there was a real sense of pride. Even at a young age, we felt proud to have delivered the Tribune.”
She wasn’t alone. Her brother, Paul Jeffery, and sister, Dara Prychun, also carried Tribune routes in Selkirk. Together, the three covered an entire corner of town.
Paul remembers getting hooked on the work after filling in for a friend one summer.
“At the end of it I was surprised at how much money I made, so I decided to get my own route,” he said. “I learned quickly that money meant I had options. I managed to save quite a bit, which meant I could afford to buy most things I wanted. That taught me to be responsible with money.”
For both siblings, the job came with challenges — weather that soaked or froze the papers, demanding customers and more than a few dog bites.
“Oh my gosh yes! Winters were tough, but rainy, windy days were the worst,” Lorene said. “A couple of times I had been bit by customers’ dogs delivering the paper.”
Paul agrees.
“Some days it was fine, it was nice to be outside, but when it was 30 below, that wasn’t fun,” he said.
His fondest memory is of their grandfather stepping in on the hardest days.
“Occasionally, on some of those really bad days, my Afi would show up and drive me around my route in his car. That was the best. It was warm and I felt really cared for. I cherish those times.”
The job wasn’t just about the grind. Saturday papers brought comics to insert, heavier bundles to haul and the occasional 25- or 50-cent tip. The work instilled independence — a lesson reinforced when carriers went door to door to collect payment.
“If some people were late paying, it was out of your own pocket,” Lorene said. “It really taught me how to manage money.”
Today, Lorene still holds on to her Tribune bag, receipt books, bundle strap, contest cards and even her T-shirt and cap. Of all the items, her collection book brings back the strongest memories.
“It holds the names of customers that I have fond memories of,” she said. “Some were so kind and generous. Those really were special times.”
The Winnipeg Tribune — often called The Trib — was one of Winnipeg’s two main daily newspapers for much of the 20th century. It began publishing in 1890 as the Daily Tribune before adopting the name it became known by. Over its 90-year run, it was owned by several companies, including Southam Newspapers, and was widely regarded as the more liberal counterpart to the Winnipeg Free Press.
Like many dailies of its time, The Trib was more than a news source — it was part of the community fabric. Its carriers were a familiar sight on neighbourhood streets, and contests, promotions and community events helped build reader loyalty.
On Aug. 27, 1980, after 90 years in print, the newspaper suddenly ceased publication. The closure shocked Manitobans, leaving 650 people out of work and turning Winnipeg into a one-newspaper city. Today, surviving copies, delivery bags and memorabilia — like those preserved by Desmarais — remain cherished pieces of Manitoba’s media history.
Looking back, Lorene and Paul both see their carrier days as formative.
“I learned that if I put my mind to something, I could do it,” Paul said. “I could make my own money instead of washing dishes at home for allowance. Having my own bank account felt powerful.”
For Lorene, the nostalgia remains strong.
“Delivering papers taught me responsibility, how to communicate, how to manage money, and also how to have fun,” she said. “I look back now and realize those really were special times.”
Decades later, those early mornings and snowy sidewalks still stick with them — not just as memories of a first job, but as a foundation for everything that came after. The work ethic, independence and sense of pride they built on those routes carried into adulthood, long after the Tribune’s presses went silent. And for Lorene and Paul, the simple act of delivering the news became something much bigger — a reminder that even the smallest jobs can leave the deepest marks.
