Speedy Delivery!
I licked lots of stamps and envelopes back in the dark, dark days before self-adhesive and blogging.
As a kid, I sent the boring, contemplative dispatches to a collection of pen-pals in exotic places like Russia, Japan and rural Illinois instead of to WordPress.
I usually kept up long after the friends on the other end of the mailbox had gotten bored with me. I admit I was the kid who actually delivered on those promises to keep writing after summer camp was over…
But it was my selfish desires that kept me licking all those bitter envelope seals. I was– and still am — totally tickled by getting mail.
Whether it was the relative isolation of my rural upbringing or an affection for Mr. McFeely, the postman on Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood… I’m pretty sure my first crush was on our mailman.
Or Mr. Mailman, as I called him, slumping around on summer afternoons, popsicle in hand, waiting for him to appear around the curve of the Old Oakvale Road.
I’m still eager to check the ol’ mailbox every afternoon, but usually there’s not much for me. But last week…
I got my new West Virginia license plate. My mom sent me a few pounds of almonds. Then, my last pay-check from my part-time job and the reimbursement from my insurance company both arrived in the same day!
Finally, I got a heaping bag of dark roast East African Blend coffee from Meg, the aspiring Chicago comedian, proving once and forever how excellent it is to have generous friends who are also baristas!
If only the U.S. Postal Service experienced as much bounty as I. Like the 1953 Doris Day classic, Calamity Jane, it has been in a funk since that brazen big city hussy, the Internet, rolled into town on the afternoon stage coach one fateful day.
Sure, the current post office is about as sleepy as Deadwood, South Dakota in pioneer days of yore, but that hasn’t always been the case…
I’ve been browsing Pony Express dispatches in The New York Times archives and nary a delivery passed without skirmishes with Indians, thieving highwaymen or gangs of horse rustlers.
But none of those are quite as rich in detail as this epic tale of postal mayhem, which appeared in The New York Times on Feb 9, 1883:
THE ROBBED POST OFFICE:
The Very Mysterious Theft in Brooklyn
Further particulars of the robbery and of the curious police management, but no clues to the theft:No new facts came to light yesterday in connection with the daring robbery of $2,300 from the Brooklyn Post Office at noon on Wednesday. The Police have no clue to the thief, or supposed thief, and the Post Office authorities, by advice of the Police, still refuse to furnish any description of the well-dressed stranger who visited the office to inquire for a missing letter just before the money was stolen…
Mr. Debevoise… stepped to the speaking-tube, as he called for Mr. McKee, the clerk of the Missing Letter Department. As he turned from the tube, Dabevoise found the stranger close behind him, but paid no particular attention to that circumstance… The stranger, who had backed gradually toward the door, expressed his thanks and started down the stairs. Both McKee and Debevoise had, therefore, ample opportunity to see and describe the man, who must be an expert and experienced thief, probably well known to the detectives in both cities, in order to transfer the money from the desk to his pocket so quickly and coolly without betraying any nervousness or appearance of hurry to leave the place.
Zoinks! While you sadly ponder why we don’t still write the news like that, please enjoy a good tune my friend Caleb’s most recent blog playlist brought to mind.
One of the happiest afternoon I’ve had in ages was spent in his living room, gin and tonic in hand, trying to learn to dance the Mashed Potato to some of those selections.
This one goes out to you, Mr. Mailman…
“So many days you passed me by
See the tears standin’ in my eyes
You didn’t stop to make me feel better
By leavin’ me a card or a letter”-The Marvelettes
