
In the weekday afternoons after lunch I'd often sit on the sofa back and gaze out the window to the end corner of our block. I'd wait and I'd wait. What was I waiting for?
THE MAILMAN! It doesn't take too much to impress or excite a 6 or 7 year old boy.
So there I was, looking through the tall, thick, double-hung windows just waiting for Mister X. I can't remember his name but I'm certain my mother made sure I addressed him as Mister Johnson or whatever it was and not to bother him in his duties.
As soon as I spied him between the houses, walking towards the corner of South Gamble Street and Earl Avenue, I'd shout to my mother, "I'm going to see the MailMan!" as I'd grab my coat off the hook next to the door and throw open the screen door with a BANG! Downhill I'd run to the corner, hoping to get to the mailbox before Mister Johnson.
When I was fast enough and meet at the mailbox, huffing and puffing, I'd greet Mister Johnson with a big smile. I remember he always wore the same mailman's uniform; black leather shoes, navy blue pants, navy blue jackets with lapels and gold buttons, navy blue billed hat with a kind of insignia in the middle, and always a white shirt and black tie. It must have been easy to do his laundy.
So I'd meet Mister Johnson at the mailbox and give him that big "Oh Please! Oh Please! Oh Please!" smile and he couldn't resist. He'd pull out this long chain from his deep pocket and at the end were was seemed like hundreds of keys. He'd fish out the appropriate key and hand it to me. I'd put it in the mailbox keyhole and turn gently and down would fall the metal door, exposing dozens of envelopes.
This was probably against his Mail Man rules but he let me anyway. He never did, however, let me touch the envelopes he's scoop out and put into his shoulder bag. I just stood and watched him work. When he was done, he'd let me lock the box up again, he'd give it a tug to be sure it was shut, then he'd take the key back.
I don't even remember if he ever knew me by name but I was the only boy who would meet him at that mailbox nearly everyday for those two years. When I didn't go outside because it was raining or snowing or I was tired, I'd watch him walk from house to house delivering envelopes to people's front porch mailboxes. In Shelby, nearly EVERYONE had/has a front porch as did we. I'd always think, "
Wow. That must be the best job in the world. You get be outside everyday, talking to interesting people, walking at a relaxed pace, and you get to open all those cool mailboxes."
Again, it doesn't take much to impress a 6 or 7 year old boy in a small town - in 1971 or so. Now, it takes A LOT to impress a boy of the same age.
Labels: mailbox, mailman, Shelby