When I was a kid, I thought there was something mysterious about the post office. The small-town station was staffed by Stan the Postman, and the wee rhyme of name and title delighted the simple imagination of a child. There was something Dr. Suessian about it.
Stan the Postman had a cookie-duster mustache – the bushy kind that hid his lips. He was thin as a rake, so maybe he didn’ t dust that many cookies.
He worked behind a high counter in a dim, dank room full of little square mail slots. You could only see these slots if someone lifted you up to peer over the inky counter. While that was going on, Stan the Postman would slip rock-hard Black Cat bubblegum into the mailbox.
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He certainly wasn’ t someone you could imagine would ever “go postal”, even if the term had been in use at the time.
I suspect Stan found the pace pretty slow, except perhaps at Christmas and when the Eaton’ s catalogue had to be distributed. That must be why he always had time to chat with kids. Adults too, but not necessarily in that order.
Stan the Postman was a guy you could trust with your bubblegum and your mail, not necessarily in that order either.
Maybe that’ s how that winning lottery ticket holder felt about his post office. You may have heard last week about a $46 million ticket sent through the United States mail to claim the multi-state lotto prize.
The envelope with the ticket was postmarked two days before the one-year deadline for claiming prizes, and the lucky winner is somewhere in New Jersey. His trust in the U.S. Postal Service shocked some people, but it seems to have turned out fine.
Back home, Stan was replaced by Jessie, who was replaced by Donna, and on it goes. The post office is no longer dim and dank, but it’ s still small. The mail always seems to get through.
I’ ve asked around lately about small-town post office workers.
I’ ve heard about Jack, who added extra stamps himself when someone miscalculated, and about Anna, who threatened to burn her bra in front of the post office when she was passed over for the postmaster job.
If you’ re reading this column, it means some postal worker near you has done their job this week, and the mail has come through. You can still trust a few things in this world.
