When mail is more than what meets the envelope

COMMENTARY

Did you see the 1997 movie "The Postman?" It might have been a box office flop and a critics' punching bag, but it was actually loveable. "The Postman" is about how much we would miss the small, gracious things that connect us. In a post-apocalyptic world, the Postman delivers pre-apocalyptic letters. People begin to believe that the U.S. government has been restored, begin to believe in government again and begin to believe in a better future. I don't know if former President Donald Trump appointing Louis DeJoy United States Postmaster General qualifies as apocalyptic, but DeJoy was widely criticized for his policies. He introduced cost-reduction measures: eliminating overtime; banning late or additional trips to deliver mail and decommissioning hundreds of high-speed mail-sorting machines. Many, including USPS employees, claimed the policies delayed mail delivery. Something we took for granted and relied upon was changed.

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds."

Once, mail carriers were proud of that motto; proud of a job well done; proud that the U.S. Postal Service was judged one of the best on earth. Now mail delivery is hoped for not assumed.

Stockbridge has an aging population - one of the oldest in the commonwealth - and no mail delivery. Folks must go to the Post Office. Stockbridge PO was a safe and friendly place. It was a social meeting space, a town center. Everybody knew everybody and kept track of one another. If someone failed to collect his/her mail for a day or two, another patron would notice and visit to see if all was well. If no one noticed, the postal worker would mention that the mail was stacking up, and then a neighbor would go over to find out if everything was OK.

For decades, the Stockbridge Post Office put mail in the boxes even if the box number did not appear on the envelope. They knew us and our box numbers. It was an all-around nurturing sort of place, and the underpinning was the reliable United States Postal Service 1 the pride of the nation.

No more. A man complained that his mail was not being delivered. Explaining that no letter can be delivered into the box without a box number, the postal worker seemed pleased, even proud, to inform the customer that his important letter had been "returned to sender."

A postal customer paid for priority mail express - the fastest mail service - because there was a date by which it had to arrive. She was given a tracking number. She watched in helpless frustration as the expensive piece of mail went from Stockbridge to Springfield to North Carolina, returned to Springfield, and only then went to Boston - two weeks late.

Another woman did not know her friends' P.O. box number. She went up to the window and asked the postal worker for the box number.

"I cannot give that information out," he said.

She thought a minute and suggested, "Don't tell me the number, just place this birthday card in the right box."

"I can't do that," the employee said. "Your envelope doesn't have the box number on it."

She was frustrated, struck by the irony, but determined.

She wanted her letter delivered, so she said, "You write the number on the envelope - don't let me see it and then put it in the box."

He told her that she was rude and walked away. The intent was no longer to help. The intent was something else. Speedy and efficient delivery of mail - the envy of the world - was no longer the goal.

A man, less meditative than the woman with the birthday card, just stood at the counter screaming in frustration.

Of what are these modern workers proud? Not braving snow and rain and gloom of night to deliver a letter, not even walking in HVAC-controlled, indoor space, from the sorting table to a P.O. box? Are they proud of weaponizing procedure, undoing what was efficient, appreciated and good? Or are they just doing what they are told - following the DeJoy policies - even when the policies seem silly?

One tool to measure how far have we moved away, been pushed or pulled away from our sociopolitical norms is to remember how things were pre-Trump, pre-MAGA, pre-alt-Right. The undermining of simple procedures, social norms and institutional policies hurts, but it can be fought.

I listened to all the complaints, mulled and finally wrote a letter. Even as I was writing this, a postal representative visited Stock-bridge. In a meeting, he solved the problem - all mail will be delivered without interruption; without being returned to sender, even if no PO box number appears on the envelope.

"After all," he old me, "our job is to deliver the mail."

And just like that, with a soupcon of logic, a willingness to do the job and simple human caring, one of the small gracious things that connect us was restored.

Carole Owens, a writer and historian, is a regular Eagle contributor.