Postman Ends House Calls, Delivers Lesson

It reminded me of the time when the water main burst in our Pennsylvania home during a midnight downpour. At 3 o’clock in the morning, our 3-year-old Judi padded into the bathroom and turned on the faucet for a drink. Nothing came out, and she screamed. She was trembling in fear when I reached her; something had failed her; she was threatened, frightened, thirsty. Water was supposed to emerge from that faucet as clearly as day followed night each morning. Now anything could happen. Expectations had been shattered; our child was devastated.

Last week, as we planned for our new home in San Marcos, 1 1/2 miles from our present residence, we were informed that mail would not be delivered to the house. In our own adult fashion, we exploded. No way would we allow our mail to be placed in a central box two houses away and across the street.

We complained to our carrier. He is our friend, he understood. “Nobody enjoys walking in the rain to a central bank of mailboxes.” Imagine hearing that from our mailman.

Put on responsible clothes to pick up the mail? Terrible thought, ridiculous complaint! Unstuff three days’ accumulation of mail after three happy days of vacation? An unnecessary irritation! Of course, we were not embarrassed with our petulance; Bob understood, we were threatened and it was our turn to be devastated. No more house calls . . . and we might never meet our new postal carrier.

We took our complaint to the postmaster. “The builder and the Postal Service had made the decision,” we were informed. It was immutable, unchangeable. We fumed. “The government can’t do that to us!”

Mark Carpenter, postal analyst, carrier supervisor--home office San Diego, special jurisdiction San Marcos during a period of change in supervisors at our local office--made an appointment to visit with us.

He is a pleasant young man--young by our standards--who was well-informed, friendly and firm.

“The post office,” he said, “is not a government department.”

What a shocker that was. I consider myself to be well-informed also, but how easily I forgot. Of course, now I remember: it was about 1970 when the post office was reorganized . . . more or less separated from the federal bureaucracy. That happened in Washington, but out here in California, mail kept coming to our home. Of course, postage continued to rise, but delivery never missed a day. It was later and later, but it always arrived . . . to the house .

And now, in the comfort of our den, this friendly postal official was telling my husband and me that the United States mail is a service for which the government contracts: a private service mandated to deliver the mail. It is an unsubsidized, nonprofit, self-supporting agency. That explains 22-cent stamps and 14-cent penny post cards . . . and higher prices on the way.

After an hour, this patient postal analyst succeeded in penetrating and destroying our fantasies and our expectations. We will walk out and pick up our mail each day, because that is the way it is going to be. “Previous appeals for home deliveries, in new areas, have failed,” he said. “Appeals to Congress have also been defeated.”

Thank heavens we are not disabled, and though we have strong, healthy legs, we do not have a leg to stand on in our demand for home delivery. The winning arguments are simple: “How much more the carrier can handle when he/she can fill 11 boxes in one stop, as opposed to 11 separate stops.” Can’t fault that. “The mail will always be protected, under lock and key.” Wonderful! Secure Social Security checks. “Packages will be placed in locked boxes adjoining the mail boxes.” Marvelous! “Vacation-held mail will be delivered upon request.” No-fault delivery. Terrific!

We stopped our ranting. Once again we have learned a lesson in how we, like all things, can change, given the logic to do so.

When our daughter screamed over a suddenly dry faucet, we comforted her with a sip of juice and our assurance that water would return. When we looked to a future empty of postal carrier house calls, Carpenter, the Postal Service analyst, comforted us with his understanding of our discontent and an assurance that our mail will get through, maybe even earlier than we have been trained to expect.