This is the second, and final, part of the story we shared with you in the Oct. 13 issue of the Brown County Democrat. If you remember, our story in the Oct. 13 issue left the men going to Tom Henderson’s farm to get his big team and wagon from nearby and managed to get close enough to the car to get a tow rope attached. By this time the car, still upright, had washed about 100 feet downstream, but with skillful maneuvering, they were able to get it out. Of course, George had one of those “soft” mail carrier jobs, so he didn’t say much about it as he could.

If you ask your carrier to give you a lift down the road, don’t be angry with him if he says ‘No,’ for postal regulations forbid it. But like all regulations there are times when it seems better judgement to put the regulations aside.

George interrupted his route one day to take a badly burned child to the hospital. Another time early in George’s service a man asked him to give him a ride over the water at a creek crossing. George refused the man. As he drove on, he looked back to see the man wading the creek. “I should have given him a lift across,” George said.

Clarence Aynes, route two, with 34 years service, has had his battle with high water too. While yet new on his run his team and wagon were taken by the current at a crossing and washed about an eighth of a mile down the creek. When the current finally washed them against a bank, the horse managed to get a foothold and pull out without upsetting. Clarence was told that if he could see a stump that stood on the bank by the crossing it was safe to go through the water. He saw a stump on the bank alright, but the one he should have measured by was 2 feet under water at that time.

Once during the horse and buggy time a man on Clarence’s route went into the sassafras business in a big way. Every day he would send out so many boxes of sassafras that Clarence would have to finish his route on foot. But fortunately, people got their fill of sassafras, and he was able to get back in his buggy and ride again.

If there are times when you send mail and it never gets there, ask yourself if you remembered to close the lid on your mailbox.

One woman watched a bird carry three postcards from her mailbox. Ivan Seitz, route one, reports about a patron on his run who had a more practical bird, which took only the coins from the box, carefully leaving the mail. In the spring, carriers sometimes have birds dart into the car when they open the box. Another thing about open lids: If you leave the lid down after you get the mail, rain can accumulate in the rim, so that when the mailman puts your mail in and bangs the lid shut, your mail gets a dousing.

One of the biggest annoyances to the carriers is getting coins out of the box left for postage. They reach in and pick up a handful of letters with coins among them, and pennies go spilling all over the place. A couple of patrons thoughtfully put the coins in a little can, which they leave in the box. Bill Robertson, route three, has some women on his run who fasten the coins to the letter by using a snap with a clothespin and can’t remember where he got it. One of Ivan’s boxes contains a small change purse, while another uses a heavy glass ash tray for the coins.

It helps to have a level box if you are in the habit of leaving coins. One person has a box that leans forward so much that he has to place a stone in under the end of a letter to level it enough to lay coins on top. When the carrier yanks the lid, everything slides out into the dirt. Ivan has taken as many as 100 pennies from a box at one time. Aside from juggling the pennies as they tumble out of the boxes, there is a little matter of time and taste involved. Try licking and stamping 50 letters before lunch sometime and you will see why it leaves a bad taste in the carrier’s mouth when you don’t stamp the letters you put in the box.

When asked if I ever read the postcards, they all owned up to it, but acknowledged that if the address was clear they seldom would have to. On one route there are three Donald Smiths and on another three William Bradleys. In such cases sometimes the only way to tell where a card should go is by reading it. They do notice unusual handwriting though, and as Bill commented to me, “No other person on the route can get as much on a postcard as your wife.”

To the carrier, his job is more than just a daily run. He is, in a way, a rural minister, the modern shadow of the old Circuit Rider. He carries joy and heartbreak with him every day he goes. He knows, perhaps better than anyone one else, just how much mail means to some along the way.

He is the visible, the human link, between the remote valley cabin and the outside world. To some he may be the only conversation of the day. So closely does he touch the edge of our lives he senses a kind of confidence he has to keep. He is your friend. This must be useful service he is able to render through it. He is your friend. This must be so, for when I asked Postmaster Zody the nature of complaints about the carriers he said, “I don’t really know, we so seldom have any.”

So, the next time you go down for the mail, start a few minutes early, and take a shovel with you. Straighten up the mailbox and throw a little gravel in the rut where the water stands. To a stranger going by, and to your mailman in particular, that box may tell more about you than all the letters that come and go from it every year.

Story by Hank Swain, Brown County Democrat, Jan. 13, 1955. Submitted by Pauline Hoover, Brown County, Historical Society, Inc.