Hey mister postman12/6/2023 ![]() ![]() Our neighborhood is hilly, compounded by steep ascents up narrow sets of stairs to reach the mailboxes. I didn’t notice Jim had a problem with his knee until his limp was obvious. I was comfortably inside, while he labored alone in the elements. But I didn’t notice him in the driving sleet, or when the temperature dipped well below freezing or soared near 100. Some days I’d envy him, getting exercise, out in the dazzle of mid-summer or walking under the vivid canopy of trees on a crisp, fall day. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Jim, and Jim knew everyone. He’d chat with us for a few minutes before walking to the next house to say hello there. In good weather, the kids and I would often be outside playing when Jim came by. ![]() When my husband and I moved our family to a tree-lined street in the center of Wooster, it seemed fitting that one of the first people we met was Jim, our postman. Frankly, there’s no one more suited to a “neighborhood watch” than a mail carrier. ![]() Less heroic feats, such as chasing down cattle that had escaped their pastures, occurred with more regularity. Once, Dad saved his life: Nick had been robbed, beaten and left in the snow Dad found him and called an ambulance. My dad hand-delivered Nick’s mail, brought him groceries and took care of his banking. For more than 30 years, he delivered important letters - like the one the Marvelettes pined for in their ’60s hit - as well as honeybees, trees and baby chicks to the many farms along his route.ĭaily, he checked on Nick, an elderly man who lived alone and didn’t drive. ![]()
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