My, how idioms can change.
When I was young, "hauling the mail" referred to someone in a hurry. Soon, it may mean someone who gets there whenever he gets there.
Next-day delivery is about to join the 2-cent stamp and Pony Express as artifacts of lore, according to austerity moves announced by the nearly bankrupt U.S. Postal Service. It hit me hard, as I'm unfortunately wired to wonder upon hearing bad news whether I might bear some responsibility.
Do I pay bills by mail and not online? Yes.
Do I mail greeting cards for birthdays and such? Yes.
Do I address legibly and always include a ZIP code? Yes.
Does my household often have goods delivered by mail? Yes.
Do I correspond with relatives and friends by paper? No. (But I hardly ever did. For me, emails replaced phone calls, not letters.)
OK. I feel better, if not good. It never feels good to see one of life's absolutes shaken. In America, the prompt delivery of mail has long been an absolute.
Consider the Pony Express. It was privately run (I think with some government subsidy) for 18 months in 1860-61 until replaced by a telegraph line. It used 120 intrepid riders and 400 fast horses to provide an amazing 10-day delivery of mail between St. Joseph, Mo., and Sacramento, Calif. (That averaged about 190 miles a day.) An ounce cost 10 mid-19th-century dollars. (Today, a one-ounce letter costs 44 early 21st-century cents.)
In my earliest recollection, first-class stamps were 3 cents at the post office across the street from my childhood home of about 250 people in rural Indiana. I'd go with my mom to buy them from the "postmistress," an older woman named Sarah, whose duties included bending over to unload the mailbox that sat by the street out front.
That's what she was doing when local postal history was made one day. The beloved elderly town doctor, his eyesight failing, jumped the curb while parking his Packard and tapped Sarah's backside with its front bumper. Witnesses said the nudge sent her sprawling, unhurt except for pride, into a bed of the letters she dropped.
More mundane was the nightly arrival of a buslike vehicle to reap bags of mail for the clerks inside to sort as the "highway post office" rolled on. It represented efficiency intended to maximize the use of every minute.
The last of those vehicles were retired in 1974, replaced in part by almost 500 regional sorting centers that will, according to a recent announcement, be cut to about 250. Efficiency must be sacrificed for economy.
Postal Service volume has dropped about 20 percent in five years, and a $14 billion loss is forecast for next year. I'm as likely to see UPS and FedEx vans on my street in Highland as the white postal truck driven by a delightful young woman with a ready smile. I worry for her and a legion of others who occupy what were once some of the most secure jobs in the country.
I'm a fan of their work. I can't remember anything I ever mailed getting lost. I think the price is a bargain. But I'm also a realist. I can think of no mail for which I cannot afford to wait an extra day or two, going either way. The vast majority of what arrives is unsolicited advertising.
The economic model has changed dramatically, making mail not only much slower than its competitors but a relatively expensive option for moving information.
Consider that in 1950, according to a study I saw, a New York-to-Chicago phone call cost $1.50 for three minutes. That was about an hour's pay for an average worker. A 15-word telegram cost 75 cents. A postage stamp was 3 cents.
Soon, a stamp will be 45 cents for the first ounce. The phone call is probably free, covered under a set monthly bill. There are no telegrams anymore. An email is instant and also free, if you have a device with an Internet connection, and you can include the electronic equivalent of as many ounces — or pounds — of documents as you choose.
Time does change everything. That Indiana town has grown to about 300 people since my family left. And its post office even has a ZIP code now.
