My plans for completing school and to hopefully start a
career in sports casting got sidetracked once I started working at the Post
Office back in September of 1968. This stop gap job which I thought would last
one or two years turned out to be a lifetime civil service job that I
eventually elected to end after 34 years. The job didn’t pay much but offered
security in the form of affordable health benefits along with vacation and sick
leave. I never gave the other benefit in the form of a retirement pension after
so many years much thought because I wasn’t planning on staying. This security
and stability, heck I was told that once you got through your 90 day
probationary period you had a job for life as long you didn’t steal or kill
someone, seemed lucrative for one who was planning on getting married and
raising a family. I could even boast and say that I worked for the government
as back then the Post Office Department was part of the Cabinet. It was
President Washington back on Feb 20, 1792 who signed the legislation to make
the U.S. Post Office a cabinet department led by the postmaster general. The
first logo I remember was that of the Pony Express rider which I proudly wore
on the shirt that was part of my uniform.
It took a little acclimation as I transitioned from working
in the private sector. I was one of approximately 530,000 employees nationwide.
The first Post Office that I was assigned to work at had 110 employees. They
were all men, many were veterans (WWII, Korea, and the newly ones from Vietnam).
The management style, given the climate, was naturally militaristic and for one
who had never served because of a medical deferment was found to be in the
minority and in for a culture shock.
Many of the jobs were monotonous and downright boring but I
was always looking to learn as much as possible. I’m glad I did because a few
years later the experience I gained helped me to cut short the time that I
would spend on the dreaded midnight shift which one was assigned to once they
transitioned from a substitute employee to a regular one. A term that employees
often used was time spent either on a certain shift or even when they were
about to retire giving an impression that working there was like serving time
in prison. There were people who truly loved their job. Everything was done according to seniority.
Jobs would become vacant and would be posted for bid but I needed a few more
years under my belt to land a day job. Therefore in order to work days I
volunteered to cover vacancies at any of the 99 offices that made up the Boston
District. I did this for four years until I was able to get a job back in the
office which I started.
Over that time I met many wonderful and interesting people.
Each office seemed to have had its resident philosopher, joker, and chronic
complainer. Early on I had the opportunity to work at the Weston Branch, a
small Post Office in a very affluent neighborhood which sported million dollar
homes inhabited by lawyers, sports celebrities and CEOs of companies that lined
the Rt. 128 belt around Boston. It was a small office with a work force of
clerks and letter carriers that totaled no more than 30. Even though it was one
of the smallest offices I had worked in it seemed to have 5 times the number of
shall I say peculiar characters there. There are many I can write much about
but for now will focus on just two.
The manager, back then called superintendent, of this office
was Mr. Brady. I don’t remember his first name but do recall that he was known
to all as “Red,” because of his red hair which was now thinning out. He was no
more than five feet four inches in height but in ego he thought to be six feet
five. I remember him wearing the same two suits and could hear him coming from
a distance by the shuffling of the loafers that he always wore. His ruddy
complexion would often match the color of his hair. This was more noticeable whenever
he encountered someone he didn’t like He would occasionally come back from
lunch at a local eatery where the townies ate complaining about some cheap so
and so who didn’t offer to pay his lunch. Apparently Red had made a mental list of these
people. One day while I was relieving clerks for their lunch break Red came up
behind me to check the status of the lobby. Just at that time I spotted a man
entering to my left. Simultaneously with his entry I heard a noise like a
muffled growl. It was coming from Red. The man wasn’t fazed by Red as he
purchased a book of stamps. As he was exiting the lobby door Red came up and
had some nasty things to say about him. At first I thought he was joking but
then I realized that he truly meant what he said to me; “Next time he comes in
don’t give him the right time of day.” He was one of the ones that Red had on
his list. This list not only comprised of customers but also some employees
that worked for him. Which leads me to my next character, Chuck.
Charlie Jacobs, affectionately known to all as Chuck was one
of a dozen clerks. He was a big burly man in his mid-forties. He would
vacillate from being this smooth character with charm to this hard-nosed bite
your head off person. He would often have his fishing boat out in the employee
parking lot and by the looks of him some mornings I think he came to work directly
from an all-night fishing and drinking session. From the first day of working there I could
see that Chuck and Red did not like each other. Once you got to know Chuck and
got by the rough exterior you could see that he was a good guy. The predominant
feature I remember about him other that his beer belly which was carried well
by his large six foot three frame was his eyes. There was a sparkle to them
especially when he was up to something.
One day I was working beside him and in came an elderly man.
Chuck and I both had our backs turned when we heard a cane wrapping on the
counter followed by, “Young man, young man.” From the tone of the crackling
voice which seemed to be 40 decibels higher than the norm one could tell that
the man was upset – not something uncommon in the Post Office where almost
everyone has an axe to grind because they’ve had a piece of mail delayed or
even lost over the course of their lifetime.
This was my first
encounter with Mr. Drinkwater, a ninety-two year crotchety New Englander whose
face showed the effects of enduring one too many winters. He was at Chuck’s
counter and I couldn’t help overhearing the reason of why he was upset. I would
later find out that Mr. Drinkwater spends his summers at Mattapoisett near Cape
Cod and has his mail forwarded from Weston to his summer home. He was
complaining that his Time magazine was taking a week to get to him and that by then
the news was stale. Mr. Drinkwater didn’t realize or didn’t want to believe
that magazines do not travel at the same rate as a first class piece of mail.
Apparently Chuck had dealt with the cantankerous old codger before and he told
him that he would have to see the superintendent. The man had no patience and
seemed to be getting angrier and shouted at Chuck to hurry up and get him.
I was just thankful that I didn’t have to deal with him.
Then I heard Chuck tell him the following,
“Wait in front of that door and I’ll tell him you’re here
but I have to warn you to speak up because he is hard of hearing.”
The old man grunted and went to position himself in front of
the door that had a brass plate with the word superintendent on it. As Chuck
went to get Mr. Brady he turned to me and winked. The superintendent’s office
was just around the corner from Chuck’s workstation. I followed Chuck with my
eyes as that wink tipped me off that something was going to happen. Mr.
Drinkwater was in front of that door for no more than 20 seconds when he
started to wrap on the door with his cane getting angrier. I heard Chuck call
out in a loud voice into Mr. Brady’s office,
“Hey, Red.” I can imagine that just hearing Chuck’s
sarcastic way of calling him got Brady’s heart pumping harder. Chuck entered told
Brady that was a gentleman to see him and then warned him that the man on the
other side of the door was hard of hearing and that he would have to speak up.
Well the match had been set to the wick. We now just sat
back to hear and witness the explosion. What an explosion it was. As one man
shouted the other got even angrier and shouted even louder. It was like watching
a tennis match of shouting and with each volley more employees and customers
gathered round to watch the fireworks. Those that were in on the ruse were
laughing including Chuck who was trying to hide unsuccessfully behind the
column to his right. I think Brady caught a glimpse of him and with that he
realized that he was set up. Nothing was resolved but most of us had the same
thought that those two guys deserved what they got. (To be continued.)
