Tuesday, the 6th of March, 1923 — Postmaster Hollis Beechwood, acting
From the postmaster: The northbound came in at 5:42 this morning, three minutes ahead, on account of the snow holding off east of Rutland. Forty-one pieces in the sack for our route alone, and I am proud to say each one looks well-tended by the hand that sent it. Below is the sorting tray as it sits. Click an envelope to read the letter inside — folks send these meaning every word, and we owe them the care of a careful eye. Use the region pegs at the top of the tray to sort by where each piece is going next; the cubbies along the back wall correspond. If you've a letter of your own to add to the outbound sack, the intake desk is at the bottom of the room.
— H. Beechwood
Sort tray by region:
There is a special procedure for postmaster correspondence — but that requires the right word, typed plain, at the counter.
★ U.S.P.O.D. ★EST. 1775★ FAITHFULLY ★
Postmaster's Drawer — Locked Until Asked For
POSTAL LAWS AND REGULATIONS · 1913, AS AMENDED THROUGH 1922 UNITED STATES POST OFFICE DEPARTMENT
§ 1041. Duty of the Carrier upon Rural Routes.
The carrier upon a rural route shall regard the prompt and faithful delivery of each piece of mail as the foremost duty of his employment. He shall not pass any house upon his route at the customary hour without first ascertaining whether there be mail to be delivered or collected, irrespective of the season, the condition of the road, or the inclemency of the weather, save such conditions as render passage to life and limb manifestly unsafe.
§ 1042. Care for Letters of Personal Importance.
Letters bearing decoration of the sender's own hand, or such markings as denote private and personal correspondence, shall be afforded the same diligence in delivery as official communications of the Department. The carrier shall not assess one piece of mail above another by the character of its envelope; each letter posted is a trust between the Department and the writer.
— filed Washington, D.C., October 1922 · countersigned, Postmaster General Hubert Work
Friend — if you have found this drawer, you have stood at the window long enough that I trust you with what we don't say aloud at the counter.
There is a man named Cyril Vinton who walks the Birchhollow route in any weather, and has done since 1907. There is a widow on the West Branch road who waits at her window every Tuesday for a letter that has not come in fourteen months — and still it is our duty and our honor to look in the sack for her each Tuesday, because the day may yet come, and because she should not have to wait alone for it.
The wires are quicker. The telephone exchanges are spreading. The Department knows. But a letter is the only object I can think of that carries the smell of a kitchen across half a continent. It is the only piece of paper a child will save sixty years. We do not move mail. We move the words that people cannot bring themselves to say in person, and we carry them the last mile up a snow road the wires will not follow.
That is the work. That is why we are careful with the envelopes, even — especially — the ones somebody drew a bird on.