A Country Mailman Adventure

Tune in every week to read about the adventures of Buck Buchanan, fictional country mailman, delivering mail out of Starz, Texas. He takes his job seriously and knows that customers count on him to deliver every piece of mail entitled to them. He is all about customer service. With a willing ear and a helping hand, Buck Buchanan goes the extra mile.

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I shoved the three postcards in Earlene Mont’s slot in the sorting case and knew Shirley Mont was on the outs with her own mother again. When the mother-in-law gets postcards from Europe and the mom doesn't, that means Shirley is mad. Nothing new. Shirley Mont stays mad. For a woman who travels a lot, she has a way of reminding people of her presence. The woman laughs loud, speaks loud and never hesitates to let her feelings known. She has three grown sons who do the same. I never knew her husband, but they say he was twice her size and twice as loud. When he died, the household must have seemed like a tomb.

When they first moved to the route, I delivered eight different gun magazines every month. Since the boys have moved out, I only deliver two. Lately, she’s been receiving Christian magazines and a newspaper from South Africa and as I shoved one of them in her slot in my case, I sat down on the stool and inserted a long pink-colored card as a reminder to hold her mail. I sure don't want to upset Shirley Mont.

I put the three, hard, plastic cases from the National Library Service into the Anderson slot. Mr. Cado Anderson receives from five to ten audio books a week. He’d meet me at the mailbox today. Only during bad weather is the blind man not sitting in his chair under the large elm tree when I stop at the mailbox. We always trade plastic cases and occasionally he tells me about one of the books he found interesting. And he always insists I read his mail to him. Seems as if he believes Mrs. Anderson neglects to read every word and he isn’t shy about expressing the opinion. The one day I saw her in the grocery store, she thanked me profusely for reading aloud every letter he gets, including the electric bill and bank statement. I frowned at the envelope in my hand addressed to Mr. Cado Anderson. The last one he got that looked like this created a disaster.

In April, Jake Smith, the county sheriff, spotted Cado walking along the highway, carrying a backpack filled with a pair of house shoes, half a loaf of bread, a hunk of ham, slices of cheese, a bottle of water, and two packages of chocolate candy. He had his walking stick, wore a jacket with corduroy elbow inserts and a tweed Trilby hat. In England, he'd fit right in, but on a four-foot gravel shoulder along Highway 84, the old gentleman was more in danger of getting run over rather than seen. He was headed to Austin. Mrs. Anderson refused to take him to collect the $500,000 that the Clearing House declared he won.

I tapped the envelope against the case. I have to deliver it, but getting it past him to Mrs. Anderson would be a trick. I reached for the circular, slipped the envelope inside it and taped it in four places so it wouldn’t move. He might think it is part of the advertisement and not ask me to open the envelope. If not, well, I’d have to think of something else. We can’t have Mr. Anderson setting out on his own again. A blind man and a heavily trafficked road don't mix well, no matter how well he dressed.

I paused at seeing the next envelope. It was thicker than normal, but the return address caused a disturbed shiver down my back. Young Brenda Yager’s father did not send a birthday package in July like he normally had for the past twelve years. Here it is, the middle of August, and a letter with his name and a prison address shows up – looks as if his mother died or was unable to send the yearly birthday package. I always knew the man was in prison. Now, Brenda will know, if she didn’t already.

The fifty or so parcels sitting in the gurney cart by the back door weighed heavy on my mind, especially since I’d have to pack them carefully in the backseat so they would all fit. I knew the ones going to Darla Gibbons held ribbons and they wouldn’t be heavy. The ones going to Marcy’s Décor could wait until after I finished the route. But that only eliminated five. The Millers were at it again. The yarn Debby used to make the saddle blankets wasn’t heavy, but the leather James used had plenty of weight. I’ve seen those saddles he makes - top notch. Tooled and decorated with silver, they are mighty fine. When James inquired about mailing a saddle to Austin, I realized it was headed to the Governor’s address and got this bright idea to take it myself. James doesn’t travel much, now that he’s in a wheelchair, and my wife and I like to take weekend trips.

Off we went one Saturday morning with a saddle in the backseat and a phone number to call to gain admission to the Governor’s mansion. My wife had gotten up an hour early just to do her hair so when I suggested we put the top down on the mustang, she frowned and shook her head. Normally, she jams a cap on her head and doesn’t mind the wind but I guess a visit to Austin is something special. It was a seven-hour trip and we only stopped twice so by mid-afternoon, we sat in front of a black wrought iron gate that only opened electronically. I dialed the number, spoke to someone about the saddle and within thirty seconds large doors began to open. I drove up the paved drive and saw a woman dressed in jeans, boots and a blue work shirt waving to attract attention. She stood beside an open garage, indicated for me to park and when I got out, introduced herself. It wasn’t a name I recognized but since she spoke my name, I knew James had talked to her. The saddle was soon sitting on a carpeted table in the garage and my job was finished. The delivery took less than ten minutes and so uneventful that I knew my wife was disappointed because I was as well.

My cell phone rang just as the gate clanged shut behind us and as I listened, I felt a small smile on my lips. Repeating the address, I motioned my wife to write it down. I didn’t tell her that the lady dressed in jeans was the Governor’s secretary and that she was only at the house to accept delivery of the saddle because it was a surprise from the First Lady of Texas to her husband. And I didn’t tell her that we had been invited to a bar-b-que hosted by the First Lady just outside of Austin. I did suggest she put on lipstick, though.

It was a fun evening and we met some folks that were nearly as interesting as the boys at the domino hall. The ribs weren’t quite as tender as I’m accustomed to but the brisket was just fine. The beans had chili powder in them. I’ve never understood why a person would ruin a pot of beans by adding ingredients that don’t belong, but the cherry cobbler was perfect, not too doughy and plenty sweet. My wife had a good time and all was back to normal the next day as we drove home; the car top down and her hair stuffed in a baseball cap.