Country Mailman

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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As I piled the boxes into the back of my car, I couldn't help but wonder why Toby Williams was getting a dozen toilet seats. Folks order all kinds of things, especially ones who live out in the country and don't go into town often, but twelve of anything is a lot. He doesn't have rental houses; at least, I'd seen no indication of it in the past twenty years of delivering his mail. Since retiring two years earlier, he has received odd items from time to time, but these twelve boxes take the prize.

The rest of the parcels aren't unusual. Amy Wright gets make-up regularly. Shirley Mont is getting another box of New Mexico wine. Rebecca Vasquez has five parcels, probably shoes. The lady must love shoes or her feet are hard to fit. She returns nearly as many as she receives. But these seem to be the kind with built-in orthotics. I noted the brand on the box. Babe, my wife, is always complaining about her feet hurting. Ed Notting is getting his standard fruitcake. He starts in on them in October and doesn't stop ordering until way past Christmas. I don't think he buys them for anyone but himself because that’s about the time he stops wearing jeans and dons the overalls. Holiday food does that to some folks. Jimmy Parker's son has a parcel, probably baseball cards. He’s a collector. I stowed Charles Melendez's heavy padded envelope on the dash. His silver coins arrive monthly along with the Numismatic News.

The three large boxes belong to Rebecca Hunt. She is redecorating her bedroom. I've had a tough time with the workmen parking in front of the mailbox. That's a taboo as far as mailmen are concerned and I don't deliver if I don't have access. Well, that's not exactly right. If there's a package that won't fit in the mailbox, I'll take it to the door and leave it on the porch. Justy Marlin and I got into it once about her packages. She called the postmaster and accused me of tossing her parcel on the porch and not ringing the doorbell.

I didn't dispute the story but my reasoning was that the parcel held diapers and it wouldn't hurt anything to pitch it onto the wooden slats, especially since my knee was hurting and there were four steep steps to climb. It happened to be naptime and I sure didn't want to ring the doorbell and wake up any of those three little ones I thought might be sleeping. I knew she was home because I saw her big suburban in the drive. Rain wasn't in the weather forecast, so her diapers were safe.

It was a quick assessment of the situation, but after twenty years of delivering mail, my instincts are honed. After a discussion with the postmaster, I agreed to always ring Justy's doorbell when I leave a package. And the next time, I did just that and rang it hard - didn't want her to think I wasn't adhering to instructions. After three deliveries, she caught me at the grocery store, a bit red-faced, and asked me not to ring the doorbell any longer - I was waking the kids from their naps. But I shook my head and said my orders come from the postmaster and she would have to talk to him about the situation. I guess she did because my instructions concerning Justy Marlin's mail were to ignore the previous instructions. We aim to please; at least I do, so there are no hard feelings. Some people just find it hard to decide what they want.

Harvey Hanks was the same way. After he moved in, I took a package to the back door because there is a protected alcove where I could leave it. He happened to be mowing at the time and not expecting anyone. Said he nearly had a heart attack when he saw a stranger out of the corner of his eye. Again, I had strict instructions to leave all packages on the front porch and to ring the doorbell. And again, I laid heavy on the little white button. Since they are one of my first deliveries and they get a multitude of packages, I was ringing at nine thirty in the morning. Seems as if Mrs. Hanks likes to sleep late so it didn't take long for Harvey to decide it was okay to leave all packages in the alcove and bypass the doorbell. I'm not sure why people think they know my business better than I do.

Some folks don't want packages left on their porch for all kinds of valid reasons and I respect that, leaving the little pink slip in their mailbox. The Jenson's travel quite a bit so I never leave anything on their porch. Ms. Haddock visits her daughter sporadically, so I put pink slips in her mailbox. I usually know who is home and who isn't and I know who has company. I know when Carli Wilson's mom and dad come to visit because their motor home is parked beside the back door. I also know they have a little terrier who hates me so I never get out of my vehicle when he's loose. It's best. Creates fewer problems.

I honked as I drove up to Toby's house. I saw his car and thought he might want the twelve boxes in his barn instead of the house. He opened the door and motioned for me to drive toward the back. Toby is slightly built, has a full head of white hair that anyone would be proud to have and the greenest eyes I've ever seen. He stands straight and always wears starched white shirts and jeans with his boots. Toby is a friendly man, always interested in what I am doing, but not so interested that he delays me on the route to talk. I see him at the gas pump occasionally, but generally, we don't travel in the same circle. He pointed to the open barn doors and I backed the car in a few feet.

"I wondered when they would get here," he said with a smile on his face.

I scratched my head and tilted my head in question. "I can understand one or two, even three toilet seats, but twelve?"

He laughed and picked up six of the boxes. "Follow me. I'll show you what I'm doing."

I entered a room, enclosed within the barn, paused and stared. "Well, I'll be....."

I had no words for what I saw. One solid wall was lined with carved toilet seats. Odd faces, funny faces, old faces, young faces and weird faces stared at me. Carved lids were still attached to the ring, which looked like a frame around each carved portrait.

"The ones I just ordered have a thicker lid. I'm hoping to get more depth to the faces."

I put the boxes on a table and walked closer to the wall to inspect the work. Clearly, the man is an artist and an excellent woodcarver. Some sculptures were painted, some merely stained. All were impressive, even the grotesque ones that only had one eye, half a mouth or a disfigured nose. I looked at him in awe and he just shrugged.

"Needed something to do after I retired. Beth told me to get out of the house - I was driving her crazy."

I shook my head in wonderment, still amazed. "What will you do with them?"

He shrugged again. "Fill the barn, I guess."

"Why toilet seats?"

"Seemed like a good idea. I've never seen a carved one."

We talked a bit longer but I left still in wonderment of Toby Williams. I wasn't surprised often on my route, but today I was. What other customers had secrets I didn't know? And why didn't I know since I was part of their lives and had been for many, many years. A mailman is supposed to know about his mail folks and yet I didn't know about Toby Williams. I almost felt as if I had failed him.