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.

*  *  *

I looked at the parking lot across the alley from the Post Office and noted the school buses were gone. They'd be on their way to the school to pick up the kids to take them home. November weather is just about perfect in West Texas... good for cotton picking...good for cotton ginning...and good for those Thursday and Friday evening football games.

Done for the day on the mail route, I got in my car, kept the windows down and pulled out onto the street to stop at the only stop sign in Starz, Texas. The sound came from my left, but the trees blocked my view. I waited, not taking my turn to move since there wasn't anyone behind me. I had to smile at the entourage that paused at the stop sign to my left. After waving them on, I drove slowly down the street toward the domino hall, my usual watering hole after a hard day of delivering mail. The sound disappeared and I wondered how long Jim Bob would be in town.

For those who don't know Jim Bob Nelson, they might think it odd that he drives down the street in a miniature car dressed like a clown. The oversized yellow hair, bulbous red nose and polka-dot overalls clearly mark him as an oddity, and traveling the few paved streets of the town indicate that he is someone who might need a keeper. The rest of us know he is going to school to pick up his eight-year old daughter. Jim Bob must be home from the rodeo circuit for a while. He started out as a bull rider but soon decided he'd rather be on the down side of the monsters instead of on top. Then he took it one step further. The four dogs riding in the small trailer behind the car are cow dogs, the ones he trains to herd calves back to the chute after the roping and bulldogging. Not only is he a savior to the bull riders, he and the dogs put on a show at the rodeos.

The man is in high demand so during the summer, the family travels in a motor home all across the country. I know because I hold their mail. But one week in the summer, they return...for Vacation Bible School. Matty Nelson is always assigned the three and four year olds. The church doesn't have a fence around the yard that borders the heaviest-trafficked road in Starz and the deacons only allow those kids to be in the yard if Jim Bob's herding dogs sit out by the street. Matty rarely has to motion for the cow dogs as they act on their own to keep the little ones herded on the grass. The dogs are well-practiced. Jim Bob has them herding ducks, chickens, pigs, goats, cows, but stops at the bulls. He has a heavy respect for horns. In the annual Labor Day parade, Jim Bob and his dogs herd a group of animals down the middle of town, usually goats. Although the geese are the most entertaining.

  Now that school is in full swing, Jim Bob is the only one who takes the motor home to the rodeos. Since he is picking up his little girl, he won't drop in at the domino hall today. He probably wouldn't anyway, dressed like that. There's a place for a clown, and although some act the part in the hall, the yellow yarn hair and polka dot overalls just don't fit.

I opened the door, acknowledged the group in the back huddled around the square table, and went to the refrigerator to get a diet soda. It’s a good place to unwind after a long day. Sometimes I play forty-two, but the table is full so I just plop in a chair behind Billy Linn and sweat the game. Billy Linn, one of the players, is a retired teacher and tight with his money. He might buy drinks for the refrigerator but only if shamed into it. He is entertaining, though, so that makes up for his penny-pinching. Chris, who sits opposite Billy Linn, only has one arm. We don't call him Hook or Lefty, or any nickname. I usually call him, sir. The guy weighs nearly three-hundred pounds. He rarely helps his son farm any longer because of knee issues but those don’t keep him from bowing up whenever his temper gets the best of him. I saw him toss a chair across the room like it was a stick when he and Greg Ames had a difference of opinion concerning his play of a particular domino. That chair is still lying against the wall, broken into bits. The twins, Kerry and Larry, sit in the other two seats. The two retired oilfield workers resemble each other. They rarely say much, but I know from delivering their mail that they invest in the stock market, just like Jake, the sheriff. They both receive Value Line, and as ignorant about money matters as I am, even I know it's the top-of-the-line source of stock information. They both have big houses, pretty wives, and two nice cars.

The man behind Kerry, sweating the game like me isn't so fortunate. He spent thirteen years in prison when he was a young man. Bubba shaves his head, has tattoos on body surfaces I don't even want to think about, and says piercings are for sissies. He keeps the cotton gin running and since he's here, the gin must be doing just fine. His Harley is the biggest made and even though Bubba isn't a stout man, he looks as if he can handle it well.

The domino hall is sparsely furnished, six square tables and a slew of chairs of various sizes. Many look to be cast-offs, well-used and worn, but everyone has his favorite. The farmers are scarce during ginning and planting season, but when rain drizzles, the room is buzzing. It isn't a place for women and only the brave wife dares poke her head in to summon her man. Since texting came into existence, a man's exit is usually prefaced with a brief glance at his cell phone. Babe, my wife, doesn't mind strolling through the door. She always seems comfortable in the company of men. As long as she doesn't go into the bathroom, all is well. The ceiling tiles in the back of the room have fallen on the floor, dead roaches are lying on their backs along the wall, and chalk dust from keeping score on the slate tables is an inch thick. It's a man's little bit of heaven.