Adieu, Mr. Postman

Mario here,

We writers have always had a special relationship with the mail. Mine started when I used to accompany my mom to the post office, a big imposing building downtown. The black ballpoint pens were chained to the counter and stamped: Property of U.S. Government. We'd worry about the penalties if the Feds caught you swiping one. The mail clerks (always men in those days) were very official and stern behind their bronze grates.

My first personal interaction with the postal service was in the fifth grade. Quaker Oats had this promotion claiming that their puffed wheat cereal was shot from guns.



If you sent two boxtops you'd get a model cannon. Unfortunately, the bargain with my mom was that I had to eat both boxes of the Quaker cereal, which was not anywhere as good as Super Sugar Crisp. I sent in the boxtops--Allow six weeks for delivery. (Try surviving in today's marketplace with an offer like that.) Those six weeks were the longest of my life. As the delivery day got closer, I'd run home to see if the package arrived. One day, my model of a Napoleon six-pounder was waiting for me on the kitchen counter. The mailman was my hero.

Moving forward to when I participated in the writers' submission ritual. Banging out a query letter on the Underwood, sending the letter and an S.A.S.E. to an agent or editor...and wait. We'd hold vigil around the mailbox and eventually some of those S.A.S.E.'s would find their way back home. It was common knowledge that if an agent or editor was interested in your manuscript, you'd get a special envelope or even better, a phone call, so the returned S.A.S.E. meant no-dice, pal. And when fortune did finally shine, there was your monster of a story packed up in a manuscript box or padded envelope. Revisions and galleys came by mail. As did advance checks. (Yeah!) One day you'd get boxes of your books. All delivered by the man or woman in USPS blue.

For better or worse, the mail carrier was our good friend.

The Internet has claimed many victims. We writers bemoan the loss of many local bookstores. Here in the Denver area we've lost Murder By the Book, High Crimes, Hastings, and of course, Borders, done in by the pitiless onslaught of Amazon. Craigslist has killed off scads of newspapers. And now the World Wide Web has a stranglehold on the Post Office.

Today, it's strictly email queries, which means rejections now come at the speed of light. Deadline time, you submit an electronic copy of the manuscript. Revisions are done in track changes.

According to various press releases, mail volume will drop by half within five years. To prevent bankruptcy, the USPS will close hundreds of outlets and layoff thousands. Postage rates will go up, and worse, mail delivery will slow and become uncertain. The standard delivery for first-class delivery is now next day. Three at most. The Post Office says to expect a week or longer. In other words, why bother mailing anything?

And so the USPS circles the drain.

They should've seen it coming. First UPS ate into their parcel delivery. In their arrogance, the Post Office dismissed the competition, and the man in brown has since replaced the man in blue. Then FedEx came around. People were willing to pay ten times the mail rate for guaranteed overnight delivery. To FedEx became a verb. Email replaced letters. You can pay bills through the Internet. USPS was nicknamed snail mail.

But it doesn't have to be that way. Think of it. For a mere 45 cents, they will deliver your letter anywhere in the U.S. with a certainty of nearly 100%. That's incredible service. Of course they lose money with each letter. What the Post Office needs to do is emphasize their service and raise their rates accordingly. Even at a dollar a letter, that's a deal.

I have another service that may not put the Post Office in the black, but could be a substantial source of revenue.

Promote the mailing of liquor. Right now we're treated to that rote question: Does your package contain anything fragile, liquid, flammable, or potentially hazardous? It's a gotcha so they can screw you in case you do mail something that violates their rules. But in fairness, we have the Unabomber and the Anthrax killer to thank for that question.

Why not allow people the opportunity to mail booze? Not cases of hootch but a bottle of wine, liquor, or a six-pack of beer. As long as you declared it and used the appropriate packaging.

So adieu to all the fond memories of the mail. Email will never replace the romance of the love letter. Remember pen pals? Somehow, putting pen to paper prompted an eloquence that no software can duplicate. On the flip side, porn no longer arrives via a plain brown wrapper. What special memories does the mail bring for you?

[image error]