Could a Snail Mail Revolution Save the USPS?

I have a favorite mailman named Herb. Rain, hail, blizzard or blistering hot summer days, faithfully at around 1 p.m Monday through Friday, Herb delivered our mail for nine years. One day he even found our lost keys in the flower bed and rang my door bell to deliver them with the mail.

Yesterday I heard a doomsday report on the news that the USPS would shut down before winter, 2011. I don't know anyone who doesn't like to get a letter, a birthday card or a handwritten thank you note in the mailbox. It's sad that the only time that most of us get "real" letters is around Christmas time...but even then, it's a computer-generated news nugget that is mass produced for friends and family.

So, I have a plan. I'm going to make mail: snail mail, art mail and lot's of thank you notes. What if everyone ran out and bought a book of stamps this month and just wrote a few old fashioned letters. It would bring smiles to the recipients and maybe, just maybe it would secure the jobs of mail carriers like Herb. Imagine, we the people could turn around one sector of the economy and job market with a little paper kindness.

I have saved over 20 years worth of letters from both of my grandmothers, many with news clippings and stories about what my other cousins were up to. It showed me that no matter how stoic she seemed, she cared about every detail of her grandchildren's lives. It is my precious history. We also have a letter written by my husband's father from the U.S.S. Missouri during WW2 detailing his daily life on the ship as well as how a Japanese suicide plane struck the ship and other details that only could be articulated by a soldier's personal experience. Priceless.

Years ago my grandmother gave me a thick envelope of letters and postcards that my mother wrote to her when my mom lived in Italy around 1963. All those stories  would otherwise be forgotten if it had been merely e-mails back and forth. It's a reminder of how important it is to create a physical record of even the most mundane events because to the next generation, it's a priceless piece of our past.

This summer I was in my old neighborhood and saw Herb faithfully delivering mail to my former neighbors. He spotted my white van and waived. We haven't lived there for almost three years and he still remembered me. The least I can do is write a few letters.