The house I grew up in was, and is, on the northwest corner of 15th and Orchard, in beautiful Wyandotte, Michigan. The epicenter of life as I knew it. As you can see, we shared some real estate with a U.S. Mailbox. For a steel box that stood motionless, it played a small role in the lives of the many people who lived in its vicinity. Neighbors, such as my Grandpa Zulewski, would take a walk to mail their letters. A glance out the window was a sure thing when we heard a car pull up to the curb. Was it a visitor or someone mailing a letter? The little door that my Grandpa is opening, made distinct sounds when it opened and closed. When it opened, there was a squeak along with what sounded like a metallic yawn. The hinge had a spring on it to keep it closed. And when it closed, it would open back up a little and close again. It sounded something like, squeak, THUMP, thump. Not only was it a mailbox, it was an obstacle for the lawnmower, a gas pump to fuel our bicycles and riding toys, a lookout tower, bongos, and a slide. When the grass grew too high under it, my Dad got on his hands and knees and pulled it out. Weed whackers werent invented yet. With a little effort, you could climb on top of it and have a seat. (Only the bravest of the brave stood on it.) This enabled you to see farther down the block. Start moving your feet and your heels would hit the mailbox and you would hear, thud thud thud followed by, stop that and get off of there!. To get off of it, you scooched forward a little bit and slid off of the curved top. Put a little finesse into it and it became a dismount that would rival any that a Romanian gymnast could execute. I can remember when I was sitting on it and a lady from 16th street drove around the corner and saw me. She pulled up in front of me and told me to get off of it because thats not what the mailbox was for. I quickly jumped off of it and shot a glance towards the house hoping no one inside had seen me getting scolded. Double jeopardy wasnt in my game plan that day. My disrespect for authoritative actions didnt come until much later in life. Otherwise I wouldve given her a right here, lady!. I can also remember the time when my sister alerted our Mother about the meowing coming from the mailbox. Some neighborhood hooligan threw a kitten into it. My Mom called the post office about it and then went to the mailbox to open the door to give it some air and to reassure it that help was on the way. Someone did show up eventually and got the poor thing out. The disposing of empty pop bottles was another use for the mailbox. One time the mailman cut his fingers on broken glass when he collected the mail. At the same time every day, a big mail truck would pull up and any kid within a 30 foot radius of the truck would gravitate towards it. This activity was a close second to chasing the street cleaner. Out of the truck would step Tocco, as he was referred to. Mr. Tocco was a tall, thin man with a pointed nose and a bushy moustache. After pleasantries were exchanged with his welcoming committee, he reached into his pocket to get the key to unlock the mailbox. The key was attached to a long chain that was attached to his belt loop. After gathering the mail and putting it into a large sack, Tocco would reach into another pocket to retrieve a pack of gum. After sharing his gum with his sidewalk supervisors, he hopped back into the truck with the sack of mail, bid all of us adieu, and drove away. The arrival and departure of the mail truck was an indicator stating that my Dad would soon be turning the corner, off of 14th street, and returning home from his job at Wyandotte Chemicals. Mom would be getting dinner on the table while The Mike Douglas Show played on the TV and other evening rituals would soon follow. The mailbox was removed when I was a teenager due to, what else, budget cuts. The mailbox that stood on the corner of 21st and Orchard, where the Calahans lived, remained for a few years longer. Im sure a few people, in the neighborhood, missed its existence. And Im certain that some didnt even notice that it was gone. Just an overlooked object on the landscape. But for me it was there. A part of my life. On the corner of 15th and Orchard.
Posted on: Thu, 15 Jan 2015 21:58:46 +0000
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