Today, I am thankful for the simplicity and elegance of a hand-written letter.
Recently, I came home from an arduous day in the office, and I executed my two self-imposed, evening chores: grabbing a cold beer out of the fridge and sorting through the morass of mail. As I tossed useless catalogues and other junk mail into the circular file, I came across a priceless gem: a hand-written letter, with my name and address, elegantly written in cursive script. As I eagerly opened the letter, my mind raced back to my childhood and the sheer, anticipatory pleasure I would encounter whenever I received a letter in the mail from a distant friend, my summer camp compadres, or my godmother.
Sadly, such memories might one day soon be lost on our youth. Modern technology has frankly come with some drawbacks. Not only do most children not know how to craft a sentence in cursive, many have never had to physically compose a letter. Even the simple process of learning how to address the envelope is a dying art. With the advent over the last 2 decades of the internet, email, text messaging, and social media, the art of effective letter writing is gradually dying. So, I relish any memory that recalls the days of past. Amazingly, in the not too distant past, our only means of written communication was limited to ‘snail’ mail. Those of us in our mid age of life recall the ardent glee we experienced from watching a document being sent to us over the phone lines in a facsimile. However, our fax machines were short-lived, having now also be rendered useless.
On this day (Apr 3) in 1860, three businessmen instituted a systematic relay of written communication (mail, messages, and newspapers) connecting the folks in Missouri (where the western train line ended) with the burgeoning ‘gold rush’ region of California. Best of all, as their name attests, the vehicle of transport was horse-mounted riders. The Pony Express worked like this: these horse-mounted riders would deliver mail on the back of a horse at a pace of 15 miles an hour for about 10 miles, and then switch to another, rested horse at strategically-located stations on the route every 10 miles. Mail was carried in a special pack (a mochila) that could readily be transferred from one horse to another. Riders would switch every 100 miles or so. With the support of about 120 riders, 400 horses, and 184 stations, they could deliver mail across the 1,900-mile journey in just 10 days. Riders weighing no more than 125 pounds risked their lives crossing treacherous terrain, all the while encountering inclement weather and the occasional ambush by native tribes.
This was not easy work, and never advertised as such. Here’s how one of the advertisements for riders put it: “Wanted: Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over eighteen. Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred.”
The Pony Express only lasted for about 18 months. Despite what you might think, its failure was not associated with a dearth of eager employees. Rather, the telegraph and the Civil War effectively ended the campaign.
Yes, I long for the days of the hand-written letter. The ones arriving in a small white truck from the US Postal Service will suit me just fine, though I have no objection to receiving one as from a wiry fellow hopping off the back of a muscular stallion.
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