The Pickens sentinel. (Pickens, S.C.) 1911-2016, 1915-12-30
A Mail Carriers Letter

have been intending to attempt
to write a letter to The Sentinel
for some time, but just when
would get my thinker to work it
would be time to start on the
road again, for | am one of I'm
Gle SANS rural route boys. We
carriers get SO accustomed to
, doing the same thing day in and
day out, travelling the same road
and seeing the same scenes until
it become q part of ourselves,
and we cannot do or think of
anything else.
Our veteran carrier here, Uncle
Billy Mullinax, has been in the
service about sixteen years. He
can see nothing but mail boxes;
he cannot drive by any white
object on the roadside, even on
his way TO church on Sunday,
without drying up to it to see if
there is mail in it. 1t is said
there was large goat standing
upon the bank of the road one
day, his head buried in the deep
grass on which he was grazing.
He did not notice Uncle Billy,
who drove quietly up behind
him and was fumbling in his
satchel for his keys, when a
boy ran out and said:
Uncle Billy, what are you
going to do with my goat?"
"Oh, nothing," said Uncle
Billy, coming to himself, as he
threw down his keys and started
off. Il was just SO used to un-
locking a box when the flag was
up!'
Now, l am not quite as bad as
Uncle Billy, simply because I
have not been in the service as
long. However, l do catch my
self sitting up in my sleep at
night writing money order ap-
plicatiOns to Roars and Saw
buck and Il. M. Rose.
| We can do one thing SO much
until we will get it confused
with everything else we try to do
or saY-like the old negro preach
er whose congregation had pre-
sented him with an automobile.
The old preacher tried all the
week to learn to operate and to
drive the machine, and became
much confused with the me-
chaniCal terms and directions he
found in the instruction book,
and on the following Sunday a
good colored sister had come
from nearby town to make q
/ missionary address, but before
beginning asked the parson to
pray for her that she might de-
liver a great message. So the
old negro got down on hisknees,
lifted his eyes up to the skies,
and began in tones most rever-
ent:
"Oh, Lord, fill her radiator
Tipping full oh de cl'ar, COZ water
OBJ life, pour in de lie Oh saliva
tion till it stands above de gage,
den crank her, Lord, wild de
right han ob fellowship, cl'ar
up de voice ob her 'lectrofied gos-
pei horn, kick off de clutch OBJ
de debbil and tn row her on high. !"
| However, this monotony of
rural mail carrying may be bro
ken. for we have time and op-
portunity for studying human
nature in it's varied forms,
whims and fancies. We see the
same people day after day, year
after We see them shivering
in the chilling breeZes of winter:
we see them sweltering under
the rays of a summer sun; we
see them in prosperity; we see
them in failure; we see their
smiling faces when all is we'll
with them; we see the anxious
look on a mothers face as she
comes out to send a special de-
livery message to a distant rel
ative, telling them that her
child is dangerously i'll; on the
ineXt trip we see the doctors car
standing in the yard. We won
der what our next trip will dis
close. Sometimes it is the hap
| py smile of a mother or father
as they tell us that the crisis is
|passed and their child will get
we'll. Sometimes it is the sight
of the black -curtained hearse as
it stands ready to convey the
little body to it's last resting