If you sent me a letter in the last five years, I’m sorry I didn’t answer it
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Version 0 of 1. I’ve been one poor correspondent, and I’ve been too, too hard to find. But it doesn’t mean you ain’t been on my mind . . . No, seriously, you have been. Your letters have been on my mind — and all over my desk. As The Post prepares to move to a new building, I’ve been going through reader mail that has piled up. How much mail? I think the correct term is “a lot.” It is positively archaeological, this mail midden. Here is a layer of letters responding to my columns about old Washington dairies. Here is a layer of letters in response to something I wrote about clueless cashiers. Here is a layer from readers offering me advice on how to survive on my own during the year My Lovely Wife lived in the Netherlands. That was in 2011. I’ve been one poor correspondent . . . It is my aim to answer every letter. I fail at this miserably. Like most e-mail, most physical mail falls into a middling category: not so obviously off topic or forgettable that it can be trashed immediately, but not so vital and pressing that it requires an immediate response. And so I consign much of my mail to postal purgatory, carefully setting it aside on my desk, telling myself I will jot a note when I have a free minute. Four years go by. It took me two days to go through all the mail. That was longer than I expected. It turns out that a mail mound behaves like a glacier. It’s created by the addition of more and more mail (snow). As the mail (snow) builds up, the mail (snow) on the bottom is compressed. As you remove the mail (snow) from the top, the mail (snow) that has been compressed underneath rises up. Just as global warming is melting the ice caps, so my postal glacier is receding. People don’t write real letters as much anymore. Those who do are older. And when you’re older, you’re closer to . . . well, closer to not being able to send letters anymore; i.e.: dead. “I don’t have e-mail, no computer, and I don’t text!” began one letter. It was a common sentiment in the typed and hand-written letters on my desk. As I went through the mail I felt like I was cataloguing the last flock of passenger pigeons. People who employ an old practice — writing letters — often send me old things. A reader in Dumfries, Va., sent me a photo of her husband’s 1922 Hupmobile, which appeared in the 1959 Jimmy Stewart-Vera Miles movie “The FBI Story.” A Kensington reader sent a photo of her 1939 dance recital. A Richmond reader sent a copy of a family photo and wondered if I recognized anyone: “Does the women third from the right look familiar?” All those memories, as fleeting as tears in rain. Many of the envelopes on my desk contained an artifact I don’t think future columnists will ever see: the annotated article. That’s when a reader tears your story out of the newspaper, writes on it and sends it back to you. The sort of sentiment someone scrawls on newsprint is typically not complimentary. There’s usually a fair amount of rage involved: Why even waste a piece of stationery on this numbskull? If you wrote to me and I didn’t reply, my apologies. I promise to try to do better when we move to our new building. Though I read each piece of this mountain of mail, I didn’t respond to most of it. When a letter sent to me in June 2010 begins, “I’m a 92-year-old, native born, lifelong resident of Washington, D.C.,” the odds are good there’s not a 97-year-old waiting on the other end today. And even when I did write back — when I had that elusive free minute — the outcomes weren’t always what I’d hoped. Towards the bottom of the pile was a letter I’d written to one Walter O. Jacobson, only to have it come back with a message scrawled in red ink on the envelope: “Return to Sender. Deceased 2006.” If you like envelopes and stamps, you’ll be glad to learn you can donate by mail to the charities supported by The Washington Post Helping Hand fundraising campaign. Each tries to help end homelessness in our area. Community of Hope works with District families. Make check payable to “Community of Hope” and mail to: Community of Hope, Attn: Helping Hand, 4 Atlantic St. SW, Washington, D.C. 20032. Sasha Bruce Youthwork works with teens and young adults. Make check payable to “Sasha Bruce Youthwork” and mail to: Sasha Bruce Youthwork, 741 Eighth St. SE, Washington, D.C. 20003. Attention: James Beck. Homestretch works with families in Northern Virginia. Make check payable to “Homestretch” and mail to: Homestretch, 303 S. Maple Ave., Falls Church, Va. 22046, Attn: Nan Monday. To donate online, visit posthelpinghand.com. Twitter: @johnkelly For previous columns, visit washingtonpost.com/johnkelly. |