Mail call at our hacienda

From a Very Famous Best Friend

When I became old enough to read it became my job to fetch the mail.

I’d listen for the sound of the mailman closing the mailbox and driving away and like a well-trained dog I’d race out our front door and down the walk to our mailbox. While bringing the mail up the walk I would read the name on each envelope and sort them accordingly. I was the town crier of 5216 E. 27th at 85411.

“Gas bill. That’s for you, pop.”

“Reader’s Digest.” Mom would grab it like it was lifeline.

“Water bill. That’s for you, pop.”

Day after day we got ordinary mail. Mostly bills. Or a toy I’d given up on ever seeing. Then it took 6-weeks for a box of 100 flat army soldiers, smaller than advertised, to cross the country costing me the huge save sum of one dollar and a coupon from a comic book.

It was the Spring of 1964 when we got an amazing piece of mail. I always knew the Master Sergeant was an important man because he wore an important blue uniform with lots of medals and his shoes always glistened. When the old man retired, he got a second job, a University desk job, and began wearing his favorite ensemble, a light tan sports coat, tie and dark sunglasses and when you’re seven I was convinced, my dad, an auditor, must have been very important. A Univeristy President, at the very least. After work he’d sigh about his responsibilities, pat me on the head, flip on Cronkite, grab the Tucson Citizen, pop a beer, put his feet up and loosen that tie.

And await the mail like a King.

The envelope I found on top of the the stack in the mailbox had stars and stripes on it. It looked very important.

It was addressed to dad. Plain as day. Mr.Fitzsimmons. In pen. Handwritten. I was sure of it. When I read the return address I could not believe who the letter was from. It was from the President of the United States of America.

The President.

The President had written to my dad. To my dad. My father. The old man. There was pop’s name written in cursive in ink by the President himself. Real ink. As far as I could tell. The President is super famous! And super important! When I learned my dad had a best friend that was super famous it blew my mind. Who else does my dad know? Does the guy sipping a bud, with his shoes off, in our living room, know Morticia Addams? John Glenn? Bullwinkle? The inventor of X-Ray Specs? or the Stingray Bike?

Hey, dad! Dad. Dad. Dad! It’s for you. Da-a-a-a-a-d-d-d-d-d. And it’s from your friend. The President of the United States! He’s written a letter to you! To you!

What is it?

I told you! It’s a letter from the President! To you! You never told us you were best friends!

Huh.

Yeah! And he wants to know what you think about stuff, pop. The President!

Hm.

I didn’t know he knew you. And that you knew the President! And look, he wants to know what you think about what’s going on in the world, dad. You better tell him, dad. You’re always telling us. Word must have gotten to your friend, dad, the President, that you know a lot about everything.

Huh.

How long have you guys been friends? As long as Tommy and me? Since Kindergarten?

Hm.

I can’t wait to tell my friends the goll danged President wrote a letter to you. Are you really, really really old friends?

Huh.

Wow! He sure has fancy handwriting. He wrote that! Did you go to school together? How come your penmanship stinks, dad? Is he your pen pal? Like me and that girl from Mexico?

Huh. What else came in the mail?

Coupons. And the water bill. Dad! What about your friend?

Hm.

Oh, wow. I can’t believe it. You and the President are friends! And it says on the front of the envelope he needs your help, dad. Your old friend, the President, he needs your help, pop!

And then pop confirmed it. They were old friends. Just in the way he said it. As if he was complaining about a brother-in-law who’s always asking for money. He always needs my help. Every election.

You’re the nicest dad.

Hm. Why don’t you open it and read it to me; what he says. Show me how well you can read.

It starts with “Friend.” That is so amazing. I can’t believe you and the President are friends.

Uh huh. Sure. We were in the same foxhole in ’44. Keep reading.

I hope I can count on you to have my back… to deliver four more years.. and finish the job. He’s asking for money, dad! Your best friend is down on his luck and he’s reaching out to you, pop! To you! Are we going to help him, pop?

Guy like him? He’s got plenty of friends to help him.

But he says you’re his best friend ever! The President of the whole country! And he says he’s fighting for you, dad. You got to help him win.

Soon as he helps me pay this gas bill.

Da-a-a-a-a-d! He’s out of cash. Says so right here! I bet he’d help you.

Uh huh.

And look, pop. He's fighting for you. Where’s the fight? Can we go watch? Who’s he going to punch out? Why don’t you hear from him more than often every four years? I’ll bet he misses you, pop. We should have the President over dinner! Has he ever been here for dinner?

The Master Sergeant heard the mailman and looked out the door. Whoa. Look. Late delivery. Out the window. I just saw the mailman drop off today’s mail and drive away. This must be yesterday’s mail. Go check again for us, will ya?

Dad! Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Look at this! You got mail from another best friend. Say’s she’s running somewhere. Is she running from somebody? She says she can’t run without your help. I think she thinks you’re a doctor now, pop. Says she hopes to be your senator, pop! Wow. Your own senator. You better answer her right away. She wrote your name in cursive, too!

Not only was my dad known by the President of the United States and not only did the President write to ask my dad for advice, money and his vote but now I discover my dad has another best friend, a nice lady, who wants to be my dad’s very own Senator. And she just wants to ask him a few questions about stuff. What he thinks about this and that. Wow. The old man must be really smart for them to want his advice.

Hey, mom, look at this! Mom got mail from the same two friends, like dad! They must all know each other. Everybody whats to know what my mom and dad think about stuff. How come I never saw them over at our house, playing scrabble or watching the Ed Sullivan Show together on a Sunday night? They must be friends from before when I was born.

When I saw the letters the next morning they had been torn up into tiny pieces and they were in our kitchen trash. They probably wanted to keep their friendship secret so our neighbors wouldn’t be jealous. Usually top secret stuff was shredded, or burned like I’d seen on ”Mission Impossible”, but the Master Sergeant had done a thorough job. He must have been trained in spy stuff. Important people who known the President and have their very own Senators , like my mom and dad, are all trained how to do spy stuff.

No wonder the Master Sergeant posted a flag on our porch every Fourth. Democracy’s amazing.