Across from Kalakaua Park in Hilo looms a majestic two-story white building on Waianuenue Avenue, designed in a style loftily touted as “Mediterranean Renaissance Revival.”
Built in 1917, with side wings added in 1938, it has served as various government offices, but its most important and enduring function is the post office.
The Hilo Post Office. I practically grew up there. My father worked at one of the windows for decades, my uncle later served as postmaster, and it was where I spent many happy hours.
Every day after school, I walked to the library and at closing time headed down to da pos’ office for my ride home with Dad. There was always a short wait, so I explored the magnificent building, strolling the wrought-iron trimmed balconies and descending the marble spiral staircases, acting like royalty. I wiggled fingers in the frog fountain, careful not to splash my dress which would alert the authorities — my mother. I love that place.
Government jobs like the one my father held for 30 years offer financial security. It helped my parents send me and my brothers to the university, ours being the first generation to go. This was a big deal!
My boundless respect for postal workers also comes from their dedication to moving the mail, vital in the bonds that hold us together. The U.S. Postal Service connects us to far-flung relatives and friends, an essential service on remote islands such as ours.
Remember pen pals? We all had one or two. And no matter where I was, every Christmas my grandmother in Palolo Valley mailed me a tin of my favorite Chinese peanut puff rice, made in Kaimuki. Ono memories.
One of the many things this pandemic has confirmed is that “virtual” is convenient but it cannot replace physical. Postal workers provide daily and friendly contact — we know them, and they know us.
My father had devout fans who would sit on the front steps to wait for him to return from his lunch break. Anyone can stamp mailings, but he did it with patience and a smile.
In Seattle, we were on a first name basis with our mail carrier, who brought treats for our cat lounging on the porch and held our mail whenever we went out of town, delivering it in a neatly rubber-banded bundle when we returned. Rick was the best!
In today’s wild and viral times, we are also facing a need to vote by mail. But the nefarious powers that be are tampering with this service, first by messing with it, and then spreading false rumors that it cannot do its job.
Of course it can.
It’s been doing so since 1775, when Benjamin Franklin was appointed first postmaster general. You remember Ben from Poor Richard’s Almanac who wrote, “Fish and visitors stink in three days” and “There cannot be good living where there is not good drinking.”
But the legendary wordsmith neglected to compose a post office motto. Too much good drinking I guess. However, we cheer an offshoot, the 1860s Pony Express, with enough horse sense to proclaim: The mail must go through!
So what about “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
I thought this was the official motto for USPS, but it’s not and comes instead from the Greek Herodotus in praise of Persians around 500 BCE. Surprised? Me too.
And yet, why borrow from the Greeks? We can coin our own motto, and here’s my suggestion:
The United States Postal Service: We deliver.
Rochelle delaCruz was born in Hilo, graduated from Hilo High School, then left to go to college. After teaching for 30 years in Seattle, Wash., she retired and returned home to Hawaii. She welcomes your comments at rainysideview@gmail.com. Her column appears every other Monday.
