DILLINGHAM — It seemed clear to me two years ago when I moved here that it'd be difficult to find a career that offered more opportunities to learn about this place and its people than a job with the U.S. Postal Service. Here, as in much of rural Alaska, the postal service is the paddle without which we'd all be stranded up the proverbial creek.
In Dillingham, where the only road out of town leads about 20 miles to Aleknagik, and where a round-trip flight to Anchorage can cost $600, the postal service is integral to everyday life.
Although residents here, like postal customers anywhere, can be cantankerous when their mail doesn't arrive on time, most Dillinghammers realize that the postal service — not seasonal barges nor cargo planes — is the most reliable, most economical option for receiving their stuff.
Sure, the postal service has a reputation for a bloated bureaucracy, but many in remote Alaska benefit immensely from its relatively inexpensive postage, its cheap C.O.D. rates and its bypass-mail service that greatly reduces the cost of flying in groceries.
All letters, magazines, catalogs
Authorized by the U.S. Constitution as an independent agency of the federal government and legally obligated to serve all Americans, no matter where they live, the postal service simultaneously earns and loses billions of dollars annually. It is also the third-largest civilian employer in the nation (behind the federal government itself and Wal-Mart) and operates the largest civilian fleet of vehicles in the world.
Private carrier FedEx, on the other hand, can deliver where it pleases, so FedEx hands off its village-bound parcels to the postal service in Anchorage. United Parcel Service does deliver here — sort of, and for a higher price. Since UPS has no brown vehicles in Dillingham, parcels are sent to PenAir in Anchorage, and PenAir employees here handle the deliveries in their big white van.
Consequently, in Dillingham and other rural Alaska destinations, all letters, all magazines, catalogs and most parcels funnel through the U.S. Postal Service. That's an estimated 1.2 million pieces of mail that wind up at the Dillingham Post Office each year, the most recent iteration of which was built in the 1980s and sits at the edge of a pocky parking lot between the Wells Fargo bank and the L&M Supplies boat yard on D Street.
In April 2014, I applied to the postal service for part-time employment. By the end of May, I had passed the background checks, been interviewed by a human resources honcho, peed in a drug-test cup, rolled my digits through black ink for fingerprinting, and was sitting through a week of U.S. Postal Service orientation in Anchorage. By June 2, I was on the job.
Family affair
The learning opportunities were every bit as rich as I had imagined; however, my job description (part-time flex) was a misnomer. I found myself working 40-50 hours, five to six days a week — not so great for a semi-retired man hoping to explore Bristol Bay and spend more time with his significant other. Still, I persevered (for seven months), helping send and deliver thousands of pounds of mail a day in what was sometimes the eye of a swirling postal storm.
In doing so, I became the third member of my branch of the Fair family to deliver mail. My dad's sister, Joyce, worked 35 years for the post office in tiny Walton, Indiana, and my great-grandfather, Frank Fair, delivered the Walton mail via a horse and buggy starting in the late 1800s. I split my time at the Dillingham Post Office between working the front counter and sorting mail in the back.
It provided me with a valuable education. Because Dillingham (like most remote Alaska communities) has no home delivery service, nearly everyone within the census area shows up in the lobby at least once.
Mail clerks see names and faces, which they connect to box numbers. They know who receives the most catalogs, who orders the most Amazon parcels, who neglects their overflowing mailboxes and who pays to replace box keys lost most often. They keep such information confidential, of course, but they know.
Postal clerks also begin to piece together community histories — who is (or was or will be) related to whom, how many generations certain families have lived in the area, and the names of newcomers arriving to fill positions at the local hospital, courthouse or schools. They hear the gossip and the politics, the commercial fishing reports and the weather forecasts, the news of the day and the brewing controversies.
When I began working at the post office, I was overwhelmed by the numbers, names and systems I needed to learn. At times I played little games with myself to help me retain information. For instance, I tried to figure out the most common Dillingham surname on the mailboxes.
At first, my eye was drawn to names that seemed more indigenous to western Bristol Bay, such as Heyano, Savo, Illutsik, Hiratsuka, Chythlook and Wassillie. Later, I became aware of the preponderance of Olsons and Olsens, Nelsons and Nielsens, Andrews and Andrewses, Larsons and Larsens, etc. But it wasn't until I discovered a log of postal names that I learned the truth. While the second-place surname occupied 14 boxes, that was less than half the number of the first-place name — Johnson. So much for exotica.
'Most difficult work'
Although the weather occasionally prevents the mail planes from landing in Dillingham, usually the mail arrives at least once or twice a day. Sometimes, as on Christmas Eve, it arrives in about a half-dozen waves. Whenever it does appear, postal employees do what they can to get it into customers' hands — all governed, of course, by myriad complex and occasionally arcane postal service regulations.
Although I enjoyed the learning opportunities and the company of my talented co-workers, employment at the post office provided me some of the most difficult work I'd ever done — and I taught high school English for 20 years.
The hours were long, and the sometimes-back-straining labor was done primarily on our feet. All day long, we loaded and unloaded parcels, accepted packages from and delivered packages to customers at the front counter, sorted and scanned and shelved the mail, and stuffed letters and large envelopes, catalogs and magazines, and even tiny packages, into approximately 1,500 mailboxes.
By the end of the day, we all had tired legs, tired feet, tired shoulders and backs — even tired smiles.
As I was hanging up my postal cleats back in January, newcomers Rob and Mike were just starting. They both do a great job, but the real pros there are my long-tenured former co-workers: postmaster Penny Johnston and her husband, Chuck, both transfers from longtime positions with the Soldotna Post Office, and Jane Norbert, who attended school in Dillingham and has been working at the post office here for 17 years.
This highly skilled trio is so much swifter and more competent than I ever was that their efforts sometimes seemed almost like magic. I am grateful for all I learned and the opportunity to integrate more fully into this community. And I'm less likely now to complain about late packages because I know what an effort it takes to get me my mail.
Clark Fair, a Kenai Peninsula resident for more than 50 years, is a lifetime Alaskan now living in Dillingham.