Lifeline via the P.O. Box
When I left for College of the Ozarks in 1972, it was the first time I had ever been away from home.
Even though it was only a four-hour drive to my family in Chamois, Missouri, I was homesick.
Our dormitory didn’t have phones in the rooms. Communication from family came to me at P.O. Box 469, Point Lookout, MO.
I would receive letters, cards and, occasionally, a pink slip that told me I had a package too large to fit in the mailbox. The post office became an important link to my family.
Not only did I get letters from Mom and Dad, I received letters from my grandmothers, aunts, cousins and, later, from my brother in the military. I always wrote a letter back. It’s a wonder I had any time to attend classes and study.
My grandmother Cora Walker would write every week, describing everyday events and saying that it must make for boring reading. Those are the very things I treasure when I reread her letters now.
My grandfather Henry wasn’t much for writing—he left that to my grandmother—but he did like to draw. When I wrote to them
about a tennis tournament I had entered, my grandfather already decided the outcome: He sent me a drawing of me winning. (In fact, I did win the championship.)
My grandparents would send me
$5 or $10 for birthdays or just in case I needed spending money. I could always tell when their letter had cash inside because the bill was wrapped in foil. I suppose they were trying to “foil” anyone trying to see through the envelope.
I saved every letter I received. Later, I learned that my mother and grandmother did the same with my letters to them. I have four years’ worth of saved letters in binders. Together they form a time capsule of my college years.
I am sending you some money. We didn’t get to see you before you left. Hope you get it OK and no one steals it—Ha!