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Small town is where people care
(by Barbara Christian - October 26, 2011)
WINDOW ON MAIN STREET, BY BARBARA CHRISTIAN
Small town is where people care
Here is my favorite story about life in a small town. I know it's true, because it happened to me. It also likely broke several U.S. Postal Service regulations.
The scene is a newspaper office somewhere in Chagrin Falls. If you look over there in the corner near the window, you will see me at my desk busy at work. Now, listen. The sound you hear behind you is the door opening, and, through that door, bending under the weight of his leather bag is our friendly neighborhood mailman. He's one of the good guys whose path we cross every day.
With his usual cheery greeting, he hands a stack of letters to the receptionist then walks to my desk and hands me a package, points to the address and says -- and I paraphrase here -- "It's supposed to go to your house, but I knew you were working and figured you might want it sooner than later."
Now, those not acquainted with small-town life may think this "special delivery" broke not just a slew of federal laws but is unsettling. As in stalker-like unsettling. Or they might say it is typical of the excessive familiarity found in small towns.
Like the words to the theme song from "Cheers." Chagrin Falls, like that mythical Boston bar, is a place "where everybody knows your name" and where you work, so the mail carrier, if he is of a mind, might drop off a package at work which was actually addressed to your home. A place where the friendly neighborhood mailman is willing to break the rules just to be nice.
We don't know if Mike Murie -- another one of the good guys -- ever broke any of the rules at his job as delivery driver for UPS, but most of you know he was always ready to do something nice, something not in his job description.
Actually, Mike is not a "was." He very much "is" alive and well, recently retired and probably waging a bet at a blackjack table at some casino somewhere. Mike never hid the fact he loves to gamble. Besides, he worked in a small town where we all know that kind of stuff about each other.
Everyone has a Mike Murie story. I have many. Like the day he hauled a package containing the parts of a very heavy treadmill. Mike not only brought it inside but put it in the room where it was to go. If he had the time, I am sure he would have offered to put it together too. He was (is) just that kind of a guy.
In small towns like Chagrin Falls, people like Mike Murie are given special notice. Oh, boy, are they ever given special notice.
Witness the 200 people who showed up in Triangle Park a couple weeks ago to wish Mike well on his last day of work. There were hugs, gifts, a mild roast from some of his customers and a proclamation of appreciation from the mayor of our town.
Mike is gone from his Chagrin Falls route, but he is not forgotten, and pity the poor person who steps into his shoes. He's got some much-loved ones to fill, and that's for darn sure.
As for Mike? He's a man of few words. He told the Triangle Park crowd how happy he was to be retired but how much he'd miss us all. Then he looked out on his well wishers and quoted the title of one of his favorite movies. "It's the one with Jack Nicholson," he said. "This is as good as it gets."
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