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| an addictive century-old watering hole and burger joint |
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| By Shannon Selway |
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One business in Missoula with indisputable consistency has to be none other than Downtown’s beloved Missoula Club, or as affectionately referred to by most, the “Mo Club.” It’s a beer and burger pub born in 1890, that by its very appearance, is clearly the opposite of elegance. It’s a loveable watering hole that draws patrons by the hundreds weekly – with good reason. It’s a place that lives and breaths personality; it’s a place that locals and out-of-towners visit “to get a fix”; and is a true blue Missoula icon – making it a “must visit” site for anyone who desires understanding of our town.
The “fix” I refer to is the infamous Mo Burger, a burger – in my opinion – that is so awesome that it bears no rivals. Yeah, it’s that good.
When the barkeep slaps the meat patty (made from happy Montana cows) on the grill, my mouth begins a watery journey of anticipation. It’s a rather long journey, though, since the grill isn’t cranked up for mass expedition of the burger product. The patty slowly sizzles, locking in the flavors of the finely-minced onion that is mixed into the meat. It’s so worth the wait.
Tic Toc…
There’s a remedy for the wait, though, and that is, of course, to have a frothy beer or milkshake and a cup of peanuts. A great part of the waiting period is de-shelling the nuts. I get to do something my mother would never approve of: toss the shells on the floor. In fact, it’s expected! It’d just be plain weird to dispose of them any other way!
Ah, the aroma…
Naturally, another method of passing the time is to survey the discolored mint-green walls. They boast a vast array of ancient athletic 8x10 photos, as well as more current ones. It’s fun to try and find the old ones – some date as far back as the 1920s. There are scores and scores of photographs portraying individual jocks, team photos and snaps of encounters with famous figures (check out the one of head barkeep, Shane Kelly, with Bill Clinton); all are interesting.
The Mo Club’s owner, Mark Laslovich (everyone calls him “Las”), an Anaconda boy oozing with charm, has been undertaking a project to have the precious photos preserved. Most of the photos posted are protected by decades-old plastic film, and it’s hard to fully appreciate the pictures because years of smoke and indoor pollution have yellowed them. Las is in the process of having them laminated – a big improvement – and an excellent preservation solution. And, since the Mo Club is now smoke-free (since 2005), the pictures should fare a better future.
From open to close, the Mo Club’s lighting never changes. It has grocery store-type lighting (well, maybe not quite that bright, but close). That’s the way it is has always been, and that’s the way it will continue to be. I know one thing: not a gray hair on my head can hide in that place!
“Around midnight a lady customer came up to me and asked if I couldn’t turn down the lights. She said she didn’t look that great by that time of night. I just smiled and told her she’d feel just fine about herself if she had another beer,” Las said, boasting a fun grin.
“I think the lighting keeps fights to a minimum. We rarely ever have fights break out here.”
That’s probably, in part, due to the clientele. There is no stereotypical patron; they come from all walks of life. On any given night – or afternoon for that matter – you can catch business men and women sitting next to senior citizens, who might be by UM students that are sitting by reggae worshipers who are bumping elbows with college professors. It’s that eclectic.
I can think of another reason for the lack of fighting at the Mo Club. People are concentrating on getting their “fix.” There’s just no room for feistiness when your mind is on a Mo Burger.
Speaking of Mo Burgers… I’m looking at that grill and it looks like it might possibly be my turn for oral bliss! I think it is. Yes! The barkeep is placing that delicious patty on the bottom half of a bun and placing the top half of the bun nearby for a later reunion. A couple of pickles and an onion slice completes the foam plate’s presentation, and it’s all for me!
As I slowly savor each bite I look around and can’t help but notice that my cheeseburger is being coveted by others. Been there, done that. But I know they too will have their turn. By the time I finished my generous-in-size burger, a void has been filled – that is, for the time being.
You can get your Mo Burger “fix,” downtown, 139 West Main Street, 7 days a week, 8 a.m. to 2 p.m.
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The Coming of the Black Robes
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| By Wm. W. Whitfield |
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Not too long after the Lewis and Clark Expedition, there came into the region of the Great Northwest an influx of diverse English, Canadian, and American fur trapping and trading companies eager to exploit an immensely untamed, and as yet, untapped region. The Canadian companies oftentimes brought members of eastern Indian nations, like the Iroquois, along with them on their expeditions to help teach the western tribes how to use steel traps. Many of these Iroquois trappers working for the Canadian companies had embraced the teachings of Christianity early on, and some of the tribes on the Upper Columbia, such as the Salish, were keenly interested in learning more about this strange and powerful new religion.
Occasionally the Iroquois would suddenly sever their ties with the Company and take up dwellings with their native counterparts, who readily adopted them into the tribe. One of these trappers, known as Ignace La Mousse, or Old Ignace, had been Baptized by the Jesuit Priests at Caughnawaga Mission near Montreal, and held a certain sway with the Salish as a great Iroquois leader. Through his advice the Salish sent a delegation to St. Louis in 1831, requesting that a ‘Black Robe’ come and administer to the needs of their nation. Two members of this first party died in St. Louis, and the other two were never seen again after leaving the city. Four years later La Mousse and two of his sons made the journey, and were assured that missionaries would be sent out as soon as possible. In 1837, with still no word from a missionary, another anxious group of five souls, including Old Ignace, again headed east in an unrelenting attempt to secure a Black Robe. Unfortunately, they were all killed by an unfriendly band of Sioux Indians in the process.
On October 29th 1839, a delegation led by Young Ignace finally met up with Father Pierre Jean De Smet at St. Joseph Mission, near Council Bluffs. The following summer De Smet joined a large band of Salish, Pend d’Oreille and Nez Perce Indians at a rendezvous near Green River, Wyoming. He traveled with them to Henry’s Lake where they crossed the divide into the Red Rock Lakes area of Montana, eventually parting ways at summer’s end near the Three Forks of the Missouri. Returning west in the spring of 1841, De Smet earnestly began making his way towards the homeland of the Salish. Along with Father De Smet were two other priests, Gregory Mengarini and Nicholas Point, and brothers Charles Huet, Joseph Sprecht and William Claessens. The expedition was led by an experienced mountain man by the name of Thomas Fitzpatrick. Initially they traveled along with a wagon train heading to the west coast on the Oregon Trail, but upon reaching Fort Hall in present day Idaho, Fitzpatrick and the missionaries separated from the train, following a small band of Salish north to the Bitter Root Valley. Their caravan included a number of two-wheeled donkey carts, and an ox-drawn wagon, which was the first ever to enter the state of Montana.
In his earlier meeting with the Salish, Father De Smet had instructed them to choose a suitable site for the mission, one that was well watered and situated on fertile ground. In September of 1841, after entering the Missoula Valley through Hell’s Gate, the natives led the small party of Jesuits south to a beautiful grove of cottonwoods located along the eastern banks of the Bitter Root River. Father Point, who was considered a gifted artist, quickly began drawing up plans for laying out the mission grounds. Father Mengarini noted that they “soon set to work to erect a log-cabin and a church, and built around them a sort of fort protected by bastions. The earth was already frozen and the trench for the foundations had to be cut with axes. Trees had to be felled and trimmed in the neighboring forest, and hauled to the place destined for the buildings. The Indians were not inclined to lend a helping hand, and we needed their assistance.” Acting decisively, despite objections from the Iroquois who thought that he might diminish his authority with the natives, Father Mengarini chose to lead by example, and taking axe in hand, he began hacking away at the frozen earth. Mengarini said that before long a chief, “throwing down his buffalo robe, stepped forward, asked for an axe and joined me in my labor. The young men hastened to follow him, and our house progressed beyond expectation.”
The small log chapel was completed within just a few weeks, and in his memoirs entitled ‘Narrative of the Rockies,’ Father Mengarini candidly describes the rustic structure. “Let not my readers, accustomed to grander buildings, sneer at the first church and missionary residence among the Rocky Mountains. The walls were of logs interlacing one another, the cracks being filled with clay. The partitions between the rooms were of deerskin. The roof was of saplings covered with straw and earth. The windows were 2x1, and deerskin with the hair scraped off supplied the place of glass.” These rough-hewn buildings formed a small village west of where Fort Owen now stands, and though nothing remains today to mark the site, Father Ravalli did reuse the hewn logs from the original Chapel when he built the new mission in 1866.
Upon the founding of the original Mission at St. Mary’s, Father De Smet took it upon himself to travel to many of the neighboring tribes throughout the northwest, leaving Fathers Mengarini and Point to continue serving the needs of the Flathead Nation. When De Smet returned in December he was impressed with the progress they had made, and it was estimated that during the autumn months the Black Robes at St. Mary’s had been visited by representatives of no less than twenty-four Indian Nations! During his journey Father De Smet stopped over at a Hudson’s Bay trading post, and when he returned to the mission he brought back an array of useful farm implements and provisions needed to complete the transformation from wilderness to farmland. For the first time, chickens, cows, and hogs were introduced to the curious natives, along with bushels of oats, wheat, and potatoes to be used for the spring planting. However, the transformation from hunter to sod-buster was slow to come for the natives, and most of the Salish refused to give up their spring and fall buffalo hunts east of the divide. That fact, along with the constant incursions by Blackfoot raiders, eventually led to the ultimate failure of the mission.
Still, certain elements of the operation were considered a success, and by 1843 the priests found that their workload had become overwhelming. In September, fresh recruits, in the form of Fathers deVos and Hoecken arrived, and then the following year Fathers Joset and Zerbinatti were added. A flouring mill was constructed at the site in 1845, however an unfortunate event darkly overshadowed the afternoon set for putting the mill in motion. According to Father Mengarini, “The whole day passed in earnest labor, and when I returned to the house in the evening, Fr. Zerbinatti was not there. No bell had been rung for evening devotions, as was our wont at the mission, and it was already far beyond the usual time. I hastened therefore to ring the bell and begin the prayers.” Father Mengarini wondered to himself what could have possibly happened that would keep the priest from sounding the bell, and the vague uncertainty he felt eventually caused him to cancel the sermon and send out the congregation in search of the missing padre.
“It was now dark, but torches were soon gleaming in all directions, and a hundred quick eyes were in active search of some clue to his whereabouts. Meanwhile, I went over the whole house calling him by name but receiving no answer. How lonely the place seemed! I went to his room, he was not there. I went over the house again and again, hoping against hope that after all I might have overlooked some nook or corner. At last I found a clue. The hook and line were not in his room. He had gone to the river to fish. Immediately the word spread among the Indians, and they hastened to search along the riverbank…Alas! He was dead, not killed by the Blackfeet, but suffocated by those waters that rippled so softly upon the banks a few rods away. They had found him in the river drowned.”
After all attempts to revive him proved futile, Father Zerbinatti was buried in the small chapel graveyard not far from the icy waters that had claimed his life. Father Anthony Ravalli replaced him later that year, and remained at St. Mary’s until the closing of the mission in 1850, when the property was sold to Major John Owen. The recollections of Father Mengarini have taken on an immensely important aspect in the local history of the Black Robes, considering that none of the earliest records and accounts of the original Mission at St. Mary’s have ever surfaced. It was reported by Father Ravalli that “two thirds of what was carried away from the mission was lost in the waters,” as the missionaries made their way to their next outpost. When St. Mary’s Mission was re-established at Stevensville in 1866, Father Ravalli dutifully returned to answer the call of his Salish parishioners, serving them faithfully for the remainder of his life.
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Making ends meet with meat
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| By Rod Daniel |
For the Bitterroot’s two biggest meat processors, fall unfolds fast and furiously in a feverish push to fill the valley’s freezers.
Farmers, 4-Hers, ranchers and hunters all descend like vacationers to a beach to hand over their warm-blooded bounty to knife-wielding surgeons and expert gift wrappers who prepare it for the final leg of its trip to the dinner table.
It’s a ritual Marty Auch and Howard Skaw have witnessed every year for more than two decades. Through the coolers of their respective businesses – Hamilton Packing Co. and North American Foods – pass the carcasses of cows, sheep, pigs, goats, buffalo, deer, elk, bear and moose – most of it from August through January.
Serving grateful carnivores for more than 30 years, the two businesses provide a valuable service for the valley’s agriculture and hunting communities. Each has carved out its own niche, complementing the other’s specialty.
A Corvallis native, Auch bought Hamilton Packing Co. from Wally Weber in 1988, after working in the oil fields of Wyoming. At first, he had three full-time employees.
“When I started, I didn’t even know how to cut meat,” Auch recalled. “I was at the bottom. There was only one way to go.” The business has grown each year for 20 years and now has eight year-round employees with 15 people working during the busy season.
“Things start picking up the week before the fair with the 4-H animals and it stays busy through January,” he said. “We’ve been doing 30 beef a week since the fair.”
When rifle season starts, they’ll be getting deer and elk every day, he said. Since Hamilton Pack is a state-certified processor, a state inspector is always on hand to witness the kills. Because of this Auch can sell meat directly to the public from his butcher cases and his customers can sell their domestic meat to the public.
A full-service butcher shop, Hamilton Pack’s customers can expect to find fresh beef, pork, ham, bacon and sausage, as well as frozen buffalo, sausage, chicken, halibut and salmon. Also available is beef jerky from local cows and bulls.
One of the changes Auch has witnessed over the last two decades is the decline in the size of farms and ranches in the Bitterroot. “A lot of the big ranches are gone, particularly the number of pig farms,” he said. “Hardly anybody is doing pigs anymore. We buy most of our hogs from Whitehall.”
And even though the price people pay for beef has increased, the amount farmers are getting hasn’t kept pace, he said. “I’m buying cows and bulls cheaper now than I did 18 years ago.”
High fuel and feed prices of late have also prompted changes in the habits of livestock growers, Auch said. “Because of the high feed prices, people are butchering a little sooner,” he said. “And cattle prices are low so people are better off butchering than selling.”
In addition to buying, butchering and selling a wide variety of domestic animals, Hamilton Pack also takes in almost as many game animals. And while he couldn’t produce numbers from last year, earlier records indicate he processes slightly more beef and pork than deer and elk.
“Three or four years ago we did 600 beef, 550 hogs and 260 sheep,” he said. “That same year we did about 1,200 game animals. I expect we do a few more now, but I think the ratios are about the same.”
The recent downturn in the economy, Auch believes, won’t affect his business much. “I think maybe more people will hunt locally to put meat in their freezers, and I think people might be more likely to raise their own animals. I don’t see our business going down any.”
When Auch isn’t working he enjoys hunting with his son and brother. And because of his wife Kim and their capable and loyal employees, taking off work to hunt is not a problem.
“I hunt as much as I can,” he said. “These folks have been here so long that things probably run better when I’m gone anyway. My employees are great – I’d be nothing without them.”
Across town at North American Foods, Howard Skaw and his wife Rachel, are in the habit of working double shifts seven days a week this time of year. In addition to themselves, the couple employs five full-time workers and another six or seven people from September through January.
“During the day we process beef, hogs and sheep, and at night we have a crew that comes in and does wild game,” Howard said. “Most of the guys on the night crew have day jobs but work here part time during hunting season.”
Two of their employees, Jerry Schmitt and Lane Housel, have each worked at North American Foods for at least 14 years.
Howard and his dad started the business in 1975 when Howard was 18. He had previously worked for Wally Weber at Hamilton Pack. In 1980, Howard bought out his father, and he’s seen an increase in business every year since.
Like Auch, Skaw doesn’t believe his business will be affected much by the sagging economy.
“If beef prices are down, more people will want to raise a cow and sell a half to their neighbor,” he said. “And a lot of people have been butchering their animals ‘cause they don’t want to pay high hay costs.”
While game animals make up a large part of his business, Skaw said he usually processes almost twice as many domestic animals.
“Last year we did 1,500 head of beef, pork and sheep over 12 months, and we did about 800 head of game from September through January,” he said. “The hard part is the wild game comes in over a very short period usually during rifle season. We might get 600 animals in a month and a half.”
Specializing in on-farm slaughter, Howard mans the kill wagon five days a week, traveling all over the valley to where the animals reside. Over the years, he estimates he’s killed many thousands of animals. That’s one of the reasons he doesn’t hunt.
“I started butchering when I was 16 and I’m 51 now, so I figure I’ve killed about 50,000 animals,” he said. “Killing is what I do for a living, so doing it as a hobby doesn’t interest me.”
For years Howard has coached boxing in Hamilton, and seven years ago he met his wife Rachel at a boxing meet in Billings. The pair’s penchant for hard work is what brought them together.
“Rachel has always been a workaholic, so she fit right in here,” Howard said. “She runs the place when I’m out in the field and she works with the night crew.”
The main change Howard has seen in his business over the last 33 years, he said, is the size of the farms.
“People are getting smaller and smaller places and are raising two or three animals, which is perfect for our business,” he said. “I see a lot of people raising one or two hogs with no way to butcher – we can really help them out.”
Another change Howard has seen is people’s desire for locally grown food. “A lot of people are worried about what’s injected in their beef, so they’re more interested in local farm-raised beef than stuff that comes from outside the area,” he said. “And with high fuel prices, a lot of people are raising two or three animals and selling one or two to their neighbors.”
Howard says he’s always tried to run a very customer-friendly business, which includes taking game animals 24 hours a day.
“We’d like people to use a little discretion,” he said. “If they come in at 11 p.m. we’d like them to wait until morning – we get here at 6 a.m. But if they call, we’ll accommodate them.”
Looking back on their respective businesses, both Auch and Skaw have no regrets about their chosen profession.
“This business has been good to me, and I can’t complain,” Auch said. “There have been good days and bad days. I think I’m better now about dealing with the bad days than I was in the early years.”
His counterpart concurs. “I’ve always enjoyed the business,” Skaw said. “I really enjoy the butchering part the most, when I’m out in the field. There are things I don’t enjoy, like the pressure of the fall season.
“Pleasing the customer sometimes is a lot of pressure.”
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| U.S. Politics and the Myth of Socialism |
| By Shawn Wathen |
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Following the latest interminable presidential campaign, I could only sigh at the attempts by reactionaries to salvage an ephemeral victory by launching a “Red Scare.” Fear is a potent weapon in bludgeoning theoretically “reasonable” people into voting for their own enslavement. The past eight years offer numerous examples as torture, domestic spying, the suspension of Habeas Corpus, and preemptive war to cite just a few have come to define post 9/11 America.
Amidst the recent economic crises, “Liberal” was no longer an effective slur, therefore “socialism” became the truncheon of choice. Letters to the editor confirm that the label resonates with a certain segment of the electorate. Even an elementary grasp of history, however, reveals that socialism as a political philosophy has no connection with U.S. politics, whatsoever.
As Leszek Kolakowski has written in his masterpiece of intellectual history, Main Currents of Marxism, the socialist idea emerged out of the French and Industrial Revolutions. The concentration of wealth and abuse inherent in unregulated capitalist economies was regarded as inhumane and at odds with the concept of freedom and the Rights of Man. Controls over modes of production and supply would ensure a more equitable distribution of wealth, and thus afford more individual freedom. As Kolakowski goes on to show, from these basic tenets, various thinkers proposed an array of systems to realize this ideal. These proposals ranged from the evolutionary (Saint-Simon) to the revolutionary (Babeuf). By 1848 and the publication of Marx’s Communist Manifesto, socialism advocated the abolition of private property and a radical redistribution of wealth to rectify the egregious inequality and exploitation of the working class. Ever since, in Marx’s astute phrase “a spectre is haunting [the West]....”
Red Scares have been a staple of the U.S. political scene since the late nineteenth century, the Palmer Raids; the Sacco-Vanzetti case; Eugene Debs; McCarthyism and the paranoia fueled by the Cold War. With the demise of the Soviet Union, the red bogeyman lost its grip on the American imagination (China does not evoke similar fears since it provides cheap goods to assuage the US consumer). The financial chaos of the past months, however, has led some to reevaluate the dark side of capitalism. As soon as questions surface about inequality and lower class misery, however, the red menace is trotted out a chimera, but an effective political tool.
Notwithstanding the howls from the “Better Dead Than Red” crowd; the recent bailouts never had as their primary intent direct assistance to the masses, let alone a fundamental redistribution of wealth. They are measures intended to rescue private corporations from the consequences of greed-based speculative financial policies. It was assumed, wrongly, that the benefits of said bailouts would “trickle-down”, despite the evidence discrediting that failed ideology. Similar initiatives are being contemplated for the auto industry, but once again, this represents another form of corporate welfare. Even the universal health care plan proposed by Obama ensures that private insurance companies will still reap substantial profits.
The fallacy of laissez faire economic philosophy is that it equates social justice and communal policies with socialism. Yet, the recognition of wealth and power gaps within society and a desire to ameliorate them hardly constitute socialism. Simone Weil saw that inequality was rooted in oppression, which can be quite onerous in capitalist societies. The struggle for power typically displaces thoughts about social welfare. In her work “Reflections Concerning the Causes of Liberty and Social Oppression” she acknowledges that no society is totally free of oppression, but by analyzing the modes of production and their relationship to the struggle for power, a level of compassion can be restored to the economic and political paradigm.
When severe socio-economic disruptions occur, such as during the Great Depression or the recent financial meltdown, the idea of social welfare gets a moment in the limelight. Nevertheless, no one in any branch of government is advocating the abolition of private property, nationalizing any industry, or a radical redistribution of wealth. No one in the halls of power asks “How much is enough?”
E.F. Schumacher in Small is Beautiful asks that question. Should economic growth be the sole measure of success? Schumacher: “The strength of the idea of private enterprise lies in its terrifying simplicity. It suggests that the totality of life can be reduced to one aspect profits.” CEOs of major corporations are lavished with multi-million dollar bonuses and stock packages. The contributions of a gifted teacher or a community activist may not translate to a quarterly spreadsheet, but are of more value to society. Where is the justice?
Perhaps the ultimate illusion of the capitalist model is that individuals owe their success solely to themselves and their sagacity, ignoring other factors that contribute to that success. Paul Newman in his book In Pursuit of the Common Good writes about founding the Hole in the Wall Gang, camps for children with life-threatening diseases: “I’ve been accused of compassion, of altruism, of devotion to [a] Christian, Hebrew, and Muslim ethic, but however desperate I am to claim ownership of a high ideal, I cannot. I wanted ... to acknowledge Luck: the chance of it, the benevolence of it in my life, and the brutality of it in the lives of others.”
As a government, to recognize this fact and attempt to alleviate its effects on the less fortunate, is the essence of humanity, not socialism
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| Roadside Chats: Longtime postal carrier John Batt |
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| Delivers more to Missoula’s Downtown than just mail |
| By Shannon Selway |
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Anyone who’s been around Missoula’s Downtown for a while has seen John Batt in action, observing him with his mailbag on his side, and a loaded cart before him. We Downtowners factor into a portion of his day, as he fulfills his daily quest, crossing over thresholds of dozens and dozens of business and apartment buildings to deliver U.S. mail on his Route 13. In a given day, John delivers mail between 650 - 750 delivery points.
John has become as much of a downtown icon as the Stoverud clock, Mo Club or the Ox. He has been delivering Downtown mail for the U.S. Postal Service for the majority of years since 1978, and passionately knows his turf: its business owners and staffs, its residents, and of course, its characters of present and past. John took a recess from his Downtown route from 1996 through 2000 to enable him to watch his son play Grizzly football and throw the javelin. When his son was done with college sports, John returned to his Downtown route; we welcomed John back with open arms.
Downtowners matter to him; they are “his flock.” All folks in his route depend on him for their mail delivery – but for some, it’s more than mail - it’s their daily human contact, and John never lets them down. Downtowners mean something more than “just a route” to John; they are sort of like family; their faces are as familiar to John as John is to them.
“My whole service has been rewarding. Few really like the job, but I really enjoy delivering mail Downtown. I just love interacting with people, and that’s one of the reasons I haven’t retired yet. I mean, what would I do?” John said, with his usual “glass is half full” demeanor.
I remember working one day when John came into the office I work in, and he didn’t have his usual smile or “pep in his step.”
“Big Jim was found dead this morning,” John gravely informed me. Big Jim mattered to John, as do so many Downtowners he has fondly grown to know.
Big Jim was a downtown character that lived up to his name, a big fellow with a big heart, and whose address was on John’s delivery list. It was clear Big Jim’s death affected John, and that holds true with other Downtowners that have passed before and since.
Come rain, come sleet, come snow or come shine: nine times out of ten you’ll see John wearing shorts in his route. In fact, the thermometer has to dip below 30° for him to put more material on his legs.
“I get into the big buildings, like the Florence, and just get too hot,” Explains John. “I’m constantly moving so getting cold isn’t something that happens too often.”
John takes well-deserved pride in his service in the Viet Nam war as a staff sergeant the Marine Corps. He was wounded twice there, and was awarded a purple heart for head wounds he received from shrapnel.
“It was Friday the 13th in October, 1967, when I was wounded. I was in Nam 20 months and 3 days...not that I was counting or anything,” John said.
Then John said something similarly wowing. The second time he was wounded was from a shrapnel rocket that showered his feet. To this day he still has three pieces of embedded shrapnel in his feet, and this is a fellow who walks approximately 12 miles a day!
In interviewing John, I had some misconceptions about the whole mail delivery system. For one thing, when John goes to deliver mail, it’s not all neatly presorted and ready for him to blast into his day of delivering. Rather, John clocks in at 7:30 a.m. at the Hellgate Post Office, and will spend an average of the next two and a half hours preparing mail for his route.
The bulk of his mail is presorted, which is mail in the DPS (delivery point sequence) system. That kind of mail contains all the bells and whistles for mail to be presorted. Then there’s mail that flunked the DPS system, and must be hand sorted by John. That mail, called “case,” includes letters lacking the zip code + 4 numbering, missing a bar code, or lacking an appropriate suite number to an address. John also has to hand sort “flats,” (also classified as “case mail”) which are magazines, catalogs, etc.
After John’s mail is sorted for the day’s delivery, he then goes to the seven relay stations in his Downtown route to place his tubs of mail, strategically ready for him to gather as needed. You’ve seen these relay stations, which are typically next to mail boxes. They are tan in color and about the size of a small stove.
John begins his day’s deliveries at 304 North Higgins (by the XXXs), and starts his zigzag journey of delivering thousands of pieces of mail. He ends his day at 213 West Front. The amount of time it takes always relates to the volume of mail, but a typical day is around 4 ½ to 5 hours. Monday’s mail is the heaviest, Saturday’s the lightest.
My interview with John occurred on a Friday, a day that is somewhat “light” in comparison to what a Monday or a day following a holiday might bring. That day, John delivered 3,344 pieces of mail. Of that, 2,428 were DPS, 251 were case letters, and 565 were flats.
It’s only once every six weeks that John has two consecutive days off. It’s a rotating system of always Sunday off, with the next six days rotating. For example, if John has the Monday off, the next week he’ll have the Tuesday off, and so on. Of course he gets off all Federal holidays, but has to pay a price for that: it means a lot larger volume of mail to deliver when the next working day hits.
John loves his job; that’s abundantly clear. When he’s out and about doing his job, he brings good tidings, sporting an attitude that can bend one’s day for the better. John could retire if he wanted, but he loves what he’s doing. John said we can count on seeing him for at least the next three years. If “going postal” means being like John, bring it on.
Thanks, John Batt!
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