My dad had a Sunday afternoon ritual; after a nap, he got out his writing box, containing a Parker fountain pen (for the benighted, that’s a writing instrument requiring refilling from an inkwell), a bottle of Skrip Blue-black ink (the bottle had a built-in inkwell), writing paper, stamps, and envelopes. His mother and stepfather lived in Tampa, Florida, and his father and stepmother lived in Dacula, Georgia. He wrote a newsy letter to each, stamped each envelope, and put them in the mailbox by the dirt-road. Every. Week.
By mid-week, we received a newsy, neatly penned letter from Grandmother Jewel Moore, a teacher, in Dacula, GA. Later in the week, a postcard came from Montie Howard—my maternal grandmother in Tampa, FL—hundreds of words written tiny, crowded onto that postcard—sometimes spilling to the other side of the card; not neatly written—but newsy. Each parent was distinctly different—but made regular, real family connections.
Writing letters, sent through the US Postal Service is now as near to extinction as the tiny Vaquita porpoise. A survey done by CBS, virtually sounds the death knell for letter writing. A large number of respondents to the survey (37%) reported not having written a personal letter in over five years. Next group below that only thirty-one percent had not written a personal letter in over one year. Fifteen percent of responders said they had never written a personal letter.
Nearly all civilizations have needed reliable message carriers. The earliest known postal system was begun by Darius The Great, more than five thousand years ago; it was known as The Royal Road. Couriers on horseback delivered messages and certain items efficiently across the vast Achaemenid Empire. The Pony Express functioned a lot like that.
Electronic devices moved communication galaxies beyond pen and paper communication. It makes most tasks quicker, more efficient, and less expensive. Here’s my caveat; nothing electronic can completely take the place of a timely, hand-written, personal message, sent through the mail, from a dear one. A physical envelope, bearing a carefully crafted message, that took time to write and to send—for you. The impact is palpable. You tend to keep some of these mailed messages in a drawer, a book, or another safe place. I have a few of those. You take it out, look it over, and read the message and cherish all over again that joyful connection.
During my first graduate program, I had a required three-month CPE residency at Central State Hospital. Although I had recently married, I still had to spend five days a week on the hospital campus—three hours from home. Commuting was out of the question. I wrote and mailed a letter to my bride every day. She died after our marriage of 57 years, and I found those letters; she had kept them all those years. That meant the letters were significant to her. A handwritten letter, stamped, and mailed speaks volumes to the recipient.
©Copyght 2025 Willis H. Moore
I agree. I showed my nephew a photo of my wife who sent me a photo of her 60 years ago when I went into the Air Force. In a few days we will have been married 54 years. On that photo was printed, please don’t throw me away.
I agree. I showed my nephew a photo of my wife who sent me a photo of her 60 years ago when I went into the Air Force. In a few days we will have been married 54 years. On that photo was printed, please don’t throw me away.
My mother and I rarely missed a week exchanging hand written letters, usually several pages long. So this week’s “Fridays with Willis” surely connected with me. I have saved many of Mother’s letters and hope they will be treasured by her grandchildren. Texting on a phone is much quicker these days, but who knows?