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by Frances Sandiford

I confess. I love mail. The flashy vendors’ catalogs, the political flyers, the ads, you name it. To me, pieces of mail are like little prizes in a crackerjack box. Of course I use the internet, but I’ve always felt there’s room for both.

I live in Rhinecliff, where it is a daily ritual for many residents to pick up mail at our post office. Our office is a Level 13—fourth or fifth in typical size, while Red Hook and Rhinebeck’s are a couple steps larger, at Level 20. The Rhinecliff Post Office was established in 1868, at a time when the hamlet was dominated by large estates and waterfront trade. Like all other post offices, it was the creation of the Second Congressional Congress in Philadelphia in 1775, as laid out in a provision of the United States Constitution.

In an article in the Nation last April, John Nichols called post offices “national treasures that provide an immense and irreplaceable public service.” He goes on to say that in a time when the government is accused of not doing anything right, the post office performs major public services every day by getting mail to the most remote areas of the country. By his estimate, 596,000 career employees travel more than 4 million miles to carry a half-billion pieces of mail every day to some of the most remote places in the country.

Despite the enormity and scope of its operations, the postal service is on shaky financial ground. Even with its connection to the United States, and its historic importance, it does not directly receive taxpayer dollars. Under the Postal Reorganization Act of 1983, it became self-sufficient. It operates as a business, running on its own revenue. Due to many factors, including both the expansion of digital communication, and mismanagement in the ranks, it suffered a $3.8 billion deficit in 2009. All this has a direct and indirect impact on our Rhinecliff Post Office.

One of the interesting things about the Rhinecliff Post Office is that it exists at all. Rhinecliff, after all, is only a hamlet, with no independent political status. Nearby Milan and Clermont, meanwhile, are both incorporated towns, but have not had a post office to call their own in recent memory (Milan’s closed in 1908; Clermont’s, which was actually one of the first in the nation’s history, closed about a half century ago.) Both have truck delivery, but for special mailings, residents must go to the post offices in Red Hook or Germantown. “This is an inconvenience,” said Milan Town Clerk Cathy Gill, “but we really don’t miss what we haven’t had.”

Then there is Tivoli, a river settlement like Rhinecliff, but unlike Rhinecliff, incorporated as a village with its own mayor. Its post office has a mail pickup for residents who live nearby, a delivery service for people on the outskirts, and a more far-flung delivery for Upper Red Hook residents. But this is a Level 17 office. Truck deliveries would not be cost effective for a Level 13 like Rhinecliff, according to Postmaster Steve. Rhinecliff is strictly a walk-in office for hamlet residents with the 12574 zip code.

When my family and I moved to Rhinecliff in 1985, the post office was in the Trowbridge building on Kelly Street. Its postmistress was Harriet Talmadge Coon, who held the job for 40 years. In her book on Rhinecliff, Cynthia Owen Philip describes Mrs. Coon as a “tigress” at defending the Rhinecliff Post Office against continual threats to close it. Outside the post office, she drove a “mean lawn tractor” and kept the books for her husband’s truck driving business. Her hair was “meticulously groomed” and she dressed every workday in a “color-coordinated costume,” popping the mail merrily into old-fashioned combination lock boxes.

Mrs. Coon retired in 1992, and shortly thereafter, the Trowbridge building was declared too deteriorated to house the post office any longer. Would this be the end of the line for of Rhinecliff’s own mail center? Not by a long shot! A hamlet resident physically moved the operation to the first floor of what had been Paddy’s, a rundown bar and grill on Shatzell Avenue, where it continues to flourish today.

The Rhinecliff Post Office is a well-maintained mail sorting facility and easily accessible public space. Two gargoyles hang above its entrance door. The inside is small, but adequate. There is rarely more than one person ahead of you at the service window. A jar of Oreo cookies provides treats for the kids. Steve, the current postmaster, offers personalized service and occasional words of wisdom, to the pleasure of everyone.

Forget Facebook! The Post Office’s bulletin board offers announcements of coming events in the immediate area, plus smaller sized notices of items for sale, or services to be rendered.

All things considered, the Rhinecliff Post Office functions as the basic community center for the hamlet. Here neighbors can meet, discuss local issues, or simply gossip. When the Town of Rhinebeck was working on its comprehensive plan, Rhinecliff asserted itself by allowing residents to hand out fliers, or to conduct interviews just outside the post office entrance. Losing this would have a definite impact on the hamlet.

Sad to say, but it could happen with the sweep of a pen. The money that the Postal Service would save is minimal, but the small is always the easiest to pick on. The battle waged by Rhinecliff and other Level 13s to continue to provide a basic community is currently endangered by Senate Bill S3831, which would eliminate the restriction against closing a post office for solely economic reasons. Rhinecliff’s Post Office serves a limited population, but it serves it well. It is a little gem, and with a little bit of luck the citizens of this hamlet just might be able to keep it alive.