During the late 1950s I was a summer mailman in Rockford. The job changed my life forever -- for the better -- but there was a challenge: the dogs.
Once a man on a porch saw me coming down the public sidewalk, and – pointing to the hound at his feet – called out, “Don’t worry. He won’t bite.”
“Already did,” I said. Moments before, the creature had raced down, bit me on the leg, and trotted back to assume an innocent pose.
Another time, I felt an electric shock running up my leg before realizing that I had been bitten hard from behind.
Then there was the powerful, salivating boxer dog tethered to a post outside his house. I couldn’t avoid him as he broke loose. I froze in terror, after covering my eyes, face, and private parts, but my hands were still exposed. His drooling mouth and wolf-like fangs enveloped my clenched left fist, and … he held it. Almost lovingly, with no bite. In a few seconds, he let go and quietly walked back to his home.
After that miracle, I reconsidered dogs, life, and my job, which had a big surprise waiting for me later in the summer: While delivering mail to 1214 17th Avenue, I chatted for the first time with a striking stranger: Anna Marie Benander. Something caught on between us that day.
We have been married for over 50 years.
I have fond memories of Rockford Post Office days.
I’m Tom Warren, and that’s my perspective.