Martin Harman, Mail Carrier from the Early 1900s
Sunday Press, December 18, 1955
Martin W. Harman, who lives in Bainbridge [Chenango Co., NY], is a retired rural free delivery carrier who worked in the days before automobiles and paved roads were in common use. Mr. Harman started carrying mail over his route on Oct. 1, 1903 when rural service was first inaugurated. He says he is the only carrier still living in the Susquehanna Valley who started on the first route. The pay at that time was $50 a month with no allowance made for equipment so that the carrier had to maintain two horses, a wagon for summer and a sleigh for winter driving. The only two holidays that they had were the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving Day and one thing that they had to be thankful for was that no package heavier than 4 ounces could be sent through the mail. Parcel Post was not started until later.
Mr. Harman recalls that an RFD carrier was often called upon to perform tasks not mentioned in the Book of Rules. At one mail box he found the flag up, but when he reached in to pick up the outgoing letter, he found, instead, a note addressed to himself. It read, "Mr. Harman, will you please feed the pigs? We have gone to the Fair." So he took time out to do the homely task.
It some of the far back roads the carrier was the only person that would go by one's house, perhaps for days. Mr. Harman remembers an old lady who lived all alone on one of these remote farms. She always watched for him and came out to talk. One day she said, "Martin, if you don't see me around when you come by, you open the door and come in. I might get sick." Some days later he drove up to the mail box and waited a couple of minutes, but she didn't appear. Going inside, he called, but there was no answer. So he pushed open the bedroom door. There she lay, face down on the floor, her night cap and gown on, ready for bed. She had been dead since the night before. So Mr. Harman called a neighbor and waited there until someone came.
Another day a blizzard was raging. the wind was bitter cold and the snow blew across the hill so that Mr. Harman couldn't see the road. He had to let the horse find the way. coming out on top of a hill, he caught glimpses of what looked like a hugh tumbleweed blowing along. It rolled over and over, tossed by the strong wind. He clucked to his horses and caught up with the object which turned out to be an old lady who used to travel around selling salve. Her voluminous petticoats blew out so that as she rolled along she resembled nothing so much as a giant tumble week. he picked her up, put her in his sleigh and carried her to her destination.
The U.S. Postal Inspector questioned him one day concerning passengers. "You don't let anyone ride with you, do you?"
"Well," Mr. Harman replied, "If I should see a man with a broken leg, don't you think that I ought to give him a ride?"
"Under those circumstances, it would probably be all right," the Inspector replied.
"Now suppose a pretty young lady comes out and asks to ride with me," Mr. Harman continued, "What then?"
The inspector grinned, "Have her break her leg and get in."
Mr. Harman's 28 mile route often took from early morning until 7:30 at night to cover, if the snow was deep or the mud thick and soupy. When the going was good he would drive one horse one day, changing to the other one the next day but in bad weather two horses were needed to make the grade. The roads were not plowed out then; in fact, Mr. Harman says that when he first started carrying mail, there were no paved streets in the village of Bainbridge. There never was a winter when a carrier could follow the roads all season long; they would drift so full that much of the time they had to drive through the lots.
The carrier used to be a sort of handyman along his route, helping out wherever he was needed. Mr. Harman says he often stopped to help put out brush fires that were threatening to get out of hand. Once, coming near a house he saw the farmer's wife peering anxiously down the road. "Martin" she said, when he drove up, "a rough-looking man just went by here and my girls are down the road picking berries. I'm worried." Mr. Harman had a buckboard wagon and he sent his horses along at a spanking clip soon overtaking the stranger, "Want a lift?" he asked as he drew up beside him. "Yes." the man replied, climbing in. At the next house Mr. Harman said that he made a lot of noise, calling to the people that he had no mail for them today, so that they would be sure to see that he had the stranger with him and telephone back to their worried neighbor.
Mr. Harman remembers that when parcel post came, the children of the more well-to-do people received many packages at Christmas time, while the less fortunate ones couldn't afford to send to the mail order houses. So he sort of played Santa Claus, gathering up sleds about the village and painting them with bright colors. Good used clothing came in handy, too, and he knew just which children needed it.
Mr. Harman, who was 78 years old Sept. 4, figures that during the years he drove horses (before changing to an automobile) that black Dinah and chestnut-colored Prince traveled more than 131,000 miles or more than five times the distance around the earth at the equator. He was one of 10 children, leaving school when he finished the seventh grade to go to work in Crumps Fiberless Coconut Factory, which was then located in Bainbridge. He earned ten cents a hundred peeling coconuts and got so he could peel 1,600 a day. When he was 17, he went to work for C.C. Hovey, a wealthy man who owned some fine horses, including a sister of the great Maude S. He stayed there three years. But his lack of education bothered him so one morning he said, "Mr. Hovey, I am going to quit."
"Has something gone wrong?" Mr. Hovey inquired.
"No," the lad replied, "I think I'll go back to school."
"A Commendable idea," Mr. Hovey said, "If you want to get up early and work late and keep your job, I'll pay you the same wages you are earning now, while you go to school."
Mr. Harman kept the job and also did four years of high school work in two. He went to the Rochester Business Institute and later studied law with the late Irving J. Tillman. He never went to law school, however, says he got married instead.
When asked what he does now to pass the time, he says that he and Mrs. Harman follow the sun, meaning that they go south in the winter and in the summer enjoy their peasant home in Kirby street, Bainbridge.
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