Coonridge Digest: 37-cent stamp -just a short breather on a long climb

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

My cousin Leroy was a quandary. The word schizophrenic wasn’t widely known when he was grownin’ up so we just slapped the "weird" label on the boy. He could do some things so derned well then blow others completely. Nobody could beat him down the basketball court on the fast break but he’d take forever and a day to trot around the bases down at the local diamond. He could whiz off mathematical calculations with the speed of today’s calculators but when it came to countin’ change the poor kid would have to use his fingers. Weird Leroy, we called him. He sells real estate now in Kansas City and could buy and sell the rest of the family.

He married one of those women who just drive the rest of us right up the wall so we don’t see Leroy unless there’s a major death in the family or a will to be disputed. In fact, I seldom think of my dear old cousin until I the subject of the federal government comes up.

I read this week where the U.S. Army has developed a sandwich that’ll keep for three years. Three years. A sandwich.

It’s the latest in their MREs (Meals-Ready-To-Eat) program. Usin’ a combination of chemicals to seal the meat and inhibit bacteria growth, they’ve already produced a barbecued chicken sandwich that’s been given a "cautious welcome" by testers. Shoot, that ain’t bad. I’ve eaten potluck fare that I’d of deemed a couple of shakes below the cautious welcome level. I say hurrah for the army! I’ve personally tested the three-year theory on refrigerator food and know first hand what a miracle they’ve pulled off. (I’m really not that much of a slob but it’s often taken three years for me to bend over, find and retrieve that tub of cottage cheese that hides on the back row.)

But here’s were the Leroy syndrome kicks in. Why can’t an institution that can produce three-year sandwiches come up with a postal rate that’ll at least hold before I use up the roll of stamps?

In case you’ve been livin’ under a rock or are married to a U.P.S. man, we’re lookin’ at another postal increase on June 30.

And yes, I do love my post master. He’s a friendly sort who can’t be blamed for the fate of a sagging institution. I know that the U.S. Postal Service claims it is not a "government agency," but merely created by the Feds. And I do pity their predicament. If they were McDonalds or Wal-Mart they could close down, consolidate or relocate but they don’t have these options. Two-thirds of the nation’s 38,000 post offices lose money and they’re stuck with ‘em.

And even though Congress has no answers, you try to close a local post office and Representative Whiney Hiney will scream to the high heavens, refuse to vote for his neighbor’s next barrel of pork, and we’ll be right back where we started.

Last summer I paid five dollars for a rather meek cheeseburger in Fairbanks, Alaska. My high-priced slab of beef was inflated due to the simple trouble of totin’ a steer that far north. It would seem logical that the more remote areas might be in line to pay a stiffer tariff to get their letters mailed but even the hint of that scheme will send Whiney Hiney into a reelection-induced conniption fit.

Add to this the slew of politically-protected junk mail rates, unions that won’t stand for job cuts, and a system where the loss is made up in rate increases instead of streamlined operations, and you’ve got the dark side of Leroy.

I will say one thing for the guy: Leroy knew his limitations. He’s a rich a successful businessman today (despite that irritating wife of his) because he knew what he lacked and he’s hired folks to make up for his shortcomings. Leroy knew math but couldn’t put it to use so he hired folks who could. He’s got the world’s widest grin and friendliest handshake but can’t remember your name to save his soul. He’s got a secretary who everyday reminds him where he’s going and who’s gonna be there. Leroy now spends his day dancin ‘ happily in the blissful fields of his strengths and carefully avoidin’ the cowpiles of his limitations.

In short, Leroy’s smart enough not to do it all.

The USPS could take a lesson from what the old boy has learned. The all-things- to-all-people at a low cost will never work again and somebody needs to get enough guts to realize it. The 37-cent stamp is just a short breather on a long climb. Anybody who’s lived beyond the votin’ age knows that there are even bigger steps around the next rock.

I can’t keep a package of English muffins around long enough to keep the last one from getting’ stale. The Army could save that little sucker for the next generation. When government works, it’s one fine friend, Leroy.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.