Story by Jon Stalnaker, AKA The Studebaker Dude
I just saw a Facebook post about my cousin Alan, written by his son Alex, who also moved out of California. He moved to Texas. It was a copy of a newspaper story from the Stockton Record way back in December 1982. The story was titled “Mailman makes perfect image of Rockwell.” I knew about this article but never got a chance to read it. It was published at a time when the post office was sending me on special assignments. I always wanted to read it but never got the opportunity. By this time, our families were scattered all over the place, and Alex was a youngster back then. I am so glad that Alex posted this article as a tribute to his dad, whom we lost many years ago.
Back when I grew up in the ’50s, our family was very close. My earliest recollections of Alan were back when he was in high school with my oldest sister, Valerie. Alan was the cousin who helped Valerie prep her car (a Studebaker) so my dad could paint it for her. They were both 10 years older than me. Alan lived across the street from us with my father’s sister (Aunt Didi) and Alan’s two sisters. I used to look up to him, not because he was taller than me, but because I always thought he was cool. He frequently called in to the radio station, winning contests and being on air with the DJs.
I remember him telling me his secret for being the first caller. Back then, all phones were attached to the wall, and they all had rotary dials. The dials moved slowly, and it took a long time to dial in a seven-digit number. You also had to wait for the dial to return to its rest position with each digit. That also took a long time. Alan told me to dial all seven digits of the phone number but not to release the last number until the DJ asked for the first caller. That way, the dial only had to rotate back to its resting position for the phone to ring at the radio station. It worked great, and I began to call in and even won some contests.
I thought that was just the coolest thing ever. Later, when I was living and working in the Atwater area, I often was a regular caller on our local radio station. Of course, by then you didn’t have to use Alan’s trick because dial phones were a thing of the past. I became good friends with the DJ, as he often worked the same gigs I did when I was a karaoke DJ. I even put together some philatelic giveaway gifts for some of their contests. They brought me into the studio so I could talk about the stamp giveaways. People told me I had a good radio voice. A much better compliment than to be told I had a great face for radio.
I also remember when Alan got a job as a mailman. I thought that was cool, too, and when my time was almost up in the military, it was time for me to decide what I wanted to do as a career. I read a story in the newspaper about a letter carrier in San Francisco who delivered his route in sandals. Being a wannabe hippie in a military uniform, that really appealed to me. I then started thinking about my cool cousin who had been a mailman for over a decade, and that became my choice for a civilian job. It didn’t take too long, and with Alan’s help, I got in.
The newspaper story Alex posted on Facebook mentioned that everyone loved Alan, and that was so true. He was friends with a lady in personnel who knew some tricks that helped me move up on the hiring roster. Before I knew it, I was also wearing the mailman uniform that my cool cousin wore, but by then I no longer wanted to wear sandals. Good shoes are a must if you are going to walk for a job.
I decided to write this story for his son Alex, as I’ve never had a chance to just sit with him and talk about his dad. After Alan passed away, I lost contact with Alex, and the next time I saw him (at another family funeral), he was introducing me to his grandchildren. Whoa, if that doesn’t wake you up.
Anyway, I’m just getting started about how Alan influenced my life and how he went from being my cool cousin to being a mentor of sorts. We saw each other more often than most of my other cousins because we both worked at the Stockton Post Office. I’m going to have to cover this tribute in a series of stories. I have way more to write about Alan. This will have to be chapter one…