Story by Jon Stalnaker AKA The Studebaker Dude
I was rummaging through a pile of old photographs when I came across this picture of me standing next to a bare Christmas tree in the lobby of the post office in Hughson, California. And, yes, I AM sporting a mullet. It was taken Christmas of 1994. I was acting postmaster in that office for several months. I was filling in for a good friend of mine that was fighting a losing battle with cancer. He was the Postmaster of Hughson at that time. Paul Wilson was his name, and we were climbing up the management ladder at the post office during this period of time. I promise I will explain why that picture means so much to me and why it is still in my possession three decades later. To put this time period into perspective, I was at that assignment when the Murrah building was bombed.
I first met Paul when I was still a letter carrier, and I remember vividly when he walked into the post office and my life. He was a new supervisor trainee and wasn’t from our local post office. He made a grand entrance. He was tall, handsome, and very charismatic with a wonderful sense of humor. Everyone noticed him immediately.
I would join the ranks of supervisor trainees soon after this, and that is when I got to know him better. But he was sure of himself and was bold enough to say that his plan was to be the first Black Postmaster General in Post Office history. Everybody loved him, both craft and management. He was a special person.
We had a carrier that was the unit funny guy (Ray) and he did something that was, even then, quite inappropriate. One of our trusting but gullible fellow carriers (Glen) asked Ray what the new supervisors name was and Ray told him it was Leroy. From that point forward, Glen always called him Leroy but Paul didn’t know why. Glen would say it with a straight face because he really thought that was his name. Paul didn’t think he was being rude but never challenged it. Ray would giggle in the background. He never thought it would go that far but just kept his mouth shut so he wouldn’t get in trouble.
Years later when I was on a route inspection team with Paul, I asked him if he knew the backstory of that time. Paul had no clue and when I told him, his reaction was laughter. He told me he always wondered why Glen called him that name and was not surprised to hear that Ray was the master mind of that shenanigan. Paul could take a joke, but hearing the truth about it relieved a concern that always bothered him.
Paul was more than just a charismatic coworker with a great outlook on life and a personality that drew people to like him. He was also an entertainer who did side gigs as a magician. He called himself David Coppertone as he fancied himself as the dark-skinned David Copperfield, another insight to his sense of humor. We shared our trip up the management ladder and served many special assignments together.
Paul became a small-town Postmaster in the town of Hughson, a small town between Modesto and Turlock. When he got the postmaster job, he told me that he wore a cowboy hat and boots to the office on his first day. He walked into the office and exclaimed, “Hughson?!? I thought it was supposed to be Houston!”—another example of his sense of humor. He confessed that he did that not knowing what kind of welcome he could expect from the town. Little did he realize that his personality transcended any ugliness that he feared the color of his skin might muster. Yes, he was THAT charming.
By the way, on his desk was a Rolodex. In that Rolodex were names and phone numbers of many celebrities and those associated with showbiz. I can’t remember all of them, but I do remember seeing one of the Wayans, and I seem to recall Spike Lee and Jay Leno also. He had a lot of contacts, and I expected to see him on the big screen one day if he hadn’t gotten sick.
Paul and I were moving up together, so I was prepared to be considered to fill his shoes when he was diagnosed with a long-term illness. I was honored to take the assignment and, as a result, could see firsthand how much the community welcomed him. It was the Christmas season when I got there, and sensing the love that the city was feeling for him, I bought a Christmas tree and put it in the lobby for the community to decorate in his honor. I also bought a huge get-well card and left it on the counter for customers to sign for him. When I gave it to him it was chock full of loving messages and I could tell that it meant a lot to him.
But the biggest blessing that came that Christmas was when the school kindergarten teacher brought her whole class down to the post office to hang ornaments that they had made in class. After they got through decorating the tree, they gathered together to sing Christmas carols to the window clerk. I think I wrote a story for the local paper about that but I can’t find a copy of it. Paul would stop by from time to time but he wasn’t doing well and eventually lost his fight. I am so proud to have been able to do something so special for someone so special. A wonderful soul who embodies the phrase “only the good die young”.
