Sadly, letter writing is a lost art

The last time I saw Roy Redlich was in 1967. I was 12 years old

and visiting my hometown of Chicago on my way back from attending my

brother’s wedding in New York.

I had left Chicago four years earlier, at age 8, after my father

had taken a job offer in Los Angeles. With encouragement from my

mother, Roy and I began to correspond on a regular basis.

Each letter was received with great excitement, as though it was a

priceless gift. The letters from Roy were not hard to spot among the

rest of the mail -- each one had kid scrawl where a neatly printed

address and return address should have been. And in the corner of

each letter was a 5-cent stamp.

In 1965, I made an appearance on the TV show “Art Linkletter’s

House Party.” I was one of those kids Linkletter lined up to

interview and hoped would say something outrageous. I’m pleased to

note that I did not disappoint him.

It was a national TV program, and Roy saw me all the way in

Chicago. Right after that, he wrote a letter to tell me what a crack

up I was. “What a dope!” is more accurate.

I wrote back to tell him how a limousine picked me up right in

front of school as all the kids were arriving to go to class, how

they took us to a big lunch at a nice restaurant and how we got a

zillion toys after the show.

Roy wrote back to tell me about his brother Carl and his dog

“Tippy” and all the other stuff that was going on in Hyde Park, the

neighborhood I’d left behind.

Roy and I stopped corresponding not long after our reunion in

1967. By that time, I had the letter writing bug and continued to

write letters to anyone I thought might reply.

A couple of years ago, I used a free online search to try to find

Roy. I even wrote to all of the Roy Redlich’s on the list that came

up, but I did not get a reply.

Some time after college, I’m not sure when, I all but stopped

writing letters. And I’m trying hard to recall, but I don’t think

either of our kids, 9 and 12, have ever written anything but a “thank

you” note, and not enough of those.

I know that in school they are still teaching the proper placement

of the address, return address and stamp, but I don’t know what good

that does, since we don’t write many letters any more.

Heck, we don’t even use the mail to pay bills any more. That’s

something else we do online.

A few days ago, a lady told me that when her mother passed away,

she discovered that her mom had kept all of their correspondence over

a period of decades, creating what was a very valuable family

history.

I used to keep all my letters. But one day, as a shortsighted,

arrogant 20-something, I threw them all away. Now, just like my

bottle cap collection and my baseball card collection, I wish I’d

kept them.

Letter writing is all but dead for the rank and file. We have

substituted the quick and dirty e-mail or, because we’re just too

busy, no communication at all.

Make no mistake, e-mail has a place. For this e-mailer, it’s one

of those creations that make me wonder what I did before it came

along. But in too many instances it has replaced a real letter.

E-mail among friends does not have the same effect as a letter. A

letter says that someone went out of their way to stay in touch with

you. It says, “you are special.”

I think we’d all be a little better off if we took the time every

so often to sit down, write a letter, affix a 37-cent stamp in the

corner and let the letter carrier take it away for us.

So in a few days I am going to set up our two kids with the tools

they need to write letters once a week. They will have stamps,

stationery, a pen and a personal address book. And once a week, I’m

thinking Tuesdays, we’ll sit down and compose a letter.

For the kids, the payoff will be a few days or even a few weeks

later when they get a letter back in the mail, not a few hours like

e-mail.

That payoff is called “delayed gratification” -- something else

society has forgotten to teach our children.

Now if I only knew where Roy was, I could write to him again next

Tuesday night.

* STEVE SMITH is a Costa Mesa resident and freelance writer.

Readers may leave a message for him on the Daily Pilot hotline at

(949) 642-6086.