Special delivery
By Darlene Beck-Jacobson ’74

ach day I go to my mailbox looking for a letter. As a freelance writer, I submit stories to publications, hoping for a sale. Usually, I get back that dreaded self-addressed stamped envelope—the manuscript returned with a rejection letter.

Occasionally, I’ll find a rejection specifically for me rather than the generic “Dear Author.” These letters might tell why the piece is rejected with a few words of praise or encouragement. Recently I’ve been lucky enough to get letters of acceptance: “We want this.” It’s a writer’s favorite song.

Despite the rejection letters I’m destined to receive as a professional, I love getting and writing letters. I have been writing them since I was a child. One of my favorite assignments in elementary school was writing letters to grandparents. By junior high, everyone wrote notes—a satisfyingly quick form of correspondence—and passed them back and forth to friends. When I went to camp in 1960 I wrote a postcard to my parents, which read: “Dear Mother, Camp is fun. I miss you. Please send tootpaste. I nead it.” That Mom saved it reinforces my belief that letters are special.

If it weren’t for letters, I don’t think I’d have survived college. We didn’t have computers in the dorms in the early 1970s. We had a phone but, with little spending money, lengthy long distance calls weren’t always an option. I’d write home about everything and nothing. Life in the dorm, dining hall food, classes, exams, roommates, bomb scares (we had them even then) and parties.

Sometimes a letter took days to finish. If I ran out of paper, I’d use bags, napkins or the backs of memos. I wrote whenever I had a few moments and until I had a few pages to send. When I was lonely or homesick, the letters I received were like hugs and kisses, instantly lifting the deepest blues.

My parents died long ago, but I still have some of the letters we wrote to each other during my college years. Telephone conversations have long since faded from memory, yet reading the words on the aging paper transports me, for a moment, back to that time.

As adults, most of us have forgotten the art of letter writing. We send a quick
e-mail or make a phone call to keep in touch. It’s fine to use modern technology to communicate. But, for me, nothing is more user-friendly than a letter. Because you often reach impersonal answering machines and voice mail, I find letters are the easiest way to register a complaint, send thank you’s or address congressional leaders.

With a letter, you stop all other activity and devote time and attention to pen and paper. People talk on the phone while eating, washing dishes, cooking and driving—you aren’t necessarily the center of attention. But with a letter, for a short while, you are the center of attention when you open that envelope and read the words someone took the time to write.

I’ve opened letters containing money, pressed flowers, chewing gum, stickers, photos and perfume. My telephone never gives me those things. I use a computer to type final drafts of my stories and to send e-mail messages. But for me, modern conveniences will never replace the joy of writing and receiving letters.

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Darlene Beck-Jacobson ’74 is a speech/language specialist with Glassboro Public Schools. Her stories have been published in St. Anthony Messenger and Dogwood Tales, and next year a story will appear in Cricket magazine. She’s an active member of the Pen-In-Hand writer’s group.