I’m back at 810 Main St. downtown, working some hours at Elgin Office Equipment and doing this and that just like I did 33 years ago. It doesn’t feel strange coming full circle. Somehow in the back of my head I knew it would happen.
We have an interesting mix of customers. Lawyers, judges, politicians, doctors and local businesses buy from Elgin every day, but it’s the walk-in customers I like best. You meet some interesting people.
A few days back, an older man walked in. It was a cold afternoon, but he was wearing only a light, threadbare jacket. His hair was mostly white, and so was his short beard. His hands shook a little as he removed an envelope from inside his coat.
“Can you help me?” he asked while approaching the counter.
“Sure,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
He put the envelope on the counter and went to his back pocket and pulled out his wallet which was filled with scraps of paper and no money. “I’ll find it in a minute,” he said.
Eventually, he found the paper he was looking for. On it was a typed name, address and phone number for Nancy Coy, who lives in Atlanta.
“Can you address this here envelope for me?” he asked, showing me the paper.
I was a little taken back by the request, but I said “Sure” as I took a pen out of my shirt pocket.
I could feel his eyes on me as I printed the name and address on the envelope. When I was done, he took the envelope and laid it next to the scrap of paper comparing the two. It was then I realized that the man couldn’t read or write.
“I didn’t put the phone number on it,” I said. “Figured you wouldn’t want that as part of the address.”
“Oh, I see,” he replied. “Can you put my return address on the back?”
I turned the envelope over and asked for his name, which was Alex Coy. He said he was Nancy’s uncle and hasn’t seen her in years.
He told me his address, and I wrote it on the back of the envelope. He stared at it for a long time, then pulled out the card that was inside it and handed it to me.
It was a “Thinking of You” type of card. It looked to be used, like one that was sent to him years ago. When I opened up the card, I could see where someone had once signed a name but now it was scratched out. I looked at the card, then at the man.
“Do you want me to sign the card?” I asked.
“Can you ask Nancy to call me?”
“Sure. How do you want me to word it?”
“Tell her I love and miss her and would like to hear from her,” Mr. Coy replied.
I wrote those words on the card, after which Mr. Coy told me his phone number, and I wrote that, too. When I was done, he looked at the card for a while and then smiled.
I watched as he took his time putting the card back in the envelope and putting that scrap of paper back in his wallet. I thought we were finished, but he wanted something more.
“You sell stamps here?” he asked, digging into his pants pockets. He pulled out some change that was mostly pennies.
“We don’t sell stamps, but I have one on me,” I replied, going to my back pocket for my wallet, where I keep some.
“I can pay for it,” he said as I put the stamp on the envelope.
“You don’t need to,” I said. “It’s just a stamp.”
Mr. Coy smiled again, put the change back in his pocket and offered his right hand to me.
“Thanks for your help,” he said, as we shook hands. “You know where I can find a mailbox around here?”
“Turn right as you walk out the door,” I replied. “There’s one at the end of the block.”
As he walked out the door, he turned and waved at me, smiling. I haven’t seen him since.
Thirty three years ago at 810 Main St., the same type of thing would often happen — people coming off the sidewalk and into the store to make oddball requests or being a little bit different. It was always alright with the owners back then, and it still is today.
As a writer hanging out at Elgin again, almost every day I witness or hear a slice-of-life story that somehow I want to tell, like Mr. Coy and that envelope. Maybe that’s why it feels just fine coming full circle.
This article appears in Nov 15-21, 2006.
