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For 39 years, John Francis Dee, formerly of Ireland, has been delivering the daily quota of mail to Beck Hall and the residents along Harvard Street.
"I carried mail to the fathers of seven of my boys here in Beck Hall now," declared John, when he was stopped in his rounds by a CRIMSON reporter. "It somehow makes me feel good to think that these boys here are the sons of some of my old boys 30 years ago....
"Yes, I like carrying a mail bag. Why else should I do it for 39 years? You put a letter in a boy's box, and wonder what it is. You can tell, sometimes, when you see the same writing turn up about once in so often. Here's a check, and here's a dance invitation, and here's something that is as welcome as a check. It looks like a woman's writing, too. You feel as if you get to know people, and are glad when they get good news, and sorry when it's bad. Yes, it's a good job."
Jack is proud of the fact that many of his boys of years ago have since become nationally known. "There was C. C. Langdell," he said, gazing reminiscently down Harvard Street, "and Winthrop and Lothrop Ames, and the Sears brothers, who were the greatest tennis players of their time. And Professor Alexander Agassiz and President Eliot were two of the men living on my route for years."
Trudging off down Harvard Street side by side with the reporter, Jack was a blue-coated symbol of the declaration of Herodotus that "neither heat nor cold nor sun nor rain nor gloom of night shall stay these carriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds," which is emblazoned in the stonework of the New York Post Office. "This is fine work for keeping a man in shape," declared Jack. "I haven't missed a day yet," he added with Hibernian earnestness, "and I don't ever intend to miss one."
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