The following story was shared by Joan Jameson Moore, whose grandfather drove a mail route in the early twentieth century, first with his horse and buggy and later in his automobile. This history is one of many memories written down by Joan’s mother, Sue Kirby Jameson. The story appeared in the Dunwoody Crier in August of 1995 and again in my Past Tense column in 2013.

In the late teens and twenties my father, Tolleson Kirby, carried the mail to patrons on his 26-mile route from the Dunwoody Post Office.  The office was a small building on the then Cheek property; Miss Columbia Cheek was the postmistress.  A small dirt road which crossed the railroad track behind the station led to the office.  Mail was brought in by train.

In this building, Papa routed and loaded his mail into the one-horse buggy to begin the delivery day.  He used a mule named Kate one day, a horse named Bill the next.  Both animals soon learned the route; if Kate approached a box with the flag up, she would stop without being reminded; Bill wasn’t quite that accommodating.

Originating at the post office in Dunwoody, the route went north on Chamblee Dunwoody Road, Pitts Road and Roswell Road as far north as John Sullivan’s store (today Northridge Road).  From there it went south to the Morgan Falls power plant, to Sandy Springs, to the area of Chastain Park, continuing on Roswell Road to the area known as Poletown; then back in a northerly direction on Mount Vernon Road to complete the circle back to the beginning.  With the possible exception of Roswell Road, none of these roads had names at the time. 

Papa was very punctual, keeping his route on a strict time schedule.  People along the way would say “We can set our clocks by Mr. Kirby.”

On cold winter days, Mama would heat a brick in the open fire, and set us to watch for him to come down the road.  When he came in sight she would use fire tongs to place the hot brick into its carrier.  It was then placed into the buggy under his feet for warmth and comfort.  The job was just about a sun-up to sun-down day; there was finish-up work to do after arriving back at the office. 

Later on, when train service stopped, the post office was moved into a part of the old train depot; the mail was brought in by a “Star Route” carrier from the Atlanta Post Office, with stops at Dunwoody, Roswell, and Alpharetta.  Papa finally retired his buggy and replaced it with a T-Model Ford, and still later, A-Model that cut his long days better than half.  It was still a demanding job.  He always had stamps to sell to anyone who needed them; he picked up packages for mailing, guessing about the required postage, bringing the change back next day, if any was due. 

When Christmas came around his patrons let him know their appreciation by cramming their mail boxes with holiday goodies.  We never went hungry, but at Christmas time we ate like royalty.