Last week I lamented how almost every postcard with a charming winter scene I found in the OCH&GS’s collection was written and sent during the summer months and bragged about summer outdoor activities. Here is one postcard that broke this mold and expressed the exact thoughts I have every winter.
It was postmarked Jan. 8, 1928 at 7:30 p.m., and was stamped at the Hart post office.
1/8/28 10 am
Rds blocked against Auto. Still unable to phone home. Will get there about 12:45 pm
Emerson
Yeah, that about sums it up: roads are bad, service stinks, and I’m gonna be late. From what this small vignette describes, nothing has changed in the past 98 years. Of course, there are the obvious differences: my 2017 automobile is probably marginally better at getting through snow than whatever Ford had cooking in the 1920s (again, car people, please correct me - I am seeking an on-call vintage automobile consultant). I can pay you in compliments and homebaked goods.) Also, not only is modern-day cell service an improvement from landline telephones a century-old, but mine is mobile and can play Christmas music while I’m waiting for my dad to pull me out of a snowbank.
Even though my experience dealing with snow is far more cushy than what Emerson faced in 1928, I can sympathize with his abbreviated message and sloppy handwriting that just screams stiff and cold fingers.
Emerson chose a postcard showing a beautiful winter scene, helpfully captioned as “Just a Glimpse of White River.” And what a glimpse it is — a sliver of the mirror-smooth river peaks out behind leafless trees and evergreens, all weighed down with snow. From an artistic perspective, it’s gorgeous. The contrast of the dark trees to bright white snow is so visually interesting and draws the eye to the organic shape of the river. The foreground is framed by a wooden post and a single line of barbed wire, adding a human element to the otherwise untouched landscape. Thank goodness I possess some decent willpower, as I was tempted to pocket the postcard for myself.
The intended recipient of this lovely photo was simply “Postmaster - Riga, Michigan.” With a name at the top I could barely make out. Something like “Sue” or “Sean,” with a surname that I think begins with an “Sh” and ends in either an “ing” or a “y.”
I’ve seen some vague sending addresses in my time looking through vintage postcards, but this one certainly takes the cake - “Postmaster of Riga, Michigan. Sure hope you can read my handwriting!”
And so begins the detective work. After having the entire Echo office look over the postcard and agree “yeah that handwriting is terrible,” we were able to figure out who Emerson likely is. Emerson Bunting was born in 1878 in Fowler, Michigan, but spent most of his life in Walkerville, where he died in 1963. He had several jobs throughout his life, the most notable being running the “Walkerville News” with his brother Oliver. He also served as Walkerville’s postmaster from 1915 to 1934. It was a job he enjoyed so thoroughly that he attended conferences for postal workers across the state. It was at one of these conventions that he met Miss Anna Martha Seeburger, the postmistress of none other than Riga, Michigan - a small township in Lenawee County, on the border with Ohio. The two married in 1924, with Anna coming to live and work in Walkerville until her death in 1931.
So there is the connection of Emerson, postmaster and newspaper extraordinaire, to Riga. But the question remains, who is he writing to? Well, the running theory I had was that the recipient was a postal worker for Riga, Michigan - a friend of Anna’s perhaps. So as long as Riga’s postmaster got the card, he’d get it to the right person, perhaps even himself.
I did my due diligence of scanning the 1930 Census of Riga, Michigan, and found two postal carriers - Juan A Crist and Arthur Ingold. For a moment, I thought perhaps Juan was the recipient, realizing that the letter I believed to be an “S” could easily be a “J,” but the last names are not even close to matching. I checked the records for the surrounding townships and municipalities as well - no dice. For as much as I like playing detective, I do draw the line on scouring the 1930 census for all of Lenawee County (or all of Ohio) for anyone with an “Sh” surname. Maybe Emerson mis-wrote Juan’s last name, maybe the postmaster of Riga moved before the 1930 census, or maybe a reader can decipher the name with better success.
For now, all I can extrapolate from this brief message is that Emerson Bunting was cold and tired and couldn’t phone home. So in his honor, I’m wishing everyone safe travels this holiday season!
