A few years after I had moved from my hometown of Wallace, Michigan to California, a letter that I had written to my father in Wallace came back as undeliverable. He hadn't moved but apparently they had changed the numbering system so he had a different route and box number. Rather than calling my dad, I wrote on the front of the envelope: "Come on Bob, he's lived there all his life." Bob was the postmaster. He not only delivered the letter but sent me a personal letter with my dad's new mailing address.