Letter Writing and The Ethic of Reciprocity

The straw that broke the camel's back just happened to coincide with the beginning of National Card and Letter Writing Month.

How many times have I seen this lead sentence in a newspaper, magazine or blog:  "I can't remember the last time I got a handwritten letter?"  How many times do these journalists use the above lament to decry The Lost Art of Letter Writing or to pronounce the Demise of the Handwritten Note as if they were Medical Examiners for the written word.

I had to read that sentence once again today.

And every time I read that sentence, I shake my head because they've got it backwards, and if they got it right, there would be no story to follow.

Here's the proper lead sentence:

"I can't remember the last time I wrote a letter!"


I can't imagine why an empty mailbox surprises them. I remember vividly when I was a little kid, I would love to go to the box by the road and bring in the mail. After all, there might be a new Sears catalog in there!

I asked my Mom one day, "How come I never get any mail?"

Mom's answer was simple and to the point: "Because you never write."

So I did. I started scratching out notes in my horrible handwriting that Mom still shakes her head at. Now, I would go to the mailbox twice a day. The first to put the letter in the box and raise the flag, and later I would go to get today's mail.

And lo and behold, the letters started to arrive!

Even as a little kid, I learned pretty quickly about cause and effect and what I would come to know as "The Ethic of Reciprocity." If I write letters, I will receive letters.

Here's another version of The Ethic of Reciprocity:  "Treat others as you would like to be treated."

Has a familiar "golden" ring to it, yes?

So, if you find yourself beginning to say "I can't remember the last time I...." think about it a second. Then sit down with some paper, a pen and a stamp and see what happens.

The Power of a Personal Note

Try this at home some time.

You come home from work and on your way into the house, you open the mailbox. Inside is a U-shaped bunch of paper which you already know isn’t worth your time other than to deposit in the recycling box.

But there in the middle of the soon-to-be post-consumer content is something that catches your eye. It stands out visually and commands your immediate attention. (1)

Then it stands out palpably, as you take it out of the box and admire its feel and appearance. (2)

Into the house you go, shrugging off your jacket and putting aside all the accoutrements of a day’s work. You pick it up and give it a closer inspection. (3)

Then it’s off to find an appropriate implement to open it because you know there’s something special inside. (4)

You open it, much like you would a gift, and read. (5) Then you place it in a careful spot.

There’s lots to be done this evening, just like any other evening in your busy life. But it draws you back. Maybe you’re having a glass of wine; maybe you’ve finally got dinner in the oven. It’s still there, right where you put it. You read it again. (6)

I wrote you that note. It took me only a few minutes.

In the span of perhaps an hour, I’ve brought your life to a screeching halt six times. And during those moments, you’ve done nothing but think about me.

The Letters Katie Kept

We're right in the middle of the Letters You Keep contest, so I have had the opportunity to share in people's love, joy and sadness as expressed in their letters. Reading these letters and the stories that accompany them is an intensely emotional experience; I've found myself having to stop reading and take a walk because I feel the need to re-establish some emotional equilibrium.

Earlier this morning, a colleague sent me a clip from Newsweek's website because there is a mention of Crane stationery. Little did I know when I opened that page that I would find myself on another emotional rollercoaster. I've said enough. Here's the article.

I've got to take a walk.

Judge Letitia

Late last week, I was enjoying cocktail hour with my wife and my mom and, of course, the phone rings. It was after formal business hours, but I do business with folks on the West Coast, so it was OK.

“Hello Peter, this is Letitia Baldrige. How are you this evening?”

I just about jumped out of my shoes! I do quite a few public speaking gigs, as well as some radio and television, but I found myself stammering into the phone. I mean, this lady is a legend. Shouldn’t I be speaking with someone from her staff?

Granted, I had sent Ms. Baldrige a fax to show her the copy we were planning to use for her bio as a judge for The Letters You Keep contest, but still…..

We had a lovely chat and then it really hit me. That was Letitia Baldrige! Letitia Baldrige is going to read and judge letters with Samara O’Shea and me. I’m definitely not worthy.

In case you don’t know who I’m talking about, Letitia Baldrige received her Bachelor of Arts Degree from Vassar, did graduate work at l'Université de Genève, and is the recipient of four honorary degrees. She spent a decade in the United States Foreign Service, serving as a special assistant to Ambassadors David Bruce in Paris and Clare Boothe Luce in Rome. She entered the private sector as the first senior woman executive of Tiffany & Co. in New York in 1956.

She served as Social Secretary to the White House and Chief of Staff for Jacqueline Kennedy in 1960 and continued to serve as a pro bono advisor to subsequent First Ladies and therefore continued to have, as she phrased it, “a catbird seat overlooking the march of history.” She opened her consulting business in 1964, and pioneered as a woman director of several major corporations.

She has published 25 books on the subjects of entertaining, design and manners. She is a professional lecturer in the United States and abroad, and appears regularly on network television. She has been a front-row observer since 1948 of American political events, but she has also survived making major gaffes in elevated places during those years.

“The secret to almost everything,” Ms. Baldrige says, “is to keep your sense of humor, and if you don't have one, for heaven's sake, go get one!”

So, for those who might be on the fence about sending in your most treasured letters for consideration in Crane’s contest, just think about this: Your letter will be read by Letitia Baldrige!

How cool is that?

The Letters You Keep 2008

Today kicks off National Card and Letter Writing Month, and for the second consecutive year, Crane & Co. is hosting The Letters You Keep contest. I would venture to guess that all of us have at least one letter we’ve saved – for a year, a lifetime or generations – a letter that has special meaning that transcends the passing of time. So dust off that family album or untie the ribbon on that shoebox where your most treasured written mementos are stored, and tell us about that one very special letter.

If you’re judged to be the winner, you’ll receive $500 worth of Crane stationery. You can get all the details here.

I am honored to be one of the judges again this year, and will be joined by Samara O’Shea, author of For the Love of Letters, a modern guide to letter-writing. A third judge will be announced very shortly and I can’t wait (but I must) to tell you about her.

I remember vividly reading hundreds of letters last year, tackling them by the dozen or so in the evening. Reading these wonderful letters, written from the heart, from all over the country, spanning centuries of time, proved to be an intensely moving experience for me.

Out of all those letters, one jumped off the page. It came from Elizabeth Donohoe of Newburyport, Mass.

Elizabeth’s letter was penned by her great-grandmother more than 120 years ago when she was a young child who dearly missed her father, Captain J. R. Bryan.

Captain Bryan, posted in Alabama far from a young daughter and loving wife in Virginia, received his daughter’s note while serving in the United States Army. As Elizabeth recounts, Captain Bryan treasured the letter and brought it with him when he returned home, making it a family heirloom for years and generations to come.

The letter itself is beautiful in its simplicity and candor. On a small piece of paper, now faded to an antique yellow, the little girl wrote in careful cursive,

My Dear Father:

When Mother was taking her bath this morning I slid in behind her and cut this beautiful curl. I send it to you because it’s a part of Mother I want to keep so dreadfully bad myself. But all the same, I send it to my dear Father.

Mother is better this morning, breakfast is ready.

Your loving child,
Mattie

I can’t wait to read your letters.