Iannuccilli: That Coat Wore Me Down

Iannuccilli: That Coat Wore Me Down

At winter break during my freshman year at Providence College, I got a job delivering mail at the local Post Office. Part-time work was plentiful because, in those days, there were so many Christmas cards that there were two deliveries a day.

One blustery day, as I was leaving the house, my aunt suggested I wear my Uncle Carlo’s coat; a knee-length, bulky, dark green tent-like mass with a fur lining the hood, the collar, and the inside. She had to help me put it on. Uncle was a big man.  “Edward, it’s very cold. This will keep you warm. Put it on.  It’s waterproof.” Uncle Carlo was a man I admired for his heartiness, and his love of life.  A former wrestler, he was powerful enough to support the coat even if the pockets were loaded with bricks. I was half his size.

I left the house wearing the coat dragging behind, hanging to my ankles. The day was a bit warmer than my aunt thought. When I reached the Post Office, I was greeted by the man who helped me load my bag. “Kind of a big coat, Eh, Kid?’

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“Yeah. It’s my uncle’s. He’s big. But it’s fur-lined.”

“Uhh … good.” He filled my bag to the brim with Christmas envelopes. Feeling the combined load of coat and mail, I got about halfway through the route when it started to snow. The snow turned to rain. The swamp green coat turned to rainwater gray. Waterproof my eye! It was absorbing the rain. As I walked, I began to feel like a fish in jelly, moving in slow motion, dragging my feet and the coat. Even the fur in the hood was damp. How could I ever finish the route under the coat?

My next stops were up a hill that grew more formidable as I eyed it. “I’ll never make it,” I thought. “I’ll never finish the route. I need to rest.” The coat that once smelled of smoke (he was a fireman) and cigar (well) now took on the aroma of a barnyard with a mix of straw, fertilizer, and sweat. My sweat. I was baking.

Nearby was an old wooden church. Tucking my head further down into the coat, I looked around. “Let me try the door. If it’s open, I’ll go in to sit just for a minute.” I was in luck. The door was open. Stealthily, I rambled in, sat in a rear pew, unloaded the bag, threw off the hood and unbuttoned the coat. The little church was empty, quiet, peaceful, warm, and dry.  Perfect.

I woke sometime later. It was midafternoon. A heavy gloom overcame me. “Oh my God. I fell asleep! I gotta finish this route.” The coat was no lighter, but now I was rested and off I went. I drifted into the mailroom a little later than the others. No one said anything. Whew.

“How was the coat, Edward?” asked my smiling aunt.

“Perfect. Thanks.”

 

Ed Iannuccilli is the author of "Growing up Italian" and "What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner?" and "My Story Continues" can be found here.