Streetcar Sunday - K.C. Excelsior Springs

This stunning card comes from Brian over at Paper Sponge. Isn't it a beauty?

As a side note, yesterday was a very interesting blog day. According to the Statcounter, I normally get 90 - 100 unique visitors in one day. I don't ascribe a lot of importance to numbers, but I was surprised when the number of unique visitors exceeded 2,200 for the day. What the heck was going on? Well, there must have been some article somewhere that sent people scrambling for images of Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier.  They all stopped by to look at this post from almost a year ago. I find it amusing, but I also know that they are not really interested in postcards and they won't be back. It's hard to believe that greater interest is generated by Grace Kelly than by this lovely interurban.

In general, Interurbans were designed to provide an alternative to the steam trains and their infrequent service. The interurbans were often luxuriously appointed with leather or velvet seats, and they were also fairly fast (in theory 80 miles per hour, although 50 or 60 represented the reality.) They allowed residents of outlying areas to reach bigger cities. They also allowed for a great deal of travel between cities, and cross-country travel for those who linked trips between interurban services. Sadly, they weren't around very long, mostly because cars came along, which seemed so much more convenient.

The Kansas City, Excelsior Springs, and St. Joseph Railway operated two light-rail lines powered by overhead wires - one between Kansas City and Excelsior Springs and another between Kansas City and St. Joseph. It ran hourly, and the fare was $1.55. It took about two hours between cities. This interurban ran from the early 1900s until 1933. Grace Kelly would have looked great riding in it.

Here's the back of the card, sent in 1921:

Forgive Me, Post Office, For I Have Sent

In addition to Sepia Saturday, two things inspired this post:

I. Doug over at Crazy as A Cool Fox tagged me to participate in a meme. I don't usually participate in these, because this blog is supposed to be about postcards and other ephemera and not about me.  But, I told myself that it would be O.K. as long as I listed seven things about myself that are related to mail.

II. Matthew May from the U.K. emailed me about a book review in the New Yorker concerning an eccentric Englishman who sends himself (and lots of other crazy things) through the mail. This reminded me of some of the things I had posted over the years. It also reminded me of the ensuing guilt when the U.S. Post Office adopted strict mailing guidelines, which I was sure were precipitated entirely by my oddly-shaped letters and packages.

Back in the good old days, you could send virtually anything. A friend and I had a bit of a competition going to see what we could get the postal service to deliver. Here are seven of the items we mailed:

1. A candy bar (an Idaho Spud to be exact, the candy bar that made Boise famous)
2. A salad (the salad was arranged on a paper plate along with a plastic fork, knife, and a dressing packet. Another plate was placed on top and the edges were stapled.)
3. A mushroom commonly known as a puffball
4. A sandwich (saran wrapped)
5. An egg
6. A carrot
7. A box of cereal

The Post office was amazing. All of the items were delivered, with the exception of the egg.  My friend was disappointed that I didn't receive it, especially as the person behind him in line snarled and called him a communist.

I want to point out that I do not condone anything that makes work harder for the postman. Seriously, I am so appreciative of postal employees and the work they do. Unfortunately, as a youth I did not have this understanding.

How much to mail this?

Sit still, brother! I need to affix enough postage to get you to Grandma's house.

Don't even think about it!

Don't forget to look in on Sepia Saturday for some truly fine old photos by respectable folks.
Oh, and here's the book review that talks about the eccentric Englishman who sent himself through the mail. He was much worse than I ever was. New Yorker Review

Thoughts of You