Hundreds gather to celebrate LA mailman’s retirement

There were 200 people on the back patio of Glassell Park’s Verdugo Bar, and John Ayala had a hug for all of them. Wiping tears from his eyes as he slowly made his way through the intergenerational crowd, he recognised almost everyone in attendance — if not by name, then definitely by address.

For four decades, the 61-year-old Ayala delivered mail to their homes, and now he was finally retiring, to the great surprise of everyone, including himself. He’d been talking about it for years — working it into the many conversations he had each day with the friends he’d made along his mail route in the hills of Mount Washington, a small residential community in northeast Los Angeles.

The folks at the retirement party were glad that he would finally get some well-deserved downtime, but they were also wistful. For them, Ayala’s departure represented the end of an era when mail delivery came with a side of conversation.

“He talked with everyone,” said Jonathan Sample, a graphic designer who grew up in Mount Washington and now lives there with two kids of his own. “He was a really unifying presence.”

At a time when just 26% of Americans say they know their neighbours according to a recent Pew Research study, Ayala helped create a sense of community in Mount Washington, even if it was only through the shared experience of having an unexpectedly personal relationship with the local mailman with a gruff voice and a gregarious disposition.

Over the years, Ayala would invite people from his route to the shows he played with his metal band Horns Up, and whether or not they liked the music, they’d come out because they liked him. He would frequently talk about sports (especially the Dodgers and the Packers) and many on the hill knew he had two knee replacements — a result of a job that required him to hop in and out of a truck all day — because he would share updates on his recovery.

And when he started delivering reams of college marketing materials to families with high school seniors, he’d often inquire where the soon-to-be graduate was headed. “He’s amazing. He knows my kids — my daughter is 40 and my son is 37 — and they love him,” said John Amour, a Mount Washington resident who has known Ayala since the ‘90s. “They’ve grown up with him. He remembers their name. He says, ‘How is Brianna?’”

Because Ayala made daily visits to the homes on his route, he also knew who was on vacation, who was moving and who was having a medical crisis. A few years ago, he was delivering mail to a man whose wife had been in the hospital. When Ayala asked “What’s up with Sandy?” the man shared that she had just passed away. “I was the first one to see him after that and I just had to hug him,” Ayala said. They still text occasionally.

“If people are sick, he’ll tell people in the neighbourhood,” said Laura Lee, who has lived in Mount Washington for 40 years. “If I start wondering about someone I haven’t seen in a while, I’ll ask him, just to make sure they’re OK.” For Ayala, connecting people with one another comes naturally. “I’ll find out someone is a Red Sox fan and I’ll tell them, you know your neighbor Neil up the street is from Boston too. You guys should talk,” he said.

Ayala, who grew up in El Sereno and is married with two sons, has deep family roots in the United States Postal Service. His mother, Yolanda, worked for the agency for 39 years, as did each of her four brothers and a sister-in-law. Ayala’s uncle was the first Latino vice president of finance for the Postal Service in the 1990s. Ayala was an honours student at South Pasadena High School, but he wasn’t interested in college. Toward the end of his senior year, his mom saw a job opening at work and encouraged him to apply. He’s been working for the Postal Service since 1984 — even during the time his metal band Lace was selling out the Whiskey a Go Go and the Roxy in the mid ‘80s.

“I always wanted to be a rock star, but I probably wouldn’t be alive today if we’d made it,” he said. He started delivering mail in Mount Washington in 1987 and never looked back. He loved the people and taking a break by the Self-Realisation Fellowship’s verdant headquarters to read the newspaper. “It’s a neighborhood I could never afford,” he said. “It’s like a different world.”

Tribune News Service