Staff writer

agillooly@observer-reporter.com

HENDERSONVILLE - At 2 p.m., the American flag outside the Hendersonville Post Office waved limply as spitting raindrops collected in huge mud puddles.

Jack Teatino pulled his red pickup into the lot and climbed the steps of the sprawling porch that makes the post office look larger than it actually is.

He's climbed these stairs almost every day of his life. But a big white sign with bold red letters hanging in the window let him know he only has a few of these trips left.

As of May 17, Teatino, a longtime Hendersonville resident, and his neighbors and friends will have rural delivery. And the sign says if the residents don't have a mailbox erected by then, they can drive a few miles down the street to Canonsburg's Pike Street post office to pick up their mail.

"I remember walking down here, and I was so little I could barely reach the counter to get the mail," he said.

Teatino opened the door and stepped into the small, hot office, greeting the longtime postmaster before taking a few short steps to his post office box, even pointing to his old one nostalgically.

Number 84 now belongs to his son, he said, who lives in the home he grew up in.

A handmade sign above the antique rows of numbered boxes read that they were for sale. A sign on the wall opposite hangs a second, typed notice complete with pictures. It read that the entire antique lobby was for sale.

Teatino looked out onto Morganza Road and said he wished the place could stay open. There are a lot of seniors who live in the area who don't like to drive far, or at all, in the winter.

They like the tiny post office, housed in part of a large white house, because of the convenience. They can walk there, he said, even though there really isn't a sidewalk.

But then, he said, there was never this much traffic whizzing by either.

He said he doesn't understand why they don't move the post office to a small strip mall up the road, where there would be ample parking and easy access.

All he knows about the closure is what everyone seems to know: very little.

Teatino said he never received a letter to let him know his longtime mail center would be shuttered in just a matter of days.

Asked for details about the closure, the postmaster shrugged her shoulders and said someone would have to get in touch with postal officials in Pittsburgh.

"I don't know anything," she said before helping a patron with her mail needs. Postal authorities in Pittsburgh were reportedly in a training session Thursday and could not be reached immediately for further details.

Cecil Township manager Don Gennuso said Thursday that neither his office nor the board of supervisors were officially notified of the closing, and, by the time they found out, the decision to shut the doors seemed to be a foregone conclusion.

"It was a complete surprise," he said.

He got the scoop after a taxpayer passed along the information to the township offices. That inquiry led him to U.S. Rep. Tim Murphy's office, where he discovered that the U.S. Postal Service had already gone through the three steps necessary to permanently close the office.

Gennuso said the office's lease was up, and the postal service informed the landlord that some building upgrades were needed. When he refused, they went to the second step - attempting to secure another location.

He said he wishes that someone would have contacted the township before moving on to the final step, which involves sending a survey to affected residents asking what their postal preference would be.

Gennuso, who said the supervisors would have done whatever they could to prevent the closure, said the survey indicated that residents preferred to have their mail delivered via a rural route delivered by another post office.

He's still waiting to see a copy of the survey, correspondence Teatino said he never received.

Meanwhile, a tall blonde paused for a moment upon exiting the building, still surprised that the tiny office she's been visiting since starting her job in Southpointe three years ago would soon be defunct.

While Gennuso lamented the loss, and what it would mean to the identity of Cecil Township, she walked out into the rain, slipped into her car and zoomed away.

Teatino's vehicle sat with its left turn signal blinking, waiting for traffic to subside. After a few more minutes, a break in the stream of cars allowed him to skid out of the lot and cruise home knowing he'd only make that drive a half-dozen more times.

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