This is the way I heard it.

Bill Carney was a mailman in New Bedford, Massachusetts.

He had worn the uniform for 31 years and took his job seriously.

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night could keep William Carney from the swift

completion of his appointed rounds.

One day in May, just before lunch, Bill walked out to his own mailbox and found something

from the war department.

Bill stared at the envelope for a minute or so.

The way you do sometimes when you're enjoying a mystery or perhaps dreading a revelation.

What in the world did the war department want with a 60-year-old mailman?

Was he being drafted?

Probably not.

He'd already done his time, 37 years ago.

Actually, 36 years, 10 months, and two days.

But who's counting?

When Bill finally opened the envelope and peered inside, he found a certificate of some

kind, which he slowly removed.

His name was at the top, in large, block letters, with a number of official-looking signatures

scribbled across the bottom.

There was something else as well.

A coin slipped out of the envelope and cladded onto his kitchen table.

It wasn't a coin, though.

...