Mail Pouch miles: Beginnings

It's hard to think back to 1981 and not remember what a mess life was at the time. I'd just finished an uninspiring freshman year at Northern Kentucky University, a year in which I explored the alphabet from B to D, got laid off from a job I had high hopes for, and took a job at a local pizza joint because we were both desperate. To say 1980-81 had not been a rousing success would be an understatement. From a personal standpoint, I was floundering.

With that hammer hanging over my head, I did what any self-respecting college student would do: road trip. My buddy The One They Call The Conehead, (from this point referred to as Cone,) suggested a trip to his parent's trailer on Brookville Lake in Franklin Co, IN. It would be a chance to live for a week without adult supervision. It was close enough to home to be a cheap trip, but still far enough away. Best of all, it was free.

The trip had it all; hilarity, stupidity, a seventh first run screening of Porky's, a lack of cellphones. We were eighteen, so entertainment was where we found it and to say we were easily amused is dreadfully understating things. Even the one-hour trip west on I-74 produced its share of moments. My favorite came after we exited the interstate.

We were traveling on US 52 in New Trenton, IN. Cone was playing Eve by the Alan Parsons Project. On 8-track. It wasn't my first time making the trip, so I have no idea what made me tell Cone to pull over this time. The Mail Pouch barn stood on the right side of the road. It was easy to see why the barn was chosen. It was impossible to miss. I didn't notice it at the time, but there was another sign on the side of the barn that would have been for the eastbound travelers. The westbound sign grabbed me. I got out of the car with my camera, a Kodak Brownie variant that had been a Christmas gift several months earlier. I knew very little about photography at the time, and just thought all cameras were the same. As it was, the 126 camera was vastly superior to the 110 that replaced it in 1982. I took one photo of the barn, standard operating procedure for those early, unspoiled days.

It never occurred to me that this one barn would be followed by hundreds more. At the time I just thought it was a cool nod to a bygone time of advertising. The photo made my wall at home and stayed there until I got married and moved out. It wasn't the only one we saw on the trip, I can think of at least two others. I either didn't notice the one further down the road or just didn't care. There was a third one just outside of Metamora that I couldn't get Cone to stop for.

I was off. Take that any way you like.

Subsequent visits to MPB 14-24-03 have shown it weathering the years to the point that I doubt many notice it anymore. This was a 2003 visit.