Cheerful Delivery St. Nick Pulls Double Duty To Get The Mail Through

The 99203 ZIP code scored a high Santa-per-capita ratio Christmas Eve, with two walking the streets delivering letters and packages.

Larry Krumpelman wears a fuzzy Santa suit, a regulation Postal Service bag and chains on his cold-weather boots for traction. He walks up to the house where Ashley White, 6, still wears pajamas and pokes her head through the curtains of the picture window.

“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!” Santa booms. “Have you been good?”

She nods her head timidly.

“Good, then I’ll be back tonight, after you’ve fallen asleep.”

And he walks on to the next house, sticks mail in the slot in the wall, and bellows: “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!”

“That’s the hard part,” he says. “Saying ‘Merry Christmas’ at every house.”

That and the constantly fogging glasses tucked between the thick, warm wig on his head and the thicker, warmer beard on his face.

People on Krumpelman’s route stand watch for their carrier on Christmas Eve. They wait to open the doors of their small homes between 40th and the bluff west of Perry and greet him.

“He’s one of the best mailmen around here, except when he’s on vacation,” says Kenneth Patterson.

Back among the ranchers between 34th and 39th on the east side of Perry, another letter-carrying Santa walks the streets. A woman who wants to be identified only as Helen takes a picture of carrier Bill Hyndman, standing next to his regulation postal truck in his Santa suit.

“This is why my route takes seven hours today instead of the normal five or so it usually takes,” he says.

Hyndman knows the people on his route, and they know him, even if he wears a disguise.

“Hey George,” he says as he approaches George and Karen Kersul’s house.

They ask about Hyndman’s daughter Kim, who has been struggling with cancer. She’s fine, has a clean bill of health, he tells them. They smile, wish him well.

Hyndman chats a bit more, then walks on briskly, saying that a lot of people on his route were praying for his daughter.

Like Krumpelman, Hyndman sweats in the Santa suit.

“I wish it were a little colder,” he says. “The last couple of years, it has been too warm to wear this much clothing walking a route.”

But he marches on until he arrives at the Tibbets house. Hyndman gets out a key, opens the front door and yells, “Hello! Merry Christmas! Hello!”

Jeannette Tibbets, 90, gets up from in front of her television as Hyndman stomps off his feet on the doormat. Then they sit down in the living room for a cup of coffee as they do every day at this time.

“He’s the world’s best. Comes every day and has coffee with me,” she says. “Then he does the rest of his route and comes back for lunch. Does my banking for me, too, and takes out the garbage.”

On the table between them stands a little tinsel Christmas tree that Hyndman’s mother and daughter made for the Tibbets, and a lasagne meal waits in the Hyndman refrigerator for Jeannette and her husband on Friday.

“They’ve become my second family,” says Jeannette Tibbets.

Hyndman finally moves on. His thoughts are on his own family as he delivers more presents and cards. His Christmas gift waits at home, and he knows what it is.

“That was our Christmas present this year, that Kimmy has gotten a clean bill of health,” he says.

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: 2 Color photos

The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Torsten Kjellstrand Staff writer