News-Tribune

I've owned a locking mailbox for the last three years, primarily to protect my personal information from being stolen.

The mailbox is mounted on a railing next to the front door of my home on Beacon Hill. The bolts were inside the box so a thief would not be able undo the brackets.

If anyone was going to tamper with my mailbox, I thought for sure it would have been an identity thief trying to break into it. What happened instead was simply vandalism.

A few weeks ago, around 5:30 a.m., my wife woke up to hear the sound of water gushing by the front door. She woke me and said someone had turned on our water.

We opened the door and found our water hose inserted through the slot in the mailbox. The water was turned on full blast.

We figured it was just the work of some kid and hoped this would be an isolated incident.

Two mornings later at 3:06 a.m., my wife heard the sound of the mailbox being wrenched violently back and forth.

"He's back," she said, as I got out of bed.

The vandal ran when he heard the door being opened. The box was hanging down with a big hole where one of the brackets ripped through the plastic case.

I went out to the street corner in my bare feet and saw some guy running turning onto the main arterial. I could only see his back. He was tall enough to be of high school age.

As he ran down the street, he pushed recycling and garbage containers over. The sounds of bottles, cans and garbage hitting the street broke the silence of the night.

After calling 911, the operator took down all the information. She asked me if I wanted an officer to come over to fill out a formal report. My answer was yes. I waited four hours. The police never came.

Other homes on my block have unlocked mailboxes mounted on poles and they were untouched. Obviously this vandal found my locking mailbox to be a tempting target. He was amused by it and found it challenging.

My mailbox was still hanging by its only remaining bracket the next night but I wasn't going to let this keep me from getting a good night's sleep.

Fortunately, the vandal did not come back for the final knockout punch. The next day I took the broken mailbox off it's remaining bracket and put it in the garage.

Now I find myself taking a closer look at everyone who walks by my house. As a victim, I still wonder who the vandal is and if he lives on my street.

The post office suggested putting a hold on our mail and placed us at the top of the waiting list for a P.O. Box. When we got it, it was only sixty dollars for a year. That's just a few hard earned bucks for a little peace of mind.

Now I'm going through the trouble of notifying everyone I get mail from of my address change. I have to go out of my way now to get my mail, but I will know it's secure from identity thieves and vandals.

The battered mailbox is inside the house now. In the span of three days, it had been drowned with water and a hole the size of an orange had been ripped open in its bottom.

If the mailbox has feelings, being in the safety of my garage would certainly be a relief. For this mailbox, early retirement must be a comfort. No more bills and no more attacks in the night.