OPENING UP Marianna Breland

BY MARIANNA BRELAND if Floyd Brown the postman knocks on Delia Mae Dennis’ door with a box in his hands, it is going to be a good day. Every other week he brings a package for Delia Mae from Sue Vondrashek, 1,812 miles away in Los Angeles. Every other week homebound Delia Mae gets to take a break from her game shows, her Bible reading and her sewing, and revel in the never-failing adrenaline rush of cutting the tape to see what is inside the box.

Sue Vondrashek, left, and Delia Mae Dennis became great friends through the Box Project, which brings people together through the mail.

It is always an average white cardboard box with Delia Mae’s address written carefully out of love with the casualness of a ballpoint pen. Peek inside, and you can find contents ranging from sewing fabric to quizzes to a gold-leafed book of poetry – small, thoughtful things that warm the heart of a friend.

Though Sue and Delia Mae have met only once, they have communicated through letters, packages and phone calls for the past four years. This unusual relationship began through The Box Project. In 1962, The Box Project was founded to help comfortable families in the North reach out to struggling families in the rural South. On a plane ride to a peace conference in Geneva, Switzerland, activist Virginia Naeve of New Hampshire met Coretta Scott King, who told her about the poverty-stricken families of the Mississippi Delta, and one family in particular.

The more Naeve thought about the Delta, the more she wrestled with finding peace in her heart. She had to do

something for those families, something more than just money.

She started sending boxes of helpful items to the family King mentioned. Her neighbors heard about it and they started sending boxes, too. Over time, it grew into a national nonprofit that has helped 15,000 families, and not just in Mississippi. It has expanded into Maine, Appalachia and American Indian reservations out West. It is now run by the Community Development Foundation of Northwest Mississippi. But one thing has not changed: the idea that long-distance friendships can help people better understand the challenges of rural poverty.

It must be working. Years later, families continue to be matched up with other families. People regularly send life’s little necessities such as soap, maternity clothes and school supplies to adopted families in the Delta.

Within these little treats lies something powerful. It’s something that keeps box after box coming. Something that keeps donor after donor holding on to Happy Meal toys, cutting out crossword puzzles and buying an extra set of gloves.

It’s love. It’s the feeling that hundreds of miles away, a life is made better from a 44-cent postage stamp and a priceless amount of thoughtfulness. It’s the feeling that somebody out there cares. It’s the feeling of opening the mailbox to see that today, the mail is not just bills. It’s friendship.

So it has been with Sue and Delia Mae. Sue Vondrashek, a retired schoolteacher, heard about The Box Project from an article in suburban Chicago’s Daily Herald. She remembered it mentioning Sunflower County, Miss. Looking at her own two little girls and their abundance of toys and clothes, Sue wasted no time in contacting the main office to be matched with a family.

The suburban Chicago mom (she later moved to L.A.) was first matched with a family from Morgan City that also had two daughters. The two mothers instantly bonded as only mothers can do over dresses, lace socks, and the trials and tribulations of second grade.

In the Vondrasheks’ kitchen, pictures and elementary school masterpieces hung on the doors, reminders not only of Sue’s children but also of her Box Project family.

As the children grew older, the relationship faded. Next, Sue adopted an elderly woman until the woman’s death.

Sue went off to teach in Kuwait for two years. That ended when she got the news that she was going to be a grandmother. Back home again, she contacted The Box Project to match her with another recipient in Mississippi.

In 2006, introduced through the U.S. Postal Service, Delia Mae and Sue entered each other’s lives.

The friendship started off one-sided. Delia Mae would never tell Sue what she wanted or needed.

The 4-foot-10 Delia Mae is not one for words or elaboration. If she does want something, she never flat-out asks, but rather subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) hints around.

“One time,” Sue recalled, “she talked about how the fabrics department was shut down in the Greenville Walmart and how there was nowhere in Greenville to buy fabric. So, finally, I thought I could figure out what to send her, so I asked, ‘Delia Mae, would you like some fabric?’ ”

Without missing a beat, Delia Mae responded, “Sure.”

In that instant the tide turned. The silence was broken when Delia Mae piped up, “Well, I ... don’t want any orange fabric.”

Sue sputtered, “What about red?”

“Well, I don’t want any bright red.”

Delia Mae had finally allowed the last wall to fall. It’s not that Delia Mae wanted to shut out Sue, but after a lifetime of hospital stays, surgeries and life as an invalid, Delia Mae is accustomed to not asking for help.

While the big brown eyes are often the first thing one sees when looking at Delia Mae, it is hard to overlook the crutches that have been her constant companion since she was 3. She suffers from osteogenesis, a congenital disease that leaves her bones far too weak, far too fragile. Delia Mae once broke her leg in two places simply from stepping on a spider in an effort to kill it.

Because of her delicate bones and 25 surgeries, Delia Mae was home-schooled until sixth grade, when she was finally allowed to join other kids at public school. Since then, the omnipresent crutches have not stopped this mother of two and grandmother and greatgrandmother of several. But don’t let the crutches and meek manner fool you. Delia Mae survived a tornado blowing her out of the house and her baby boy out of her arms. Ask her about the broken bones she sustained when the twister hit her and she talks about it as casually as a bad haircut. She has no choice but to treat her trials as normal occurrences. So that’s exactly what she does.

Every Sunday, Delia Mae sings in the soprano section in the church choir.

And every other week, Delia Mae sits and waits for the package from Sue.

The two finally got to meet last year when the Vondrasheks flew from Chicago for a Box Project homecoming reception in Clarksdale. The Vondrasheks drove down to Greenville and visited with Delia Mae for two days.

It was there that Sue felt the bond deepen. Delia Mae looked away from the television, which remained on during the

Vondrashek in Clarksdale with Lillian Morris, right, director of the Box Project.

duration of the Vondrasheks’ stay, and said to Sue, “It’s like I have known you forever.”

Those seven simple words from Delia Mae were as powerful as 700 for Sue. Little by little during the stay, Delia Mae would open up and tell her more and more.

To Delia Mae, Sue is not just a friend, but a lady who sent her a box of books when she simply mentioned she liked to read. A lady who sent her a book of poetry that she keeps on her coffee table along with Bibles and sewing knickknacks. She was the woman who finally took her to Super Buffet in Greenville so that she could be like her friends.

For Sue, Delia Mae is “a smart woman. She is amazing and motivated.”

“No matter her health issues, she just keeps going. She is teaching me not to be such a wimp. She goes full speed ahead.”

In a town where race is too often a fence between neighbors, Sue sees only friendship.

“We’re not black or white. We’re friends.”

The two may not ever see each other again, but they will remain friends forever. Delia Mae will continue to watch “Wheel of Fortune” and read her Bible. Sue will continue to send fabric, letters and quizzes.

And Floyd Brown the postman will continue to deliver a friendship in Greenville, one box at a time.