THERE'S a restaurant in an old inn in Essex, Conn., near the mouth of the Connecticut River, that celebrates the age of the steam ship. Oil paintings and colored lithographs in gold frames cover almost every inch of the walls, depicting the mighty, smoke-belching vessels of the 19th century. Be brave; save stamps
The earlier ocean-going steamers reflected a certain lack of confidence in the technology. They were full-rigged, three- and four-masted sailing ships with smokestacks and paddle wheels tacked on as if by afterthought. If the boiler sprang a leak, the fuel ran out or the wheels stopped turning, the crew could just set the sails.
These images came to mind this week after several faxes crossed my desk, followed a day or two later by the original letters. The practice of mailing a letter after it's been faxed lives on late into the 1990s, just as steam ships kept their vestigial sails and rigging well past the 1890s.
In our experience, the correspondents who most often use this device -- which is like wearing both a belt and a pair of suspenders to keep your pants up -- seem to be elected or appointed public officials. People with more certain tenure, such as Bishop Estate trustees, fire off faxes with confidence. A judge even sends us e-mail. Neither use mail backup.
Most PCs can bypass paper and fax direct, with crisp results, but that would eliminate that gold-embossed government stationery.