There were 200 people on the back patio of Verdugo Bar in Glassell Park, and John Ayala hugged them all.
Wiping tears from his eyes as he slowly walked through the intergenerational crowd, he recognized almost everyone present – if not by name, then certainly by address.
For four decades, Ayala, 61, delivered mail to their homes, and now he was finally retiring, surprising everyone, including himself. He’d been talking about it for years — including it in many of the conversations he had every day with friends he made on his mail route in the hills of Mount Washington, a small residential community in northeast Los Angeles.
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The people at the retirement party were happy that they would finally get to have some quality time, but they were also disappointed. To them, Ayala’s departure represented the end of an era when mail delivery came with a side of negotiation.
“He talked to everybody,” said Jonathan Sample, a graphic designer who grew up in Mount Washington and now lives there with his two children. “She was a really unifying presence.”
At a time when only 26% of Americans say they know their neighbors according to a recent Pew Research study, Ayala helped create a sense of community in Mount Washington, even if it was only through the shared experience of having an unexpectedly personal connection with the local mailman with a gravelly voice and affable disposition.
Over the years, Ayala would invite people from his roots to the shows he played with his metal band Horns Up, and whether they liked the music or not, they came out because they liked it. He often talked about sports (especially the Dodgers and Packers) and many on the Hill knew he had had two knee replacements – the result of a job that required him to climb in and out of a truck all day – as he shared updates on his recovery.
And when they started supplying college marketing materials to families with high school seniors, they often asked where the soon-to-be graduating student was going to go.
Ayala, center, celebrates with friends at his retirement party at Glassell Park’s Verdugo Bar.
(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)
“He’s amazing. He knows my kids — my daughter is 40 and my son is 37 — and they love him,” said Mount Washington resident John Amour, who has known Ayala since the ’90s. “They’ve grown up with her. He remembers their names. He says, ‘How’s Brianna?'”
Because Ayala visited the homes on his route daily, he also knew who was on vacation, who was visiting and who was in medical crisis.
A few years ago, he was sending mail to a man whose wife was in the hospital. When Ayala asked “What’s going on with Sandy?” The man shared that he had just died.
“After that I was the first person to see her and I just had to hug her,” Ayala said. They still text sometimes.
1. A goodbye sign is displayed on Ayala’s route during his final innings. 2. John Ayala delivers mail to a house. 3. Los Angeles resident Seona Hong stops on the street to thank Ayala. (Ronaldo Bolaños/Los Angeles Times)
“If people are sick, they’ll tell people in the neighborhood,” said Laura Lee, who has lived in Mount Washington for 40 years. “If I start thinking about someone I haven’t seen in a while, I’ll ask them, just to make sure they’re OK.”
For Ayala, connecting people to each other comes naturally.
“I’ll find out if someone is a Red Sox fan and I’ll tell them, you know your neighbor across the street, Neil, is from Boston too. You guys should talk,” he said.
Ayala, who grew up in El Sereno and has two sons, has deep family roots in the United States Postal Service. His mother, Yolanda, worked for the agency for 39 years, as did his four brothers and a sister-in-law. Ayala’s uncle was the Postal Service’s first Latino vice president of finance in the 1990s.
Ayala was an honors student at South Pasadena High School, but had no interest in college. At the end of her senior year, her mother saw a job opening at work and encouraged her to apply. He’s been working for the Postal Service since 1984 – even when his metal band Les was selling Whiskey a Go Go and the Roxy in the mid-’80s.
Neighbors made a USPS-themed cake for Ayala’s retirement party.
(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)
He said, “I always wanted to be a rock star, but if we had done that I probably wouldn’t be alive today.”
He started delivering mail in Mount Washington in 1987 and never looked back. He loved people and took breaks at the lush green headquarters of the Self-Realization Fellowship to read the newspaper. “This is a neighborhood I could never afford,” he said. “It’s like a different world.”
He also said, “I never needed to buy lemons. My customers always gave me lemons.”
The Postal Service rerouted him once in 2008, but a few years later, he was able to return to Mount Washington. “I couldn’t wait to get back there,” he said. “It was just like, oh man, I’m going to heaven again.”
After 42 years of service, Ayala’s pension could not go higher, so he decided to retire at the end of 2025. He could have retired in 2020, but as he wrote in a Facebook post in 2023, “I’m having too much fun.”
On a rainy day in December, Ayala drove his truck through the narrow streets of Mount Washington for the last time. Even as he emptied it of mail, it slowly filled with gifts from his longtime customers – a bottle of vodka, a few bottles of wine, a six-pack of craft beer, homemade biscuits, a signed farewell poster, several thank you cards and a giant foam cheese hat from one of the many residents who they knew was a Packers fan.
Graphic designer Jonathan Sample created dozens of signs saying “Rock on Mailman John” for neighbors who wanted to send well wishes to Ayala on his last day.
(Ronaldo Bolaños/Los Angeles Times)
And then there were the signs, stuck on hooks, mounted on telephone poles, taped to mailboxes all over the hill.
Good luck John! we’ll miss you!
Mailman John!! Thank you!!
Rock on Mailman John! Enjoy your retirement. We love you!
The people who gave the signs and the gifts did not all know each other, but they all knew Ayala.
Even after retiring, Ayala was still bringing the people of Mount Washington together. The farewell party at Verdugo Bar was organized by a trio of neighbors who knew each other because they all wanted to join in celebrating their beloved mailman. At the bar, residents living on the same street finally agreed to introduce themselves.
“See that group in the corner?” said artist Penny Jones, who helped organize the party. “That’s the Glenelbyn crew. They’re just getting to know each other.”
Even among the many people who had come to bid an emotional farewell to Ayala? Alex Villaseñor, a neighborhood UPS driver, is wearing an Iron Maiden shirt in Ayala’s honor.
“I had to represent,” he said. “We always talk and joke and stop each other and lock horns when we see each other on the hill. He goes for the Raiders and I go for the Packers. I’ll be sad not to see him.”
I was at the party, too – and not just to report this story, but because Ayala had been my mailman for the past 18 years. More than anyone else in my life – even my parents – he read my stories in The Times avidly and always commented whenever one of my stories appeared on the front page.
“Great story, Deb!” he yelled from his truck after putting some real estate flyers in my mailbox. It always made my day.
Ayala hugged everyone at her party.
(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)
Like everyone else, I will miss him.
A few months after his retirement, I called Ayala to see how he was doing. It’s been a tough adjustment.
“I miss everybody,” he said. “It’s hard. You lost a friend. A person. I lost about 2,000 friends.”
Two hundred residents attended John Ayala’s retirement party after 40 years with the USPS.
(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)
He said that sometimes when he’s tossing and turning in the middle of the night, he imagines traveling from road to road, just thinking about everyone on his mail route.
But he is determined to stay in touch. He still texts some of his friends about the game, and he plans to visit the Hill soon to hang out and greet people.
Ayala may have stopped delivering mail, but it has not delivered the connection.
