There were 200 people on the back patio of Glassell Park’s Verdugo Bar, and John Ayala had a hug for all of them.

Wiping tears from his eyes as he slowly made his way through the intergenerational crowd, he recognized almost everyone in attendance — if not by name, then definitely by address.

For four decades, the 61-year-old Ayala delivered mail to their homes, and now he was finally retiring, to the great surprise of everyone, including himself. He’d been talking about it for years — working it into the many conversations he had each day with the friends he’d made along his mail route in the hills of Mount Washington, a small residential community in northeast Los Angeles.

Advertisement

• Share via Close extra sharing options

Advertisement

The folks at the retirement party were glad that he would finally get some well-deserved downtime, but they were also wistful. For them, Ayala’s departure represented the end of an era when mail delivery came with a side of conversation.

“He talked with everyone,” said Jonathan Sample, a graphic designer who grew up in Mount Washington and now lives there with two kids of his own. “He was a really unifying presence.”

At a time when just 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 relationship with the local mailman with a gruff voice and a gregarious disposition.

Over the years, Ayala would invite people from his route to the shows he played with his metal band Horns Up, and whether or not they liked the music, they‘d come out because they liked him. He would frequently talk about sports (especially the Dodgers and the Packers) and many on the hill knew he had two knee replacements — a result of a job that required him to hop in and out of a truck all day — because he would share updates on his recovery.

And when he started delivering reams of college marketing materials to families with high school seniors, he’d often inquire where the soon-to-be graduate was headed.

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 John Amour, a Mount Washington resident who has known Ayala since the ’90s. “They’ve grown up with him. He remembers their name. He says, ‘How is Brianna?’”

Because Ayala made daily visits to the homes on his route, he also knew who was on vacation, who was moving and who was having a medical crisis.

A few years ago, he was delivering mail to a man whose wife had been in the hospital. When Ayala asked “What’s up with Sandy?” the man shared that she had just passed away.

“I was the first one to see him after that and I just had to hug him,” Ayala said. They still text occasionally.

“If people are sick, he’ll tell people in the neighborhood,” said Laura Lee, who has lived in Mount Washington for 40 years. “If I start wondering about someone I haven’t seen in a while, I’ll ask him, just to make sure they’re OK.”

For Ayala, connecting people with one another comes naturally.

“I’ll find out someone is a Red Sox fan and I’ll tell them, you know your neighbor Neil up the street is from Boston too. You guys should talk,” he said.

Ayala, who grew up in El Sereno and is married with two sons, has deep family roots in the United States Postal Service. His mother, Yolanda, worked for the agency for 39 years, as did each of her four brothers and a sister-in-law. Ayala’s uncle was the first Latino vice president of finance for the Postal Service in the 1990s.

Ayala was an honors student at South Pasadena High School, but he wasn’t interested in college. Toward the end of his senior year, his mom saw a job opening at work and encouraged him to apply. He’s been working for the Postal Service since 1984 — even during the time his metal band Lace was selling out the 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)

“I always wanted to be a rock star, but I probably wouldn’t be alive today if we’d made it,” he said.

He started delivering mail in Mount Washington in 1987 and never looked back. He loved the people and taking a break by the Self-Realization Fellowship’s verdant headquarters to read the newspaper. “It’s a neighborhood I could never afford,” he said. “It’s like a different world.”

Also, he said, “I never had to buy lemons. My customers always gave me lemons.”

The Postal Service changed his route once in 2008, but a few years later, he was able to return to Mount Washington. “I couldn’t wait to get back up there,” he said. “It was just like, oh man, I’m going to be in heaven again.”

After 42 years of service, Ayala’s pension couldn’t get any 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 maneuvered his truck one final time through Mount Washington’s narrow streets. Even as he emptied it of mail, it gradually filled up with gifts from his longtime customers — a bottle of vodka, a few bottles of wine, a six-pack of craft beer, homemade biscotti, a signed farewell poster, several thank you cards and a giant foam cheese hat from one of the many residents who knew he was a Packers fan.

Graphic designer Jonathan Sample made 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)

Advertisement

And then there were the signs, stuck on stakes, posted 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!

Not everyone who made signs and delivered gifts knew each other, but they all knew Ayala.

Even after he retired, Ayala was still bringing the people of Mount Washington together. The farewell party at the Verdugo Bar was put together by a trio of neighbors who got to know each other because they all wanted to be involved in celebrating their beloved mailman. At the bar, residents who live on the same street finally got around to introducing themselves.

“See that group in the corner?” said Penny Jones, an artist who helped organize the party. “That’s the Glenalbyn contingent. They are just getting to know each other.”

Also among the many people who had come to wish Ayala a fond farewell? Alex Villasenor, the neighborhood’s UPS driver, wearing an Iron Maiden shirt in Ayala’s honor.

“I had to represent,” he said. “We always chat and clown around and block each other and honk at 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 for the last 18 years, Ayala was my mailman. More than anyone else in my life — even my parents — he religiously read my stories in The Times, always commenting when I had a piece on the front page.

“Great story, Deb!” he’d yell from his truck after putting some real estate fliers in my mailbox. It always made my day.

Ayala has a hug for everyone at his party.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Like everyone else, I’m going to miss him.

A few months after his retirement, I called Ayala to see how he’s been doing. It’s been a difficult adjustment.

“I just miss everybody, “ he said. “It’s hard. You lost a friend. One person. I lost like 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 sometimes in the middle of the night when he’s tossing and turning, he imagines traveling street by street, just thinking about everyone on his mail route.

But he is committed to staying in touch. He still texts some of his friends about sports, and he’s planning to make a trip up the hill soon just to walk around and greet people.

Ayala may have stopped delivering the mail, but he’s not done delivering connection.