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On these cold winter nights, I often look out the window at bedtime to see ice and snow and blizzards, and I am grateful to be inside where it is safe and warm. In the morning, I wake to a world of unplowed streets, snowdrifts on the unswept stairs and sidewalks buried in ice and snow. Then I open my front door and, in spite of the harsh weather, the Chicago Tribune lies there waiting for me. Like magic, day after day and year after year, carriers I have never seen or spoken to quietly deliver my newspaper during the predawn hours. I hope they know how grateful we readers are for their extraordinary service.
