Frank Surano walked his last route yesterday, over stepping stones, between bungalows, past hostas and ferns, from Belgian-block driveways to back decks, past pumpkins, over garden hoses, under archways, past scooters and stretching cats.

Before the 68-year-old mailman retired at the Wilkinsburg station after noon, he announced his last four deliveries in Park Place with an emotional little huff: "Three more houses and the church."

At the Waverly Church, he put the mail in the box then peered into the darkened window in case someone was there for him to say goodbye to; there wasn't. On his shortened morning route, just one customer intercepted him.

"These are professional people who are always at work," he said. "I get to see them on Saturdays."

In 20 years of Saturdays, Mr. Surano cherished the face time, and Monday through Friday, when the squawk and tap of mailboxes punctuated the hush of empty homes, he was cherished in a little piece of Park Place.

"He has been the eyes, ears and conscience of this neighborhood," said Perrynell McMahon, who bought a farewell card for neighbors to sign. "He has reported fires and taken dogs back home when they ran away.

"A lot of people just do their jobs, but he has always been a participating person in this neighborhood. I really will miss him. He is a mailman way above the average."

Mr. Surano started his career with three years in the Army after high school in Greenville, Mercer County. He worked for three railroad companies, clearing high and wide loads and accounting, "but I got fed up being in an office. I'm an outside person."

Besides the card and donations, neighbors toasted Mr. Surano at a barbecue in August at Frick Park.

Most mailmen don't move on with such fanfare. A caring disposition and 20 years is a good combination for getting one, and according to Tad Kelley, a local U.S. Postal Service spokesman, "20 years is pretty unusual."

On average, postmen change routes every five years, he said. "Carriers begin with low seniority and jockey about. Once seniority builds up, they bid on a route they really like."

Mr. Surano's postal neighborhood is a nest of streets where the houses bring to mind plaid blankets, amber lamplight and hot chocolate. Stepping stone walkways segue from one yard to another, past pocket gardens and lichen-covered stone retaining walls.

Mr. Surano described the residents as he walked: "That guy's a retired Marine, one of the nicest guys I ever met. That guy --" he pointed at a window behind which a white poodle stood on a sofa -- "runs from that window, " he said as he walked a few steps, "to that window every time I come up."

A mailman in the same neighborhood for 20 years is an amateur demographer, knowing how people vote, what they eat and how they live by signs and signals read and inferred. The mail speaks volumes, too. "Nearly everyone and his brother gets an L.L. Bean catalog," he said. Window signs and bumper stickers indicate a bent toward peace, love and understanding.

As he walked along Kensington, he stopped to shake hands with Paul Wahrhaftig, a resident who clutched a paperback against his jacket and nodded somberly at the mailman. "It's the end of an era," he said. "You've outlasted many of our dogs."

They chatted and shook hands before parting. "Tell your wife I said bye," said Mr. Surano, "and I hope to see you around sometime."

Retirement should sit well with him, though he's not much of a sitter: "I putter. I keep active. My wife and I like to go antiquing, and I referee high school basketball. I think I'll find enough to do.

"I didn't relish coming out in another winter," he said, though he's sad "in a way."

"These customers got to be like family. In the autumn when the leaves are turning and a Pitt football game is on and everybody is out, it just gives you a sensation."

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