I was born in 1933 and grew up in Dyer Brook, Maine, surrounded by the kind of close-knit, multigenerational family that shaped every part of who I became. We lived under one roof—my parents, my grandparents, and often extended family who came to visit for days or even weeks at a time, especially in the summer. People didn’t think twice about dropping in from across the mountain, and those visits were always welcome. That sense of community and kinship has stayed with me all my life.
I had two sisters who were close in age and a brother ten years younger. While we didn’t have elaborate family traditions, our bond was strong. Mealtimes were spent together, and we always looked out for each other. We lived near Smyrna on the main road where the Southern Aroostook school now stands. My earliest church memories come from the little Baptist church on the hill, which is now the Dyer Brook Community Church. I went to Sunday school there. I never had a favorite hymn myself, but I remember my father’s favorite was “It Is Well with My Soul.” That one stayed with me over the years.
After finishing high school, I joined the military and served my time before working in different places, including a period in Connecticut. Eventually, I returned to Mars Hill to be near my sister and her husband, who ran a gas station. I started working there, and one ordinary Saturday turned out to be life-changing. A young woman named Joan walked into the garage needing help with her father’s car. I got it fixed, and not long after, I called her up. That was the beginning of everything.
Joan and I both found work at Loring Air Force Base and got married shortly after. We started a family and had six children in just ten years. Life was fast-paced, but it was full. Joan stayed home with the kids while they were little, and once they were older, she took a job at the local school. I worked at Loring for 35 years in various roles and eventually retired after serving in contracting services. It was good, honest work that provided steady support for our family. Through it all, I stayed rooted in the community and grateful for the opportunity.
Raising six children wasn’t easy, but we managed. We worked hard, stood by each other, and did our best to instill the right values in our kids. I never really imagined any other life than being married and raising a family. It was just what people did—you committed, and you stuck to it. Sure, there were tough times. Every couple goes through them. But I think what made our marriage strong was our respect for one another and our shared beliefs. We worked through the hard parts and celebrated the good ones. There was always trust.
Some of our happiest moments were watching our children grow and accomplish things. A few of them were excellent skiers and brought home awards. We didn’t have a lot of money to offer them, but we encouraged them to work hard for what they wanted. We did what we could to support them, and they appreciated it.
One personal milestone I’m proud of was quitting smoking in 1965. I had been smoking two packs a day when I found some old golf clubs and thought maybe I could trade the habit for a hobby. I figured if I quit smoking, I could afford to golf. I bought one last pack, lit a cigarette, didn’t like the taste, and threw it away. I even kept the pack in my pocket for a while as a reminder that I could stop. And I did. That was a turning point for me.
Another source of pride has been my long years of service at the church—not just attending, but actively serving as janitor for decades. I made sure the building was warm during the frigid Maine winters. I’d go up several times a day on weekends to tend the furnace, especially when we had a wood stove. I shoveled snow, salted the steps, and even bought my own cleaning supplies without ever asking to be reimbursed. It wasn’t about recognition. I just wanted everyone who came through those doors to feel safe and welcome. Sometimes, I’d pick up the Sunday school teacher in the snow and help her get to the church, especially when her driveway hadn’t been plowed. Those quiet acts meant a lot to me.
After retiring, I began working at the Mars Hill golf course pro shop. I stayed there about twenty years, enjoying the mix of people I met—quirky and kind alike. Later, when Joan and I wintered in Florida, I picked up part-time work there too. Golf became more than a game; it was a joy and a peaceful way to stay active and social.
With age, I’ve softened. I used to have a short temper and very high expectations—not only for my children, but for myself. I was quick to get frustrated when things didn’t go right. But I’ve learned how to step back and let things go. I still value honesty above all. I never tolerated lying, and I expected my children to own up to their actions. That kind of responsibility helps build character.
Looking back, I hope to be remembered as a decent man—someone who did his part, lived with integrity, and cared deeply for his family. I never aimed for flash or fame. I just wanted to work hard, live faithfully, and be there for the people I loved. That’s always been enough for me.
We faced some very hard times. My mother’s death was painful. Watching our children go through divorces hurt deeply. One of our grandchildren was diagnosed with autism, and another spent time in prison. After his release, he came to live with us for a while. We adapted—removed firearms from the house, got a landline phone, and did what was necessary to create a safe, structured environment for him. Those days weren’t easy, but we believed in giving second chances. That’s what family does.
Through every challenge, I’ve stayed steady. My hope for our children and grandchildren is simple—that they live decent, honest, healthy lives. I never wanted to live forever, but I’ve always wanted to live long enough to know they’re going to be all right.
If I’ve done anything worthwhile in this life, I hope it’s been showing up—not with grand gestures, but with consistency. Day after day, in ways big and small. That’s the life I’ve lived. Honest work, quiet faith, and love for my family. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I had two sisters who were close in age and a brother ten years younger. While we didn’t have elaborate family traditions, our bond was strong. Mealtimes were spent together, and we always looked out for each other. We lived near Smyrna on the main road where the Southern Aroostook school now stands. My earliest church memories come from the little Baptist church on the hill, which is now the Dyer Brook Community Church. I went to Sunday school there. I never had a favorite hymn myself, but I remember my father’s favorite was “It Is Well with My Soul.” That one stayed with me over the years.
After finishing high school, I joined the military and served my time before working in different places, including a period in Connecticut. Eventually, I returned to Mars Hill to be near my sister and her husband, who ran a gas station. I started working there, and one ordinary Saturday turned out to be life-changing. A young woman named Joan walked into the garage needing help with her father’s car. I got it fixed, and not long after, I called her up. That was the beginning of everything.
Joan and I both found work at Loring Air Force Base and got married shortly after. We started a family and had six children in just ten years. Life was fast-paced, but it was full. Joan stayed home with the kids while they were little, and once they were older, she took a job at the local school. I worked at Loring for 35 years in various roles and eventually retired after serving in contracting services. It was good, honest work that provided steady support for our family. Through it all, I stayed rooted in the community and grateful for the opportunity.
Raising six children wasn’t easy, but we managed. We worked hard, stood by each other, and did our best to instill the right values in our kids. I never really imagined any other life than being married and raising a family. It was just what people did—you committed, and you stuck to it. Sure, there were tough times. Every couple goes through them. But I think what made our marriage strong was our respect for one another and our shared beliefs. We worked through the hard parts and celebrated the good ones. There was always trust.
Some of our happiest moments were watching our children grow and accomplish things. A few of them were excellent skiers and brought home awards. We didn’t have a lot of money to offer them, but we encouraged them to work hard for what they wanted. We did what we could to support them, and they appreciated it.
One personal milestone I’m proud of was quitting smoking in 1965. I had been smoking two packs a day when I found some old golf clubs and thought maybe I could trade the habit for a hobby. I figured if I quit smoking, I could afford to golf. I bought one last pack, lit a cigarette, didn’t like the taste, and threw it away. I even kept the pack in my pocket for a while as a reminder that I could stop. And I did. That was a turning point for me.
Another source of pride has been my long years of service at the church—not just attending, but actively serving as janitor for decades. I made sure the building was warm during the frigid Maine winters. I’d go up several times a day on weekends to tend the furnace, especially when we had a wood stove. I shoveled snow, salted the steps, and even bought my own cleaning supplies without ever asking to be reimbursed. It wasn’t about recognition. I just wanted everyone who came through those doors to feel safe and welcome. Sometimes, I’d pick up the Sunday school teacher in the snow and help her get to the church, especially when her driveway hadn’t been plowed. Those quiet acts meant a lot to me.
After retiring, I began working at the Mars Hill golf course pro shop. I stayed there about twenty years, enjoying the mix of people I met—quirky and kind alike. Later, when Joan and I wintered in Florida, I picked up part-time work there too. Golf became more than a game; it was a joy and a peaceful way to stay active and social.
With age, I’ve softened. I used to have a short temper and very high expectations—not only for my children, but for myself. I was quick to get frustrated when things didn’t go right. But I’ve learned how to step back and let things go. I still value honesty above all. I never tolerated lying, and I expected my children to own up to their actions. That kind of responsibility helps build character.
Looking back, I hope to be remembered as a decent man—someone who did his part, lived with integrity, and cared deeply for his family. I never aimed for flash or fame. I just wanted to work hard, live faithfully, and be there for the people I loved. That’s always been enough for me.
We faced some very hard times. My mother’s death was painful. Watching our children go through divorces hurt deeply. One of our grandchildren was diagnosed with autism, and another spent time in prison. After his release, he came to live with us for a while. We adapted—removed firearms from the house, got a landline phone, and did what was necessary to create a safe, structured environment for him. Those days weren’t easy, but we believed in giving second chances. That’s what family does.
Through every challenge, I’ve stayed steady. My hope for our children and grandchildren is simple—that they live decent, honest, healthy lives. I never wanted to live forever, but I’ve always wanted to live long enough to know they’re going to be all right.
If I’ve done anything worthwhile in this life, I hope it’s been showing up—not with grand gestures, but with consistency. Day after day, in ways big and small. That’s the life I’ve lived. Honest work, quiet faith, and love for my family. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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