Journey of Awakening – 38: Potato Country

One hour from Portland to Augusta, the Capitol of Maine, on I-95. Two hours to Bangor; four to Houlton, the end of the Interstate, before New Brunswick, Canada. My map stopped there. I could have continued on north to Mars Hill, Presque Isle, Caribou, Fort Kent, and canoed down to Allagash.

But I figured if I couldn’t find one town before going that far, I would stop at a gas station and conduct an entire town meeting with the attendant and a few truckers. I was getting really adept at gauging my day trips to be able to make it back to my cozy warm bed at the Bliss B & B before midnight.

Aroostook County must be one of the largest in the country, rivaling San Bernardino and those in Texas and Alaska.

Island Falls, Maine

A half-hour this side of Houlton was the little farming community of Island Falls. Fortunately, there was a Congregational Church so I could use my credentials as an ordained UCC clergyman to make a connection. Pastor Jim Johnson was a young man who had recently been called to serve the church, and since I arrived around the dinner hour (another thing I had learned early in my career), invited me to eat with his family, and even made me a comfortable bed on a couch in his office at the church. After dinner he arranged for me to meet with a couple of his elders who were also community leaders. I learned that the area around Island Falls was almost entirely comprised of family potato farms and they were in the midst of a lengthy drought and that even in good years it was hard to make a living off the land. At the same time these farmers were proud of their community and how everyone looked after one another. They were not looking for the government to step in to save them, but welcomed the chance to get together to talk with fellow citizens about making their community a better place so that their kids would not have to leave to find jobs.

Aroostook County Potato Farming

So when I left Island Falls the next day I felt I had made some new friends and also had a date set for the Island Falls Community Forum. I experienced similar welcomes in several other small towns along the I-95 corridor: Enfield, Old Town, Orono, Holden, Pittsfield, and Bradley. The specifics were different but they all expressed common longings. People wanted a place where their children could grow up and find meaningful, productive work. A place where community was experienced and families could flourish. A place where they could maintain their traditions and welcome the future without being threatened by it.

We were aiming to have as many of the Town Meeting ’76 forums as possible on the same Saturday in November, before Thanksgiving. Before the end of September I was well on the way with eight of the sixteen scheduled. At our Chicago ICA headquarters there was a room with a huge 8’ by 16’ county map of the U.S. and a team of people whose sole job was to fill in each county with a yellow marker as a town was scheduled.

Maine was now half yellow!

Journey of Awakening – 37: Coasting in Maine

Making my way downeast along the ragged, rocky coast of Maine, I experienced the full range of the elements autumn had to offer: Fog so dense that driving was both disorienting and downright dangerous; rain so intense it penetrated the pores; foliage so glorious in the autumn sun you were transformed from complainer to Mainer in the space of a day.

I had learned the art of “cold-calling” while in insurance sales. This Town Meeting 76 campaign gave the term a whole new meaning. More in the tradition of the Methodist preachers of the 1800s, circuit riders as they were called. I also came to appreciate my biblical training, as when Jesus sent out those first circuit riders (I guess they were actually circuit walkers) he told them to go into one town and preach and if received leaved with a blessing, and if not well-received to just shake the dust off their feet and move on.

I made my way from town to town, stopping at this church and that business and that town hall, telling the Town Meeting story and trying to close the deal by walking away with a scheduled meeting. I think I neglected to mention that we had no budget to speak of to support ourselves on the road, a little gas money and a few dollars for meals, never enough to last the week. We were expected to live off the land. Fortunately, wherever there was a McDonald’s restaurant we could walk in and get a free meal. One of our Guardians, our term for well-connected supporters of our work, was vice-president of marketing and advertising for McDonald’s Corporation. The company’s sponsorship of TM 76 meant that any of our volunteers anywhere in the U.S. were able to get a meal. So breakfast, lunch and dinner were on Mickie D., which may be the reason I have a sixth sense for where any of his restaurants are whenever I travel.

I like to say I was thrown out of only one town in Maine that entire season. I rolled into beautiful downtown Bucksport one drizzly, foggy evening. It was close to dinner time but no McDonald’s. So I stopped at a couple of likely places, found the Chamber of Commerce president who was also the Head Selectman. This consolidation of power did not give me a positive feeling about this town. After telling my story and arranging for another meeting with two or three town leaders after dinner, I asked if there was a restaurant and Inn where I might be able to request a complimentary meal and room. Actually, there was only one little café that qualified. So with the assurance of the businessman that I might get a fair hearing, I headed over to make my pitch.

Bucksport, Maine

I found the owner of the Bucksport Inn in the kitchen, cooking. I guess I should have offered to pitch in and bus tables or wash dishes. I attributed the response I got to my request to his having had a hard day: “Are you nuts? I don’t give nothin’ for free to nobody!” I bought a donut and cup of coffee with the change I had left.

When I arrived back for my meeting, two of the three town selectmen listened politely for awhile and then interrupted, almost in unison: “We don’t think Bucksport is ready for your town meeting project. And you probably don’t need to see anyone else. You might just want to be on your way.”

OK. It was getting late and it was still misting. I made my way back from the coast to August, where the Maine turnpike section of I-95 began (or ended), found a phone booth, and phoned my friends Harry and Ellis Bliss, who would always welcome me back. Ellis answered and I could hear my hang-dog pleading voice go out through the phone line:

“Mom, can I come home?”

“We’ll leave the light on for ya” came right back. The humor of the Tom Bodett famous line was not totally lost to my tired mind.

Ellis and Me 20 Years Later - 1996

I was still a couple of hours away. That bed never felt so warm and inviting as on that night.

Journey of Awakening – 36: The Fall of Maine

Maine in autumn can be the most colorfully exhilarating place on earth. But it can also be brutal. When the leaves are in full splendor they are truly awe-inspiring. And when one of those Nor’easters come swooping in off the Atlantic you are suddenly unable to stay warm and dry. Chilled to the bone is an understatement—chilled to the marrow would be more accurate. The fall of 1977 was starting off with mild, mostly sunny weather and easy driving.

I decided to stick fairly close to the I-95 corridor heading downeast, since it traversed nine of Maine’s sixteen counties. Several had interesting and unique names, probably adapted from local tribes: Sagadahoc, Kennebec, Piscataquis, Penobscot, and Aroostook. Others were more typical English and New England monikers: York, Cumberland, Oxford, Knox, Somerset, Waldo, Hancock, Lincoln, and Washington.

I would drive a ways on the Interstate until I saw an interesting sign for a town not too far off the highway. Some of the towns had unfamiliar names as well: Kennebunkport, Bucksport, Skowhegan, Bangor, and Machias.

 

           Bucksport, Maine                         Machias, Maine

One of my early visits was to Damariscotta-Newcastle, a quaint little burg right on the coast that depended on the summer tourist trade.

 

I happened to stop by the local newspaper office to see what I could learn about the town. The Damariscotta Town Crier was a weekly. Sam, the owner and publisher, was in and to my delight, took the time to listen to my story about Town Meeting 76. Sam was a New Yorker who had bought the paper about 5 years earlier, so was considered almost as much a newcomer as I was. But Sam was looking for a way to build community awareness and participation. He agreed after spending an hour with me to have the newspaper sponsor the meeting. We had a date set before I left his office and I had met with 3 or 4 town leaders and got their OK as well.

I was only at the end of my first week on the Maine Town Meeting circuit and I had 2 of my 16 on the schedule. Life was good. Maine was cooperating. I headed back to Boston for a weekend of celebration, R & R, sharing what was working and what wasn’t, and planning for the next victorious week.

So How Was Your Summer?

An e-mail from my cousin Betty in Texas is probably responsible for this posting. She was concerned that she had not received any message from me since June with an entry on my Blog. Wow! Someone actually has been reading these and someone missed reading about my journey! Then the thought came to me that, at my age, most likely the concern has to do with my state of health and whether I was still “with it,” physically, mentally, or both.

My summer has been full, not of writing, but of visits to and from kids and grandkids, friends’ 50^th wedding anniversary celebrations, playing with Norma Jean, a little swimming, and helping son Robb move into his new home in Riverside.

June was a trip to Portland for a week with Eric, Tina, and getting to attend our 5 and 8 year-old granddaughters Katy and Grace’s dance performance extravaganza.

In July 6 year-old (now 7) granddaughter Samantha from Iowa made her second solo flight and stay for two weeks, a swirl of non-stop grand-parenting including two trips to the beach, one to the desert and mountains, and a day at the San Diego Zoo, capped off by a 7^th birthday party by the pool.

August was consumed with Robb having two hospitalizations after a month or two on the streets in Riverside and San Bernardino, followed by our taking charge and moving him from his Perris home to a big old transitional living residence near downtown Riverside.

Today is Labor Day and I am relaxing while reflecting on the summer that was after a traditional trip to Oak Glen for hot dogs and pie with our gang. I promise to resume my regular posts to Mellow Milan’s Musings beginning this coming week, even if only one of you is reading them.

I hope your summer has been full of life’s rewarding experiences.

Journey of Awakening – 35: I’m a Mainer

September 1977. The sun’s rays streamed in the east-facing window of my room at Harry and Ellis’ beautiful home in South Portland. The seagulls swooped around the lighthouse, so close I felt I could almost reach out and touch it. Harry had already left for the hospital. Ellis was up and had a light breakfast prepared for me. It was my first day on the Maine Town Meeting circuit. I pulled on my jeans and long sleeved sport shirt and my red and black plaid lumberjack shirt which I wore every day that fall. I had driven up from Boston on Sunday night so I could get an early start and have a full week of calling on townsfolk before making the drive back to Boston Friday night. I chatted briefly with Ellis as I gulped down orange juice and coffee and inhaled a hardly chewed piece of toast. I was ready.

Jumping in my trusty rusty green Nova, I headed out “downeast” as true Mainers would say, and with my AAA map on the seat next to me, came upon my first town that looked like a likely prospect, York, Maine.

YORK, MAINE

I had passed by York on the way to Portland and was struck by its rugged beauty, set on the ragged Maine coastline, which I would see a lot more of and come to love. York County is the southern-most county in Maine. The county seat town is Alfred, a little ways inland from York.

 

Alfred, Maine Town Hall & York County Courthouse

I thought it might be a little easier to find my way around there, so I stopped at a gas station to ask where I might find the Head Selectman’s house. I got the typical New England directions:

“Ya go down past the Dunkin Donuts and take the fork to the right, then when ya come to the schoolhouse there’ll be a roundabout and ya go all the way around it to the last road, then you’ll go a ways and come to a 3-way stop. After that ya take the first right after and when ya come to the graveyard ya take the first right after and Janet’s house is about the 5^th one on the left. It’s a big white one but ya can’t see it from the road, so if ya go past her driveway and come to a dead end, ya’ve gone too far. Turn around and stop at one of the farm houses and ask where Janet lives. They’ll tell ya.”

I did have to stop and ask a farmer and discovered what my colleagues had told me about Mainers. I found him out by his machine shed and told him who I was, why I was there, and that I was looking for the Town Head Selectman, Janet. “Two driveways up that way on the right.” I thanked him as he turned on his heel and headed around the back of the building, leaving me standing. I thought I hear a faint ‘A-yeh’ as he turned. So that was a good lesson for me in a nutshell. Mainers are not unfriendly, just no-nonsense folk who go about their business and don’t spend a lot of time chit-chatting, at least until they’ve decided you are not there to waste their time.

I found Janet and gave her my letter of introduction from the Governor of her state and asked a few questions about Alfred, being careful to mention a few things I’d picked up about the history and uniqueness of York County. I was a little surprised and then delighted when she expressed interest in having one of the 16 community forums as part of Town Meeting ’76 in Alfred. She said she would talk to the other 2 Selectmen and some of the other community leaders, but thought they would be interested. This was more than I could have hoped for. Janet was the right person. I had been lucky. We would not always approach the Selectmen first, because we emphasized that the forums were not to be political gatherings but a chance for townspeople to meet to celebrate and give voice to their concerns, hopes and dreams for their community. Our usual strategy was to ask “Who is the one person in your town who, if you want to get something done, you go to?” Often you would get “Oh, Josie Adams, the chair of the annual town picnic” or “you need to see Rev. Johnson at the Congregational Church.” We would usually get 3 or 4 names to begin our approach. Then we’d go to the first person and say “Rev. Johnson, we were talking with Josie Adams and she said if you were for doing this in your town she’d help and get the word out and organize the food.” Then we’d go to the Selectmen and say “Josie and Rev. Johnson think this is a good idea for the town and if you’ll support them, they’ll do all the work on it.” And so it would go until we got enough support to make it public, get flyers up and get it in the local paper.

Now I had the first of 16 already scheduled, on my first day. “This is going to be a breeze.” I went back to my South Portland B & B and reported to Harry and Ellis at dinner on my successful day, after calling Linda and reporting to the House and the Strike Force leaders of course. I couldn’t wait to get on the road to the next town.

Journey of Awakening – 34: New England Welcome

Fall 1977. Our new home at 27 Dartmouth in Boston was just a six block walk from Copley Plaza and in the shadow of the recently built John Hancock building, a massive skyscraper made almost entirely of blue tinted glass.

One problem the architects had not anticipated was that in the extreme temperature variations from winter to summer in Boston, combined with the winds at the top of the 60 story structure and the bonding used to keep them in place, these huge 500 lb. panes of glass would, without warning, pop right out and fall the forty or fifty stories to the walkway below. It is a wonder that no one was killed or even injured during the time they were figuring out how to reinforce the frames so as to prevent their popping out.

It was quite a contrast to see this tall modern obelisk of blue mirrored glass against the skyline of Old Boston, overlooking the Charles River and Beacon Hill, not far from Quincy Market and the Old North Church.

We loved Boston and enjoyed hearing stories from our colleagues whose families had lived there for a couple of hundred years. It did not take us long to settle in and get our House assignments made. Eric started 4^th grade in a school down the street within walking distance of our House. He loved his new teacher and wanted to invite her to his birthday party the House hosted for him. And she showed up. It was just five of us adults and Eric but he had a ball and so did we, playing birthday games like grade schoolers.

Nancy Trask was a librarian and got a job at the M.I.T. library. Linda was quickly hired as an office secretary at Boston University.

And Tom Reemtsma had a job, I forget where, but he had the task of driving all three to work in Nancy’s big Chevy station wagon. One thing we learned well in the Order was how to build a strong resume and acquire jobs very fast.

An additional aspect of our assignment complexity was that we were as an organization entering the culminating stages of the Town Meeting campaign. The Area Priors based in New York assigned two staff to organize a team of volunteers to complete New England, which had barely been touched by the campaign the previous year. We were to alternate between our Hartford and Boston Houses on successive weekends, which meant that Linda, Nancy and Tom had to host a group of about 10 additional bodies every other weekend, arrange lodging and meals, and prepare the teams for the next week’s foray into the New England wilderness.

Nelson Stover and Larry Ward were our two “Strike Force” coordinators. Larry was an impressive black man who had grown up on the west side of Chicago. Today he is an impressive meditation teacher and author. Nelson was a creative white guy who today is a prominent advocate and supporter of the ICA’s work in India, which was begun in the early 1970s. These two always planned grand celebrations whenever our Town Meeting teams would gather for the weekend. One unforgettable one of these was the weekend in Hartford when we all went to see the opening of the first Star Wars movie and then returned to the House for a meal and movie conversation, followed by a ‘star wars line dance’ in costume, where we all took turns making up weird movements as we danced between lines of clapping ‘aliens’.

My assignment was to arrange for 16 Town Meetings in Maine (one per county), to be completed by Thanksgiving.

Tim Karpoff, the Hartford House Prior, this tall, handsome, ex-all-American wrestler from one of the Ivy League colleges, was assigned to finish off New Hampshire and Vermont. Another woman had Rhode Island, Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard. Connecticut and Massachusetts actually had teams of two assigned. I was warned by some of the locals about how standoffish “Mainers” could be and how difficult my task would probably be, and how they didn’t “cotton to outsiders.” Another complication was the name Town Meeting. New Englanders invented the Town Meeting. It was the local governance structure for almost all towns. There were three “Selectmen” chosen to run things in between Town Meetings. But whenever major issues needed to be decided, a legal Town Meeting had to be called and all voting residents were notified so they could be in on the decision. So we had to use the term ‘community forums’ and assure local leaders and residents that we were not trying to usurp their decision-making structure when selling them on Town Meeting ’76.

I headed off early in September in the House’s only car, a beat-up old Chevy Nova, to win over these standoffish Mainers. Fortunately, we did have a handful of colleagues in the state, but they were in Maine’s largest city, Portland. Harry and Ellis Bliss lived in South Portland, in a big colonial style house overlooking the ocean. They had agreed to put me up whenever I needed a place to stay overnight. They gave me my own key and made me more than welcome. They became dear friends and enthusiastic Town Meeting supporters. Harry was a prominent Maine cardiac surgeon. Ellis was a daughter of an old established Maine family. They were members of a local UCC church, which was an added connection. One story I heard about the sort of man Harry was, that during the Vietnam War he took his lunch hours, most days, to stand on a street corner, many times alone, holding his sign in silent protest.

Well, not all Mainers were going to make my task so difficult. And at least I had the most comfortable and hospitable bed and breakfast in the state as my home away from home. How hard can this job be?

Stay tuned.

Journey of Awakening – 33: Boston or Bust

Summer ’77. It was time for Troy to enter the “Student House,” an experiment in which 6^th through 8^th grade kids were housed in our Chicago headquarters building under the supervision of some “responsible adults,” to spend the school year in the Chicago public schools. Linda, Eric and I received our assignments at the end of July. We were to be Priors of the Boston Religious House. Along with this came an added benefit. We got to rent a very large U-Haul truck and drive it across the country, making stops at half the Houses in the U.S., picking up and dropping off belongings of other re-assigned families. We could take our family “discontinuity” time (our term for vacations, a concept that was not in our vocabulary) along the way, as long as we showed up in Boston by the end of August. We decided to make an adventure of it. Even Eric got into the spirit and we were to have many “tailgate picnics” as well as those in city/town public parks. Our journey took us to Los Angeles, Phoenix, Salt Lake City, Denver, Wichita, Kansas City, St. Louis, Chicago, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, New --York, Hartford, and ended in Boston, all during one of the hottest summers on record. Our only expenses were gas and meals, for which we were reimbursed. Lodging wasn’t a problem, since each House put us up for a night or two, requiring very few motel stays. At today’s gas prices that trip might have bankrupted the Order, but a gallon was only about 70 cents that year, compared to 4 dollars today.

It was truly a family adventure, as we tried to soak up a little of the local culture and history of each town and state as we passed through. We imagined ourselves “reverse pioneers” retracing the steps of our forebears who made the trek west by wagon train. Amazingly, there was not a single breakdown of our trusty steed, not even a flat tire, the whole way. The weather was hot but without storms, except for that one huge dust storm we observed but thankfully were not caught in as we drove through Utah.

We arrived at our new home at 27 Dartmouth, Boston, Mass. on time and intact, greeted by the outgoing Priors, the Wiltses, who were heading for their new assignment in Seattle. We were soon to be joined by our other two House members, Nancy Trask and Tom Reemtsma, with whom we would spend the next year.