Rugged Beauty. Otherworldly. Unimagined grandeur.
Waterfalls and rainbows, volcanos, basalt snowcapped mountains, glaciers, northern lights, hot spring pools, geysers, geothermal vents, black sand beaches, ocean cliffs, lava fields, Reykjavik. There are no words adequate to describe. No adjectives suffice. Pictures with have to do.
And then there is the food...
Before I met him, I would see him from our 4th floor apartment window, working around his house or working on cars or cutting up an old tree that had started coming down in pieces. Before I met him, I heard him cussing like an old sailor. It turns out that is what he was. And it also turns out that he would become a good friend.
We are about the same age and about the same height and weight. We share the same conservative world view (Don established that at the get go. He doesn't suffer liberal fools lightly...or at all, for that matter). And we both enjoy reading and talking, especially about history.
He was born in a working man's neighborhood in Quincy, MA to Robert and Mary. Don has two brothers and a sister, and he loved his parents fiercely. He went to Abbington High School where he distinguished himself in student government and athletics graduating in 1970.
He was also a good student and was appointed to The Massachusetts Maritime Academy, graduating in 1974, President of his class, with a degree in Marine Engineering. Don football and lacrosse at the Academy. His nickname was Mad Dog. He liked to hit people.
His first job after graduation was as a junior Engineer on the Great Lakes...on the Edmond Fitzgerald.
The SS Edmond Fitzgerald was the pride of the Great Lakes. She had many nicknames; The Fitz or Mighty Fitz, Pride of the American Side, and The Titanic of the Great Lakes. When launched in 1958 she was the largest ship on the NA Great Lakes. The Fitz was 13,623 GRT, 729 feet long and 75 feet wide. She could haul a maximum load of 25,500 tons, built to haul taconite, smelted iron ore pellets, from Duluth to Detroit and other destinations.
Don worked on the Edmond Fitzgerald for three months. And then he was bumped due to union seniority. A senior man took his position. It was a fortuitous event in his life. Shortly thereafter, The Fitz sank in heavy seas with all 29 hands lost. Here is a YouTube video of Gordon Lightfoot's song "The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald".
"The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" - Gordon Lightfoot (HD w/ Lyrics) - YouTube
Don says the hatch covers were typically poorly secured and, in heavy seas, some were torn free. Water flooded the cargo hold and the four big bilge pumps were likely fouled with iron ore silt. On November 10, 1975, fully loaded and heavy with water, in near hurricane force wind, with 35-foot waves, the Fitz broke in half and sank within minutes. The Fitz had made 748 round trips, over 8 million miles. Don says he knew all the men lost that night. He calls himself the sole survivor of the Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald though there are undoubtedly others who can make that claim. But none who were onboard that ship that ill-fated night.
Don went on to a long and colorful career aboard "steamboats". He travelled the world on huge freighters and climbed the ranks to Chief Engineer. It changed him, made him hard. I could relate from my 25 years in the paper industry. It's hard to see the changes as they are taking place. But is the price you pay.
When it was time to come off the seas, he continued his career as Chief Engineer with large companies like Dennison and ran the power plants at Harvard and MIT.
I love listening to his sea stories. They are, at times, other worldly, something that cannot be understood without experiencing them. I especially enjoy his stories about his shipmates, a motley, colorful and dysfunctional crew from around the globe.
Connie and I to stayed with him at his cottage on a lake in NH this past summer. We played his extensive 70s and 80s record collection late into the night. A good time. Connie loves him. And so do my grandkids.
Recently his daughter, named Katie, like my daughter, gave birth to his granddaughter. He is cautiously entering into the role of grandfather. A lot to learn. A lot of unfamiliar emotions. Last week he taught me how to change brake shoes and rotors on Katie and Elnur's 2017 Subaru. He has all the tools. And we try to repay his kindness with homecooked food and tech support.
It's nice to have a new, old friend.
As I age, I need to keep on learning, keep on laughing, keep a sense of humor...or I'll shoot somebody.
I just read "A Man Called Ove" and watched the Americanized movie version "A Man Called Otto". Lots of food for thought. Well done. Recommended. Without revealing any real plots, it's about a man struggling to find meaning and purpose in a changing world, a world changing too fast for him to keep up. I can relate.
Former blog posts talked about the exponential growth of technology and fast paced societal change. Maybe in this one I'll simply relay a few of the frustrating but funny events that seem to be happening all the more frequently.
Navigating the web, keeping track of usernames and passwords, interacting with automated telephone communications, are becoming more and more tedious, sometimes impossible. Even giving instructions to our Google player. It doesn't seem to understand. Thank God for my son in law, who just the other night quickly set us up with an Apple+ subscription on the TV, something I had unsuccessfully attempted to do for the previous hour. He also guides us with our cell phones and computers. Every family needs at least one techno-savvy member.
I have had my taxes prepared for the past 17 years by a CPA firm in Waterville. Always been happy. Until last year. The bill more than doubled. Time for action. I had always successfully done my taxes before...on paper with IRS books. So I attempted it this year. It took me two days and I knew I had done it wrong. It said I had under withheld by $2,500 and owed a penalty which I also couldn't calculate. Was it always so difficult? Or was I no longer up to the task.
I signed up for free tax prep at our Senior Citizen Center and showed up for my appointment with all my paperwork. A pleasant, elderly woman took my information and my paperwork and an hour later we were called in to sign documents. Not only did we not have to pay a penalty, we got a $1,500 rebate! Happy...but chagrinned.
Hearing loss adds to my disgruntledness. And face masks make lip reading and understanding impossible. My hearing aids help, but only to a point, especially in noisy environments. Connie has become my interpreter, my hearing ear dog.
My first reaction to the indignities of aging, like Ove, is to behave like a grumpy, old curmudgeon. My second reaction is to laugh at myself. I prefer the latter. And I try to be mindful about it.
Last month we were herded like hogs through the airline security and customs systems on our trip to Grand Cayman. It was degrading and exhausting. We lost things, dropped things, got in the wrong lines. Connie lost her cell phone as we were pushed through the TSA march from hell. And I hurt my knee.
It swelled up like a balloon and I gimped through MIA International like an old man. The gate attendants in Grand Caymen suggested a wheelchair...and I begrudgingly agreed. But when we disembarked at the gate, there was none. I stormed off like an old curmudgeon. And, an hour later, was barely navigating. It slowed us down so much we almost missed our connect.
The following week I made an appointment to have the knee checked. The X-ray tech was a heavyset young, black woman with dreadlocks and a mask. She escorted me back to a dressing room and, with her back turned from me, gave me instructions which I didn't understand. I said, pointing at my hearing aids, "I didn't hear you." She turned around to face me, stepped up to my face and yelled "TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS!".... which I did.
I tried to get a haircut last week. I called my regular place and got put on hold for 5 minutes, then disconnected. I called back and the attendant asked me to hold. I announced my name said I had been holding and could I drive over for a cut. She said "Yes, we are very busy"...and I was disconnected again. So I drove over. When I walked in the attendant asked if I had an appointment. I said yes and told her my name whereupon and a stylist whirled around and said angrily, "I tried to tell you there would be an hour wait, but you hung up on me". I turned around and walked out without comment. Time for a new barber.
So I walked into Bruno's across the street. A woman in a mask pointed a finger at me and yelled across the room "Are you Walter?" I shook my head no. She yelled "Well, who are you?" I said, "I want a haircut." She said, "Well, you need an appointment. And I don't have any!" Again I turned around and walked out.
I was about to give up, just like I had with the TV Apple+ subscription and the taxes but decided instead to plod up the street in the -10-degree weather and walk into another barbershop that had recently opened. The big burly barber greeted me, took my coat and gave me the best razor cut and shave of my life. He was from Lebanon and his English was poor, but a hour later after a neck, shoulder, face and head massage, and after he trimmed my eyebrows, my ears and my nose, I tipped him well. He held my coat and gave me lollipops.
New barber, Check.
Some people are kind and accommodating to people with disabilities and with the aged. Some people are not. Some people are human beings. Some people are dicks. I am determined to not be a grumpy, old curmudgeon dick. It's not easy.
Just need to keep plodding along because it's not going to get easier. Just gotta keep laughing.
In your face, CHATGPT!
We have all been reading about the developments associated with Artificial Intelligence and, most recently, an application called ChatGPT. Some online accounts predict this technology will create major impacts on many of today's careers from financial management to journalism to engineering and especially software engineering. There are already reports of students using the app to write papers and newspapers producing articles. Future workforce beware. One online account described the concerns as being BS and overblown. So what is the truth?
My daughter and son-in law are tech savvy millennials and we talked about the issue at dinner the other night. They both have used the app and agree it will have a major impact in the short term, not only on their jobs, but in the global work world. I asked for a demonstration.
I have been thinking about writing a funny blog about the indignities of aging. So what would ChatGPT produce when simply instructed to write a lighthearted article about the topic? In less than 30 seconds, it wrote the following...
The Indignities of Old Age: A Lighthearted Look
"As we age, we experience a multitude of changes in our bodies and minds, some of which can be quite humorous. From forgetting names to shuffling around like we have a permanent limp, the indignities of old age can be quite a laugh riot. But, seriously, what's the deal with gravity? How does it suddenly get so strong? And why do our joints start creaking like a haunted house?
One of the most noticeable indignities of old age is our declining memory. We forget things that we once knew by heart, like our own phone number or the name of the person we just met. It's like our brain is playing a game of hide and seek and the memories are hiding just out of reach. And don't even get us started on trying to remember passwords. Our password is usually "password123" but we can never remember if it's with a capital P or not.
As if that weren't enough, our bodies start to rebel against us too. Our once nimble fingers now fumble and drop things, and our once strong legs now shake and quiver. And don't even get us started on the aches and pains that seem to pop up out of nowhere. It's like our bodies are saying, "Hey, remember when you were young and carefree? Well, payback's a b*tch!"
But, despite all these indignities, we can still find the humor in the situation. After all, laughter is the best medicine, right? Just imagine the look on the face of the young cashier who asked us if we need help reaching the top shelf, and we replied, "No, but thank you for offering. I just wanted to see if I still had my arms."
In conclusion, the indignities of old age may be many, but we can still find the humor in the situation. We may forget things, we may shuffle around, and we may ache in places we didn't know existed, but we're still here and we're still living life to the fullest. So, let's laugh and make the most of it!"
Not bad. The humor is trite. And the conclusion is lame. What seems to be missing is the personal experience piece. But the technology is simply amazing. And AI learns and becomes better at an exponential rate.
I will still write my blog on the subject...later.
The Singularity is Now.
Much of this information was collected by Frank and Norma from direct conversations with Abbie.
January 4th, 2023 is Abbie's 144th birthday. She was born in 1879 on Orrs Island, Maine, the oldest surviving child of Merrill York and Harriet Drusella Webber. Three siblings preceded her, each living 3 months or less. Four sisters and two brothers followed her although Mary Elizabeth, born the year following Abbie, died at 13. Abbie's line of descent is from Richard of Yorkshire, England who came to the Colonies in the mid 1600s and settled near Durham, N.H.
Abbie's parents were married in 1875 and moved to Orrs Island, where he was a fisherman. The family moved to Ferry Village in South Portland in 1903. The story from Abbie was that Harriet loaded up the family possessions on a scow and had it towed to South Portland...while William was out fishing. Strong women run in the family.
Abbie used to enjoy accompanying her father fishing. The fish were plentiful in the mid 1880s and, though William sometimes fished the Grand Banks with his uncle, he usually set his lines and nets inside Cliff and Chebeague Islands from his double ended dory. He was known to be a strong man and regularly rowed the 20 miles to and from Orrs Island. Another Abbie story is that one winter the ice was frozen solid on Portland Harbor, so he walked on the ice to get home.
She related conversations she had with her father while fishing. Once she spied some islands and said to him "Be that England, Father?" He reflected and replied, "Land sakes no, child. England be a hundred miles or more." Another time, while watching seagulls fly, he told her "You know Ab, someday a person will be able to fly in the sky just like those birds." Abbie said she was frightened and thought her father had become "daft".
She read the newspaper, front to back, well into her 90s, and stayed informed of everything going on in the state and the world. The only thing that slowed her down was losing her hearing and her eyesight. She was especially interested in the weather. Abbie never lost her interest in learning. She was often found reading the dictionary. One day her great grandson, Glen, who had been studying cirrus and cumulus cloud formations in school, asked her about the cloud overhead. She said, "You know, Sonny Boy, father always called them "Summer Floaters". And so we tell our grandchildren the same.
Other Abbie expressions were that someone kookie was "half past two" or "24 cents short of a quarter."
She only completed 5th grade on Orrs Island. Her parents said she had learned all there was to learn at that school and that further attendance was unnecessary. She always loved books. After she died her grandchildren and great-grandchildren donated children's books to the Orrs Island Library. It would have pleased her.
At age 13 Abbie came to Portland to work at Boones Restaurant on Custom House Wharf, the same wharf where great-grandson Craig built his lobster and bait businesses. She secured a room directly above the restaurant which proved to be quite exposed to the men on the waterfront. Even with her furniture barricading the door at night, it was not place for a 13-year-old girl. She moved into her Aunt Henrietta Woodbury's home in South Portland and worked as a housekeeper and a nannie. Clarence was living with his grandfather, Zephania Crockett, in South Portland and so they met. Clarence used to tell that Abbie loved ice skating and that she often wore a red wool skirt that used to "melt the ice".
Abbie and Clarence "courted" for 5 or 6 years before getting married. Abbie finally inspired him to "step up or step out". They were married on September 8, 1901, and moved in with his parents where George Linwood and later Mabelle Christine were born. They moved to Front Street in Ferry Village where Martha, Paul, Helen, Natalie and Robert were born, all without the benefit of electric lights.
Clarence began working as a well-paid hard hat dive in 1916, which should have made Abbie' life easier, but "circumstances determined it would not." Clarence was a hard drinker and there are stories where Abbie would send George and Mabelle to the wharf to get grocery money from Clarence before he spent it all in the Commercial Street Taverns. Abbie was a very resourceful provider. She knew which greens in the field were edible and she loved cooking and eating them. I remember well the crocks of salted dandelion greens, fiddleheads and salt fish that she prepared with Mabelle at 23 Morse Street. She used to cook boiled beef tongue for Frank as a special treat.
Abbie created clothing for her children from grain bags. She knew how to use sumac flowers to dye muslin and knitted mittens and scarves. She was very resourceful and never wasted anything. Her father was often at the door with fresh caught cod fish which she called "Cape Cod Turkey". She washed the clothes once a week, on Monday, boiling them on the woodstove, using homemade soap.
Abbie and Clarence moved several times and eventually, at age 70, Clarence retired from diving. From 1952 until 1960, they occupied a small apartment at the Gould Equipment Company on Haskell Street in South Portland, near Cash Corner. Craig and I remember visiting there. Clarence chewed plug tobacco and there were empty cans around the house, but always clean. Abby would have it no other way. I remember riding down to the Dairy Queen at Cash Corner with Clarence in a Model T Ford truck. Craig remembers getting in trouble for helping Clarence to his feet whereupon the went into the warehouse for a shot of rum.
At Clarence death in 1960, Abbie went to live with Mabelle and Morris on Morse Street in Pleasantdale until 1969 when Morris retired, and he and Mabelle moved to Florida. Abbie moved to Falmouth Manor when she lived until 1978. I remember sitting with her at Falmouth Manor, watching TV as an astronaut walked on the moon. She was reflective and told me about sitting on the point on Orrs Island as a child and watching the first steam powered boat enter Harpswell Sound. She witnessed so much change.
With failing health, she moved to Devonshire Nursing Home where she died on March 17, 1979 shortly after her 100th birthday party where she enjoyed a birthday meal of salt fish, potatoes, fiddlehead greens and homemade biscuits.
Shortly after the party she was able to meet and hold her great, great grandsons, Eric and Ryan. She also met and held great, great grandchildren Sayde and Christopher. Gail and Wendy knew her well. She told Gail she was pregnant with Kimberly...before Gail knew she was.
Abbie had 20 grandchildren, 41 great-grandchildren and 4 great-great grandchildren at the time of her death. She took a special interest in each.
To quote Norma, Abbie was "truly quite the lady."
Please feel free to provide me any personal memories or stories you might have or have been told by your folks and I will add them on this blog to perpetuate her memory.
Click here for audio YouTube of Abbie Emma https://youtu.be/qbQMfsT_nsc
Just discovered they are still playing reruns of the Oprah Show we were on way back in 2009.
https://youtu.be/NPtwn35G4AI
I watched it with a critical eye after all these years and, judging by the comments, feel like we achieved our goal of "helping if only one grieving person." It tugged at my heart to see Ryan and hear his brave message. But, despite our best efforts, we were unable to save him. Such a loss.
Miss my boys.
By the time I was old enough to remember him, around 12, he had firmly established himself as a cranky old curmudgeon. No one in the family spoke much of him. He was my mother's uncle, married her Aunt Helen, Mabelle's younger sister. Somewhere along the line, my folks decided it would be a nice thing to do to send me to their home on the Upper Narrows Pond in Winthrop for a work week. It wasn't the first time they had farmed me out. I had spent 4 days at their friend's home in the woods of Sutton Vermont working in the cedar swamp cutting logs. My job was to use a spud to peel off the bark. The sticky sap covered my arms and clothes and attracted the moose flies which ate me alive. Were my folks trying to teach me some lesson? The value of hard work?
Stanley Lester Loyer was born in January 1911 in Hollard, Michigan. His father, Leonard Lester Loyer and his mother, Lena Dewitt Loyer were born in 1883 and had 4 sons and a daughter. Stan was 3rd in line. His high school yearbook said he was on the football team his junior year (gotta love Ancestry.com).
He enlisted in the US Coast Guard in August of 1934 and was discharged 20 years later in November of 1954. Would love to know his military history, but too many hoops to jump through to get it from the government. I do know he served in WWII and in Korea. Somehow, I remember he was in Africa. I don't remember him ever talking about it.
I do know that he married Aunt Helen Iris Willard on May 15, 1943, in the middle of World Wat II and that they lived in Washington DC through 1950. In 1956 the records indicate they lived in Portland, Maine and, at some point, bought their cottage on Upper Narrows Pond in Winthrop. They never had children, something Helen tearfully lamented on her deathbed.
The one-story cottage was on the pond at the end of a steep dirt road off Rt 202. It had a glassed-in front porch, 2 small bedrooms, a small living room and kitchen. The basement was accessible from outside. There was a dock and a 12-foot aluminum boat, 2 gardens, an outbuilding and a half dozen beehives. Stan was the honey man in town and was well known in the State in the care and keeping of bees.
He wasn't a talkative man, but he was quick to teach me what he wanted done and how he wanted it done. I raked a lot of leaves, weeded the gardens and mowed the lawns. He taught me about bee keeping, tending the supers, collecting the combs. In the basement he had built a separator and my job was to cut off the top of the combs with a hot knife and spin the honey into a bucket where the debris and larva was filtered out.
He taught me about how bees dance to communicate, how to not get stung and how to deal with a sting when it happened. I remember making the mistake of releasing some bees from the basement and soon they had let the hive know where the honey was as they swarmed the windows.
He was a very smart man. If he wanted to learn something, to build something, he would. He read constantly.
One day he had me dive down to a waterline in the pond and attach a rope so we could haul it up and replace the foot valve. The next day he taught me how to make beer, lots of beer, in the basement. My job was to cap the bottles. Durning the night a case exploded. Might have been my fault. I cleaned up the mess.
At night he let me take the boat out with a gas lantern to fish and I burned the bejeezus out of my hand but didn't tell him. He also let me take the boat down to the Lower Narrows to visit my sister who was at Methodist Youth Camp.
When I was older, living in Fairfield Center with Connie and the kids, I would occasionally drive down to visit. Aunt Helen loved the boys. We helped with the leaves in the fall. And one year, when Winthrop lost power in an ice storm, I drove down and took all his frozen food to a freezer near my home. After the power was restored and the food was returned, he showed up at my house and gifted me with several saw blades for my radial arm saw. I talked to him about issues I had and projects I was planning with the house, and he sent me a long, detailed letter on how I should approach them.
I remember several conversations with him about finances and politics. He was very right wing and invested in blue chips and gold. He was not a trusting man of the government.
In the summer of 1989, after we moved back to Maine from Stamford and from MIT, I got word he was in Togus Veterans Hospital and that he was failing. I visited him. The conversation was limited, He seemed resigned to it, but he thanked me for visiting and for our times together. He was a good man.
He died on July 21, 1989. There were no services. He was cremated and buried at Togus Cemetery. Shortly afterwards, my folks and I helped Aunt Helen move back to South Portland. She sold the cottage and gifted me the aluminum boat...which my mother made me pay for.
What was she trying to teach me?
One important lesson I have learned; Never miss an opportunity to ask the questions you want to ask a person.
Cousin Leslie recalls:
Grossed me right out. He enjoyed watching me try to be polite and impressed!
