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!
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