He was the kind of man the world needs more of! He was a man of few words, although quiet by nature he had a strength and wisdom greater than most. I don’t think there was anything he couldn’t do! Growing up he took on almost a superhero status as the guy who could fix anything. A broken toy or a broken bike, there was no challenge he seemingly couldn’t fix in my eyes. Accomplishing most of it alone mind you as asking for help was seldom done! It seemed there wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix, tractors, farm machinery, toys you name it and he could rebuild, refabricate or just plain replace.
I never heard a boasting word leave his lips. Humble to a fault he was liked by everyone who knew him. He was well known in our small town and respected by everyone. I honestly don’t believe there was anyone who would say a bad word about him. He was known mostly for his mild-mannered ways and generosity. He would help anyone who needed it as long as he was able to.
He wasn’t one for cussing either! I can't say I ever heard him say a bad word no matter how frustrated he was. Silence was used in many ways and he knew when to “let it be” better than most.
Although he was well read and very smart I never heard him debate politics, sports or religion, frankly I can't remember him talking about anything that normally separates and pulled us apart as a people. If a debate raged around him he would just silently sit there and wait till the topic changed. Discussions with him usually started with the weather and ended with questions about how you were doing.
I Never heard him complain about any challenges life threw at him and there were many. He had a sense of humor that I never really appreciated until I grew older. Even after an unfortunate accident where he pinned himself under his tractor wheel and had to be rescued, he joked about it for years as trying to run over himself with his own tractor.
Looking back, I can see many times when he would use mild-mannered sarcasm to poke fun at me, an effort lost on me most of the time. For instance, as a teenager one day, I took my 1972 VW bug out in a snowstorm, not my brightest move but hey this is Maine! I hit a snow drift and got stuck in the middle of the road. There was no one else on the road that day to help as the weather was bad. Well, I had no one else to call as it was a work day and dad was at the mill, so I called to see if he could help me out.
Although he was out working in the wagon house at the time, the cry for help was conveyed and off he came with the truck and a chain to the rescues of this foolish young’un who used bad judgment to be out on such a day. Within minutes he pulled up beside me, rolled down his window and in his best straight face look at me and said.. “stuck huh”? I remember thinking to myself …. WELL YA! that’s what I called for!!! Geesh!!
Only later in life did I realize that behind that smirk was a good-natured ribbing about the stupid situation I had put myself in that day and often did. No lectures came, no “what were you thinking of being out on a day like this?” No, just the needed help was provided with a warm smile and then without a word, after pulling me free, he was off headed back to the farm to finish his task. He didn’t wait for a thank you as none was expected or needed.
He was a truly a quiet man. I remember spending hours at his house never hearing his voice, yet always being met with a quick “hi” and a warm and inviting smile that said all that needed to be said. Then he would scurry on about his business once he realized the purpose of my visit did not involve him.
I watched he and his son spend 100’s of hours together while I was growing up. Long periods of time would go by without a word. Whether sitting on the porch watching the world go by or working around outside together on a project. The silence was a common and natural thing. As a young man, I never understood the silence. Something always seemed to be missing. Surely there were things to talk about, Gossip to pass on or news to cover? Surely !!
Little did I know it was exactly as it was meant to be. They didn’t need to talk. Being there to help when needed or a visit for a spell or even just to sit on the porch and watch the sunset on the mountains said it all. The silence was all that needed to be said and the message between them was loud and clear. I care, I’m here and I always will be. It took many years for me to understand that. To be able to appreciate the silence and enjoy the presence.
I remember one of the last times we all gathered at the farm for Christmas. My cousins and their families from Bangor came down every Christmas to celebrate. By this time I was grown and had young children of my own. Children who grew to love him as much as I did. The house was full of adults and kids running everywhere. He sat silent most of the time. Only speaking when spoken to, yet enjoying every minute of the hustle and bustle that filled his home.
As I sat across the room watching him I could see tears welling in his eyes, tears generated by the joy one feels from having 4 generations of his family all under one roof enjoying a day with him. He didn’t see me watching and quickly wiped away any sign of emotion before anyone saw him, but for me, it was the rare moment I was blessed to witness. Again no words were spoken yet the message was clear.
The call came in late June of 2003, that he was in the hospital. The prognosis was not good. My family and I were 1400 miles away at that time living in Alabama. We loaded the suburban with everything we needed and headed for Maine. Praying we would make it in time.
I drove 24 hours straight as I often did but this time there was an urgency that made the trip even more nerve-wracking.
When we got to the hospital he was sitting back on pillows in an attempt to prop him up. He didn’t look like the strong man I grew up with. I instantly knew this time he wasn’t going to be able to fix this. Time and the stroke had taken its toll and he looked tired, weak and for the first time in my life broken. We talked to the nurses and doctors, the family mingled and quietly spoke amongst ourselves. We also spoke “with” him. He would nod and you could tell he understood but speech came hard at this point so I guess he didn’t try. He didn’t need to.When I left the hospital that day it was the last time I saw this great man alive. I leaned over and gave him a hug and for the first time as an adult I whispered: “I love you Gramp”. As I pulled away our eyes met. He never said a word nor did I, yet the silence said it all. With tears in my eyes, I squeezed his hand and walked away.
It's been 15 years since he left us and his silence still speaks to me.
Arnold Smith
April 28, 1917 - July 8, 2003
