Sonny’s Smile: Lessons in Good Cheer from a Maine Logger

Sonny’s smile, to me, is Maine … He was and is an example of good cheer in the midst of adversity, love of life, hard work, and others. He and Mary were defining forces in my life, and still are.

Sonny, whose last name I will omit in deference to privacy, was a force in my life from a very young age. He is a logger, always has been, when not running his saw mill, yet always has time for people.

Boys in Maine typically grew up in the woods, if not lucky enough to live on the ocean. They were taught to fix things from cars, tractors, and boats to indoor plumbing. They were often part of Boy Scouts, 4-H, Little League, Babe Ruth, and other community activities, all of which were done after “chores.”

On weekends, or odd week nights, whole families would go to what we called “Grange Suppers,” which cost next to nothing, since we all brought things for them, veggies and mac & cheese to pies.

Other community institutions, recognizable to most Mainers, were a healthy, thriving church or three (we had two), local library, volunteer fire department, elementary school, sometimes higher-level schools, famous (locally) fishing and swimming holes, bridges to jump from, rope swings.

In those days, we were expected to have common sense, know how to swim, cycle, get around by ourselves, not be out on the lake in a thunderstorm, not to drag canoes over rocks, not to be on thin ice (although I learned those lessons the hard way).

Sonny was – as we progressed from Cub Scouts through Webelos to Boy Scouts – a scout leader for a rag-tag bunch of us, more an Andy Griffith-style scout leader than a bookish one. He taught us to think out problems, figure them out, from knives, knots, and fires to first aid.

Sonny was – as I reflect on it – always at the end of a long day, whether he had been cutting, riding ruts with his skidder, or trucking. He did all three. Somehow, for his oldest son – in my grade – and the rest of us, he always had the necessary energy. Mary, his wife, would supply the cookies.

Interesting, isn’t it, how some memories stick. They had a donkey, which I always thought funny, as few I knew had one. He was always ready with a fast smile, dry wit, old Yankee all the way.  All that was more than 50 years ago, and yet his laughter is as fresh in my mind as ever.

Over the years, Mary and Sonny were supportive of me, and Sonny still is, always interested in the latest, quick with thoughts and encouragement, quiet for long stretches. Sonny and Mary have three children, but as life goes, they lost two to diseases, and yet never lost their faith or smiles.

Recently, Mary went home to our Lord. I have no doubt she will be welcomed and spice the place up with her personality. She was at church every Sunday. All winter for decades, Sonny would rise at somewhere five a.m., go up to the North Wayne Church and turn on the heat, get things toasty.

Not sure if he still does that, but he is in his 90s now. Real patriots they were, and he still is. Mary’s brother was in WWII, came home with six purple hearts. The bad guys could not fell him, never did.

Some busy days, I just stop, as I am now, and look out the window. One life touches so many, and good lives touch people in good ways. They seldom know how many they have touched, the good they have done, the examples they provide. Truth is we can all do that.

Sonny’s smile was so real, heartfelt, and solid that I can bring it to mind easily; Mary’s voice too.  We are touched by good people, which is how we learn to be good people, we Americans, Mainers, all who care about other people. This is really where life begins and ends. Some days, I sit back and think how lucky we are – to have people like Sonny in our lives. Today is one. Sonny, to me, is Maine.