The Fourth of July reminds me each year of a memorable Independence Day Celebration in 1984, when my grandfather, Edwin (Ted) Maddox, a highly regarded islander, selectman, and staunch Republican state legislator representing Vinalhaven and North Haven and the rest of Knox County, was leading the Vinalhaven parade, as he often did. He was a fierce patriot and was in his element standing at attention anywhere near the flag of the United States of America, which, on this occasion, flew on the Jeep’s front bumper.
In 1958 he brought Democratic Gov. Edmond Muskie to Vinalhaven to take part in the Fourth of July parade. As a fervent Republican, he opposed nearly everything Muskie stood for, but they were clearly friends, entirely respectful of one another and of their opposing views.
Gramp was very good friends with Everett Libby, another popular islander and businessman, and in 1960, during his term of office, he and Everett conceived and successfully shepherded through the legislature creation of the Maine State Ferry Service. Until then we’d been served by a perfectly comfortable wooden ferry which only carried one or two cars.
My parents and my own little family were enjoying the parade on that lovely summer day from a second-floor balcony overlooking Main Street. The World War II Jeep carrying my grandfather, he standing at attention and holding the windshield to keep himself that way, passed by below, followed by a parade of veterans and a marching band.
After they’d gone by, the toe-to-toe lineup of people who’d been standing erect with their hands over their hearts, settled into a much more jubilant comportment, as every fire truck, our ambulance, and the sheriff’s patrol car passed by, sounding their sirens simultaneously, trying to outdo one another.
The floats were still passing by when the distant sirens took on a sudden, distinctly alarming urgency.
Then, sirens diminishing somewhat as the parade continued eastward, one float after another, all funny, some hilarious, brought up the rear. The floats were still passing by when the distant sirens, by now out of sight as they’d rounded a corner to the east, took on a sudden, distinctly alarming urgency. The parade slowed and then stopped, and an unmistakenly cognitive wave swept back through the crowd toward us. After what seemed forever, a young woman came running down the street, and climbed the stairs to our balcony, to tell us that Grandpa Ted had suffered a heart attack and could not be revived.
We learned later that the veterans and the band had stopped beneath an enormous American flag to salute and render their allegiance. Grandpa Ted, very proud of America, of this day, of the veterans he led and of all things American, stood right under the flag, devoted, rendering a proper salute and probably with a tear rolling down his cheek, fell over, having died instantly.
He spoke frequently to me, his teenage grandson, of the legislative process, of our great American democracy, of deliberation, of consensus, and of bowing to the will when the will was not your own.
He cherished the decorum and dignity with which those processes were achieved within his House of Representatives and was so proud to be part of it all. At this point, I’m glad he’s no longer with us to witness what has become of the great democracy he felt was ours.
Phil Crossman lives on Vinalhaven where he owns the Tidewater Motel. He may be contacted at PhilCrossman.vh@gmail.com.
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