What kind of a person gives a pocketknife like THAT to a minister? Maybe a free-spirited, old lumberjack.
In the late 1950s and early 60s, when my father was the minister of a church in northern New Hampshire, a man named Solomon Smith was a member of the congregation . He was around 90 years old and, fittingly for that area, was a retired lumberjack. At some point, he gave the pocketknife to my father, who kept it in his desk drawer.
That’s pretty much all I knew about it until the other day when I came across an old document in a file folder. On two discolored pieces of paper is the typewritten “Tribute to Solomon H. Smith” that my father prepared for Solomon’s funeral. Some excerpts:
A TRIBUTE TO SOLOMON H. SMITH
Born: March 17, 1868 at Germantown Lake, New Brunswick
Died: April 18, 1961 at Berlin, New Hampshire
Services: April 21, 1961 at Berlin, N.H.
Rev. Sherburne Ray, minister
We have come here today not only to bury a man, but to acknowledge as well the passing of an era, a generation of men who carried long and well the tradition of an age that is now past. We will no longer see these stalwart souls who proudly bore the stamp of their years, and dared to be wholly themselves amidst changing conditions about them.
Here was one who always carried with him the freshness of the woods, the lightness of the air, and the toughness of the yoke. He absorbed his troubles into a homely philosophy which often gave great insight into the otherwise confusing experiences of the day. . .
. . .
There is no better eulogy that could be given of his life, the spirit of the man, the confidence in life and men, than the words of his own poem in which he said:
"So come all you jolly lumbarin' boys
That gets home safe and sound
....................................................
You'll soon forget your hardships
And your feet 'at was so lame,
And tell to all your comrades
How you rolled it -- up in Maine."
May his memory long refresh us, that we may witness of our day as clearly as he did of his, with the same positive faith in men and God.
I’ve omitted the more religious parts of the tribute, but the full text is available in pdf here or in its original form below.
In preparing this post, I’ve learned that Solomon Smith was not, as I had always imagined, one who felled trees; rather, he worked mostly in paper mills. Berlin, New Hampshire, was a major paper mill town and the home of an industry giant, Brown Company. Solomon’s 89th birthday was commemorated in the company publication, “The Brown Bulletin.”
From the Brown Bulletin, April 1957, page 17:
“I came to Berlin in June, 1895,
and went to work the next morning
at the Burgess Mill,” he declared.
“My first job was loading and unloading
the cars. I was foreman
on the electric generators from
1914 until 1922, and later served
as a millwright. I was the first
man to run a baling press at the
Burgess. At one time, I was in
charge of all the motors on the
river.
“I went to the International Paper Company to run their sulphite
room. Then, I returned to the Cascade mill, where I took charge of
repairs on the paper machines for
about three years. From there, I
went to British Columbia to help
build the Powell River Paper Company. I finally returned to work
for Brown Company, until my retirement. All told, I spent about 22
years with Brown Company.”
Finally, I am having to fact check my dad a bit. What he called “Solomon’s own poem” in his tribute was mostly likely Solomon’s version of an old, well-known lumberman’s song: “The Shanty Boys.” In the late 1800s, “shanty boys” was a common term for those who worked in the lumber camps.
The Shanty Boys
Come all ye good jolly fellows and listen to my song,
It's all about the shanty boys and how they get along;
We're all good jolly fellows as ever you will find,
To wear away the winter months a-whaling down the pine.
Solomon Smith died when I was just 2 months old, so I obviously don’t remember him. Strangely, though, I’ve never forgotten him. And I keep his pocketknife in my desk drawer.