I find myself reading the obituary columns in the daily paper a little more than in year’s past. Like a test subject in a Skinner Box, I keep reading and every once and a while a familiar name providing me with intermittent positive reinforcement and a few minutes of stark, often sad reality. These days it seems there are more names to recognize and Wednesday’s Portland Press Herald was no exception. But instead of feeling sad or shocked in learning about the death of a friend or colleague, I was filled with delightful memories of happy and festive times, of a woman who was full of life.
Her name was Flora Jones and she was a teacher (4th Grade, I think) at the Josiah Bartlett Elementary School in Bartlett, New Hampshire. Yes, Josiah Bartlett is the famous – and real - colonial patriot, and ancestor of the fictional Josiah “Jed” Bartlet of West Wing fame. Yes, I know his name is spelled differently; blame it on Aaron Sorkin.
Flora was one of those rare creatures who filled the room with her presence. She was in many ways bigger than life, arousing those around her with wonder and the delight of living. Kids immediately sensed her spirit and her classroom was almost always a place of festivity and animation.
You could never be a stranger for long when Flora Jones was around. She either knew everything about before she met you, or quizzed you mercilessly until she was satisfied that she had enough information to judge you accordingly. That is what I remember about our first encounter. I’m not sure Flora liked everyone. She loved the kids, but adults, well; she might have been a little fussy with adults. But Flora told me she liked me and that’s all that mattered. I was always welcome in her room and would always take the opportunity to check in, to say hello and find out what mysteries of the universe were being discovered.
I have many pleasant memories of my times in that school but I think I’ll remember Flora best for the annual Bartlett staff parties around Christmas. The annual party was always held in the basement of Flora’s house, located just down the road from the school. Decorated in a nautical theme complete with fishing paraphernalia, old nets and lobster buoys, the basement – Davy Jones’ Locker - named after her late husband, was always full of people having a great time. I seem to recall that when first I saw the lobster buoys lining the walls of The Locker, Flora and I had our first conversation about the coast of Maine. Flora, you see, was from Boothbay Harbor and was soon regaled us with story after story of her younger days, hitchhiking to the Gorham Teachers College, and the summer dances at the old Boothbay Dance Hall. I remember thinking this grey haired lady must have been a force to be reckoned with in her bygone years.
It was to Boothbay Harbor that Flora Jones was to return after her 42 year teaching career was complete. And it was there in Boothbay Harbor that she would continue her enthusiasm for life, engaged in civic activities and community service.
I’ve had no contact with Flora since those days, many years ago in Bartlett. But ironically I recently met a teacher from Boothbay and out of the blue I thought of Flora. I asked this young woman if she had ever heard of Flora Jones and after a hesitant few moments, the woman announced that she “thought” the name was familiar. I knew immediately that this woman didn’t know Flora, because anyone who her met her - NEVER forgot her. You can’t just be "familiar" with a spirit like Flora.
Then this obituary appeared in Wednesday’s paper and I thought again about my old friend Flora. I read the standard lines describing highlights of life, career and family. It was very straight and proper, but it just didn’t seem to fit. This was a person so full of life, funny, sometimes a bit wild. This plain column of names and places was not, in my mind the way I wanted to remember this grand lady.
I read past the information about the funeral services and the requests for donations to be made to this and that charity; even the details about the funeral home. And there I saw it; a simple two word sentence that was the epitome of Flora Jones. There at the bottom of the page was the essence of this free sprit. There, once again, Flora Jones got in the last word.
“Toodle-doo”
~John Brandt