Let's write about bridges and the people who remember them

Remember Maine writer Glenna Johnson Smith

An echo blog published by the Bangor Daily News by Juliana L'Heureux

ECHOES: Rediscovering Community magazine was a publication created to honor Maine Acadians. An ECHOES Acadian keepsake edition honored the World Acadian Congress in 2014, hosted by Maine and Canadian communities on both sides of the border in the St. John Valley, including Aroostook County. This special edition 2014, is a treasure trove full of excellent articles.

“We wanted to celebrate the international event with an issue that represents the presence of Acadian culture on the pages of Echoes since Issue No. 1 in 1988,” said Kathryn Olmstead, editor. “I think this issue achieves that goal, even though it contains only a fraction of the more than 90 Acadian stories that have appeared over the years.”

One of the articles in this ECHOES attracted my attention because it tells the story about the days before there was a Hancock-Sullivan bridge and after it was built, published in a personal essay titled “A Ferry Tale”, by “Old County Woman”, the late Glenna Johnson Smith. I located the loving obituary published about her life and received permission from her granddaughter Jasmine Rae Smith and her father Melbourne Smith to republish in this blog article. “She was a wonderful grandmother, teacher and human,” wrote Jasmine in her response to my request.

Stories about bridges and ferry crossings draw my attention because the symbolism brings people together. “A Bridge and Its History”, is about the swinging bridge across the Androscoggin River in Brunswick (visit blog here). Another story I wrote is about The International Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial Bridge, connecting the community of Lubec, Maine in the United States with Campobello Island, in the Canadian province of New Brunswick, across the Lubec Narrows (visit blog here). So, now I am pleased to have contributed a trilogy of articles about Maine’s bridges in this blog. I also added Glenna Johnson Smith’s life story told in her obituary, after the essay.

A Ferry Tale by Glenna Johnson Smith included her own photographs.

I remember reading a story about Charon, a ferryman who transported the souls of the dead across the river Styx, and on the on to the underworld. That ferryman had much in common with the one who carried me across the Taunton Stream from Sullivan to Hancock.

Today, a ride from Sullivan to Ellsworth is short and the roads are good, but back in the 1920s, the ferryman made it an unpredictable journey.

Mama, Papa and I would climb up into the Model T and drive over a dusty road to the riverside. Then we would sit there and wait. The ferryman on the other shore would ignore us until he had a car to bring across. Because there was little traffic back then it could be a long wait.

Sometimes I’d tell Mama I had to go and Papa would say, “You should have thought of that while we were driving through the woods.” Filling stations with restrooms were far into the future. Mama carried spare bloomers, in case of an accident.

At last, Papa would drive the Model T onto the moving scow, which wasn’t much wider than the car, and which didn’t have any railings that I can recall. Just below us, the river erupted into falls, not high ones like Niagara, but still they were rock falls. Mama needed a powerful reason for going to Ellsworth since she was sure some day the ferryman would lose control and we’d go over the falls to our deaths. If Papa had errands in Ellsworth, Mama and I sat in the car and watched the people on the street. Yet, that pleasure was tainted by the fear of the return trip on the ferry.

I may have been seven or eight years old when the new bridge was built. How wonderful to go to Ellsworth without driving on a ferry.

The bridge was hinged, however a piece of it would more to the side to allow a tall-masted schooner to go upstream for a load of Sullivan granite on its way to pave the streets. Only once we had to wait for a schooner to pass. Now that “new” bridge, too narrow for present-day traffic, has been replaced by yet another new bridge. The bridge that would “sing” when a car drove over it is now just a memory. There aren’t many of us left who remember the ferryman or the singing bridge. A ride from Sullivan is now quick and comfortable, smooth roads and cars with windows that roll down or have air conditioning and big tires for a smooth ride.

Yet today’s traveler lacks the suspense and the adventure of the ferry ride over our River Styx.

Gloria Johnson Smith lived and wrote from Presque Isle, after her retirement as a Presque Isle High School English teacher, in 1990. She wrote and directed plays, led elder hostels and classes for senior citizen groups, conducted workshops on writing for schools and volunteered at ECHOES magazine. Her essays and stories have been collected into two books, “Old Maine Woman”, published in 2010, by Islandport Press in Yarmouth Maine and “Return of Old Maine Woman”, released in June 2014.

Obituary from the funeral announcement: Family, friends remember Presque Isle teacher, writer famous for ‘old woman’ tales of the County.

PRESQUE ISLE, Maine – Glenna Johnson Smith, passed away on Saturday, August 8, 2020, surrounded by her family. She was born in Lincolnville, Maine and grew up in Ashville, Maine, the daughter of Seth and Kathleen Proctor Johnson. She was predeceased by her parents and by her sister-in-law Pauline Smith Kirkpatrick and Pauline’s husband Kenneth of Easton, Maine, her sister-in-law Natalie Smith Henness of Brandon, Florida and her dear friend Louise Findlen of Fort Fairfield, Maine. She attended Sullivan, Maine schools, graduated from the University of Maine in Orono and did graduate work at the University of California @ San Jose, the University of Minnesota and the University of Maine at Orono and Presque Isle.

Glenna married Donald C Smith of Easton, Maine in 1941 and lived on a potato farm in Presque Isle, Maine. The greatest joy of her life was watching her sons Steven, Byron and Melbourne grow up. She is survived by her three sons, Steven’s wife Sylvia, Melbourne’s daughters Jasmine and her fiancé Brian and Hillary and her husband Rick, Melbourne’s step-daughter Ashley and her husband Mark and Melbourne’s step-son Joshua and his wife Bethany. She is also survived by Jasmine’s daughter Ella, and son Calvin, Hillary’s son Kevin, Ashley’s son Tim and daughter Abby, Joshua’s children Meti, Enoch, Tigist, Justice and Erbeka, the four beloved nieces Shirley, Diane, Linda and Lorraine and lifelong friends Kerry and Kent.

“The time has come” the walrus said, “to talk of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax – of cabbages and kings.” * Sullivan High School had only three teachers: the principal taught math and science, one woman taught English and the other woman taught French and Latin. A teacher, Miss Ruth Belknap, encouraged Glenna to learn a dramatic piece each year to present at local, county and state contests. Glenna’s college years were not satisfying. She had been strongly urged to major in home economics and she hated everything about the course. She was invited to join a sorority but did not have the money to do so. She admired at a distance —runner from her window and her friend Sally Culberson introduced her to him — Don Smith, her future husband. Don and Glenna saw each other briefly every night from 6-7:30, when they walked to Orono to have whoopee pies and milk at Pat’s Pizza. Soon after graduation, Don & Glenna married and moved to Easton, where they lived in a farmhouse that had neither running water nor electricity. Glenna had no idea how to be a farm wife and she didn’t fit in with Don’s family. In fact, they made fun of her at Sunday gatherings. After 30 years, he wanted a divorce and she was devastated. However, she soon learned that she was better-off single; she no longer feared his temper and she could make her own choices. When her sister-in-law Polly asked if she’d like to buy Richard Hoyt’s house, she said yes before she ever saw it. She had recently sold her father’s house in Sullivan, so she could afford it. She was tired of being cooped up in her tiny apartment. Ever after, she loved her small house on a quiet street. She loved her trees and her little flower garden. Mary, across the street, was a good friend and neighbor. Glenna was sad when Mary moved away.

Glenna taught school for nearly 40 years in Easton, Fort Fairfield and for most of that time at Presque Isle High School, where she assisted with the drama program. In later years, she wrote seven plays which were produced in Maine and New Hampshire schools as well as community and summer theaters. Two of her plays represented her state at New England drama festivals. She had poems published in Maine Speaks, an anthology of Maine writers, and in a New England anthology and other journals. Some of her essays appeared in Yankee Magazine. She wrote two books: Old Maine Woman and Return of Old Maine Woman, published by Islandport Press. After retiring from public-school teaching, Glenna worked for Northeast Publishing Co. and she taught courses and Elder Hostel classes at the University of Maine at Presque Isle. She wrote a column for Echoes Magazine for 25 years and she belonged to a writing group of friends.

Although her sons and grandchildren were the center of her life, she was thankful for her dear friends and colleagues, for her teaching, writing and theater experiences and for all her days in the changing landscapes and seasons in Northern Maine.

“Oh, Oysters” said the carpenter, “you’ve had a pleasant run. Shall we be trotting home again?”* Lewis Carroll from Through the Looking Glass.

In her long and successful career as a teacher, Glenna Johnson Smith certainly inspired multi-generations of young and not so young Franco-Americans in Northern Maine and beyond.