To the editor:
This is a letter to the editor regarding the friendship that I shared with a kind man, Malcolm Berman. I write this in his memory.
I met Malcolm about 19 years ago at the Shiretown Bakery on Main Street. I was selling radio advertising to local businesses. Being new to the area, I was finding it difficult to fit in and feel comfortable in a new community. He struck up a conversation with me and I found him to be an intriguing, very well-read and knowledgeable man on many different topics. I soon learned he was quite opinionated and I am sure that over the years this got him into some heated arguments. However, it never mattered to me; he was my friend.
We would run into each other often at the bakery, have coffee and just talk about life. He knew some of my Houlton family heritage and because I didn’t grow up here, it was interesting and, at times, humorous to talk with him about my relatives. He spoke very highly of my grandmother and how well she was liked in the community.
One of my memories of Malcolm was seeing him drive around town with his car full of newspapers. I would just shake my head and smile. I don’t think he ever threw a scrap of paper away, as his pockets were always bulging with little pieces of paper. While he must have made copious notes, I don’t think he ever forgot anything we had talked about!
As the years passed, we saw each other often and continued our conversations and shared laughter whether over local or national topics or just life in general. One topic he was very well versed in was that of precious stones and jewelry. He once showed me a rare tourmaline from Africa and talked about what a beautiful piece of jewelry it would make. Needless to say, I learned much about precious stones.
He was a frequent guest at my restaurant and I would prepare him whatever he requested. The staff and I would always laugh at how he would always order his soup; he wanted it “hot, hot, hot”! He especially loved fish. I would cook his meal with some special touches and he was always so complementary about my culinary skills, no matter how simple the dish. I was happy to see him have a healthy, fresh meal.
In the past couple of years, I knew his health was failing and at times he would talk to me about not feeling all that great. He would come out in the worst days of winter, not always dressed appropriately and needing something to eat. Those were the times he especially enjoyed some “hot, hot, hot” soup! I once fixed scallops for him and he told me “This was the last meal my Mother fixed for me before she died.” I was touched, though it pained me to see such a strong man be so distraught.
My husband and I would often drive him to his apartment, and take him to meet the bus when he would be traveling. I worried about him and always wished him well, as I knew his health was failing. I was so hurt to know that he died alone. No one should ever have to pass on by themselves. Even by choice.
Yes, Malcolm was a complex soul, yet at the same time, he was a very simple man. However, most of all, he was a dear friend, and I will miss him greatly.
Joyce E. Transue
Hodgdon
