The Irreplaceable Lester Smith
“He’s a type, right? Individuals like (him) can be men or women, old or young, but chances are their gusto for their singular obsession is captivating (or irritating, depending on your mood that day). And one other thing — I’m speaking from personal experience now — part of this package typically involves an unusual hat. We all know these people. They are recurring American characters.” Jack Hitt, Bunch of Amateurs.
If you’ve never met Lester Smith, you’ve probably seen him.
He was the guy taking pictures at some town event. He was the guy helping the Boy Scouts. He was the guy always at The Suffield Observer. He was the guy literally digging into Suffield’s history. He was the guy in any meeting being held within the borders of Suffield, making an erudite, insightful yet subtly barbed comment.
Oh, yeah, Lester was the guy wearing the train engineer’s hat.
Lester Smith, longtime Suffield resident, volunteer and renaissance man, passed away on August 29 at 97.
I met Lester the first day I volunteered at The Suffield Observer 20 years ago. Spotting a new face, he initiated something a little short of an interrogation. After he culled enough information, he reached a conclusion about my usefulness and thanked me for moving to Suffield.
Always inquisitive, I realize that he never gave me a chance to know a thing about him.
It’s only until now that I’ve learned he was an engineer – a graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and a senior engineer at Hamilton Standard – whose career spanned an era when the aerospace industry was infinite in its capacity for discovery.
It makes sense. Around town, he was always out in front, asking questions, taking pictures, and compiling data – skills not only applicable to science but critical for a journalist.
The only skill in journalism that can’t be taught is curiosity. You either have the instinct to seek out the truth or you don’t. Lester was the type of guy who had to see “it” for himself, whatever “it” was.
When the street clock was installed in the center of town, Lester covered its unveiling. As he wrote the story late on a Saturday evening, he realized that the next day, which was just a few minutes away, was a daylight savings day. Would the clock automatically adjust the hour? He had to know. He ran out of the house, raced to the Green and watched the minutes tick. When the clock struck midnight, the time sprung forward. He bore witness in the pages of the Observer.
There’s a belief that no one is irreplaceable. Lester was one of a kind, and Suffield has lost one of its greatest.
He would probably dismiss such sentiments as hyperbolic as he was very familiar with the town’s history and famous residents. He might ask: Are his contributions to Suffield greater than that of the temperance leader Sylvester Graham?
There’s a tendency to romanticize history and forget that even the great ones were regular people doing the best they could for their community.
Lester lived and worked for Suffield. And, like the cracker that bears Graham’s name, he was everywhere.