In thinking through Claude’s long life as I’ve known it through conversations with him, his children, and friends, I’ve come to believe that to have an understanding of him you have to return to his roots. That engaging accent derived from his birth and upbringing in Millinocket, Maine. His people came from Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, immigrants as were all these early settlers from England, Ireland, Scotland, and France. Their conversations around the dinner tables referenced the events of the 19th Century, including, I’m sure, the War of 1812 between the U.S. and the British Empire in Canada. Their struggles, often brutal, to wrench a life from the land and sea were heroic when successful and tragic in defeat. In the early days of the last century, the Great Northern Paper Mill commenced work in the town the company built in Millinocket on the falls of the Penobscot River. This offered economic opportunity to a population yearning for it.

Thus Claude’s family and that of his wife June were drawn to that remote town in northern New England in the shadows of Mt. Katahdin. It was a land rich in lumber and economic potential. Claude and June were raised in Millinocket, attended the local schools where they were high school sweethearts and went on to get degrees from the University of Maine in Orono. Claude graduated from college in 1934 with a degree in Mechanical Engineering. He found himself fortunate, given the Depression, to gain immediate employment with the Great Northern Paper Company. He and June were married in July, 1937 having waited until they felt they had secured enough financial security to start married life together. His career in the paper industry led him to New Hampshire, Connecticut and finally in 1960 to Piermont where he worked for the Continental Can Company until retirement.

Claude and I have some connections that we often discussed. My father’s people were also from Nova Scotia, from the same beautiful and barren landscape of their early years on this continent. I’ve climbed Mt. Katahdin on three occasions and know the rugged beauty of the timber forests and environmental degradation brought on by the mill towns. I feel at home, as did he, in northern New England and the Maritimes. But it was only in recent conversations with his daughter Claudia and son Warren that I realized how connected he was to his roots. They said that traveling with him on their summer trips back to Nova Scotia was often extraordinary as he seemed to know every river in New England by name (as a son of the paper industry should) and the history of people and places along the route. As we all know, his mind was crystal sharp and he enjoyed sharing what he knew with those who were interested. The most memorable conversations I’ve ever had about Nova Scotia were with Claude.

I never knew Claude’s wife June. His friend Vince Gillen told me that during her illness, from which she died 14 or so years ago, he never left her side. Vince also told me that Claude’s deepest setback, to use Vince’s phrase, was the death of his daughter Margaret regretting that “a parent should not outlive their children.” And yet live he did. Warren and Claudia told me that he read the New York Times every day, including the morning of his stroke. The last week of his life he renewed his car registration because as we all know he was still driving at 99. On his desk was the about to be mailed renewal of his drivers license, telling his children that this would regretfully be the last he would renew it. Warren told me that he was playing tennis into his nineties and that the Yankees continued to be a passion. He and his friend Vince would converse by phone after every game.

Yet there were also things unknown, or known only to a very few until this week: Claudia found a high school yearbook in which his athletic prowess was detailed and also that he was in the school drama group. Drama group! Claude? Do you know the story of the time he attached a wired tomato to Vince’s scraggly un-green thumbed plant as a surprise for the Gillens when they returned from a trip?

He was a faithful and active member of Christ Church. I was astonished to get a list of his renovation and maintenance work at the church with Vince and their friend Joe Fofol. He was a skilled carpenter and wood worker. He continued to pledge towards the financial well being of the church and attended services on a regular basis. Having him in church was like having a visiting historic figure: there’s Claude, he’s 85; there’s Claude, he’s 90; there’s Claude, he’s 95; there’s Claude, he’s 99. We have been blessed by his many years in our midst. This good and faithful and honorable man will be missed by all of us fortunate to have known him.

Claude is survived by his son, Warren Baker, of Mill Creek, WA; daughter Claudia Dybdahl of Anchorage, AK; grandchildren, Paula, Anders, Paul and Anna; and great-grandchildren Carlynn and Bristol. He was dedicated to his family and will be sorely missed by all.