To the Editor:

I’m a relative newcomer to Altamont — a little over two years — but I have been here long enough to know that, without Porter, the village just won’t be the same. There are some people — a handful, no more — who lend a special grace to the everyday.

Porter was among them. I used to see him walking the fairgrounds and the backroads, determined not to lean unduly on his walker. He was one of those defining figures like an ancient oak, a constant, and an inspiration, who, at 94, would not be satisfied with a rocker or a couch.

I had a half-dozen conversations with him, that’s all, but each was memorable. I remember in the dead of winter, he stood on the corner of Park and Main, staring with a disapproving look at the ice and snow on the corner curb, and remembering that, in his day, such a thing would have long been cleared. He was a man of standards. I learned that early on.

And though he’d suffered his share of losses and then some, he seemed to retain the love long after, and not let the bitterness cast its shadow. My partner, Diana, runs Bella Fleur flower shop and knew him far better.

Each week he came round to pick up a rose for his beloved wife who he’d lost years earlier. One day when the weather was harsh and the snow deep — too deep for him to navigate — Diana and I personally delivered his rose, and watched him set it devotedly before the picture of his departed wife. There was nothing pitiable about it. His feelings transcended death.

And death was something he knew much about, and not just as the long-time director of a funeral home. One day we crossed in the post office, and began a conversation. How we got on it, I do not recall, but we discovered we had both lost a child.

It is a bond that I do not freely share, but he was so open about it, I could not resist. He told me he had prepared many a body in his line of work, but not until he lost his child did he fully realize the full meaning of loss.

I suspect he was always sensitive in dealing with the grieving, but I believed him when he said that after his own loss he looked upon his work differently. It had a deeper intimacy and poignancy after that. I was struck that a man of his generation – The Greatest Generation – was so capable of sharing his feelings, and with a near stranger no less. He seemed all the stronger for his vulnerability.

It was no secret that if his hearing aids were not properly adjusted, he could be near deaf as a post. But even then, he was quick to favor me with a wave and a smile. All conversations involved leaning in, but it was a privilege to be in his space.

Diana reminded me that, when asked how he was doing, he always had the same response: “I’m right on the top shelf,” he would say. And you know, he was right. He was indeed top of the shelf. Porter, even by this newcomer, you will be missed.

Ted Gup

Altamont

Editor’s note: See related obituary.