If you were part of the crowd that made up the June town meeting a few years ago, the day we voted down the Lincolnville police force, you might remember him. The Biblical character, standing silently on the sidelines, dressed in a rough robe, sandals, unruly gray hair and beard, holding a formidable staff in one hand. Moses. Somehow he evoked Moses.

That apparition was Richard Rosenberg. Our friend. Richard Rosenberg.

We were on different sides of the police issue that day. Richard wasn’t big on authority, and that seemed to be what we were voting on at that never-to-be-forgotten Town Meeting. Authority. (For those not in the know, we voted out our police department that day by the under-whelming margin of three votes.)

 Anyway. Richard was apparently energized by the victory, for not long after he engaged in his most dramatic venture in a nearly 40-year career as Lincolnville’s most notable crank and tweaker of town officials. He moved a huge hulk of a boat/barge thing into tiny Levenseller Pond, and announced, to anyone who’d listen, that he planned to float Airstream trailers on it and rent them out as a B & B. And then invited investors to join him in the venture.

The barge eventually burned, thus, thankfully for we taxpayers, putting an end to what might have been an unending nightmare for the town of Lincolnville. As it is, he leaves behind unpaid taxes, and unpaid legal fines — in short, three decades worth of hassles.

 Richard’s property on Levenseller straddled the Lincolnville-Searsmont town lines, so whatever trouble he caused in Lincolnville was being duplicated in Searsmont. Frank Theriault, L’ville’s Code Enforcement Officer, used milk crates to hold all the files pertaining to Richard Rosenberg’s many issues with the town. And I believe Richard loved every minute of it.

 We met Richard on what might have been his first week in town. He and his long-time partner, Dawn, stopped at my “Perennials for Sale” sign one day, and asked if I might plant a perennial garden for them. I was pretty green in those days, and eager to earn a few dollars. Of course, I could do that I said. They gave me a tour of their new property: Three run-down camps hugging the shores of tiny Levenseller, which is bisected by the Searsmont-Lincolnville town line.

It didn’t look very promising as the site of a perennial garden — shady, rocky, rough land. I certainly didn’t have the expertise to turn it into a perennial paradise, but of course, I said I’d try. I drew up a color sketch of what I’d plant there, and presented it to them, a couple fresh from Florida, eager to start over in this distant land. (The perennial garden of their dreams never thrived on that unlikely lot. However, they hung onto my optimistic drawing, often reminding me of my gardening failure.)

 Early on, Richard had plans for his new property. He turned one of the buildings into a workshop where he produced the personalized brass plaques he sold through stores all over the country. I remember Neiman Marcus would send him orders for the little plaques that were attached to customized luggage. He and Dawn turned another building into their home.

 And I think that’s when the trouble between Richard and the town started. He wanted to add a deck onto the pond side of the camp, and was turned down. No surprise. All three camps were within the shoreland zone, a fairly recent designation in those days. The buildings themselves were grandfathered, of course, but any additions that would put them closer to the water were forbidden.

 But Richard caught wind of a similar project going ahead on another pond in town, Norton’s I seem to remember. So he canoed by the place in question, and sure enough, a brand new deck was being built, clearly in the shoreland zone.

 And so began the decades-long battle between Richard Rosenberg and the Town Office. Richard suspected favoritism; the other guy was a “good old boy” and so the town looked the other way, he’d say. It was one of those disputes where unless you’re personally involved, say on the Planning Board, you’ll never get a straight story. From our first interactions with Richard, we always knew there was another side to his version.

 He was never shy about bringing those complaints to the “powers that be.” On one such occasion, many years ago, another reporter and I, covering a routine selectmen’s meeting in the tiny space that used to serve as the Town Office in the old school, found ourselves witness to a very disorderly Richard Rosenberg confronting the three-man board (all of whom, we noted to each other, were armed with concealed — or rather, not so concealed — guns). They managed to escort him out and to his car that time, though he certainly shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. We two were greatly relieved.

 Then, just a couple of weeks later, I was awakened by the phone; it was Richard.

“Diane, I’m up at Waldo jail; can you come bail me out?”

Apparently this time the selectmen had lost patience with him and called the sheriff.

“Dawn’s got my wallet; I thought she was following the squad car, but she’s not here.”

Good for you, Dawn, I thought silently, as I told him she’d probably be there for him in the morning and hung up.

 But there was another side to this irascible and contrary man. When, after a sometimes rocky relationship, Dawn became ill, Richard nursed her tenderly for several years. When she passed away he was devastated, one time greeting a visitor to his door wearing a fluffy pink robe. “It was Dawn’s; it makes me feel close to her.”

 In spite of my failed perennial garden, Richard continued to buy milk and eggs from us. Our kids remember him walking right into our kitchen, calling “Cock-a-doodle-do”, even when we had dinner guests obviously sitting right there.

 He never mastered the computer or the internet, an endless frustration to him as he had business scheme after business scheme to promote. When Wally retired, Richard tried to get him to enter a partnership in his brass plate enterprise. Later, he wanted us to invest in his floating Airstreams. We passed on the B & B idea, although appreciated what a good time he was having promoting it. The man could be very funny.

 More recently, after learning that Wally was dealing with neuropathy and having trouble walking, Richard stopped by a couple of times to see how he was doing. Then, on a Sunday afternoon three weeks ago, even though our driveway was full of cars, he came in to check on Wally again. We made him a place at the table. It was a raucous gathering, as we were seeing off our eldest son’s family who were moving to Switzerland.

 But Richard wanted to talk to Wally, (“I didn’t come here to eat,” he protested, but then ate nonetheless) and so the two traded symptoms and treatments for a while. It’s the last time we saw him.

Town Administrator David Kinney posted this on the Lincolnville Bulletin Board: “…although the ‘Town’ had its differences with Mr. Rosenberg, he was an interesting person with a lot of life experiences and knowledge who could, when he wanted to, be quite pleasant and appreciative.  I will choose to forget our differences and will miss Richard, particularly his good side.”

 And this comment on the LBB this morning says it all: “Every town needs characters and we certainly had one in Mr. Rosenberg.  Wonder who is in line to fill his shoes?”

Lincolnville Center Indoor Flea Market

For the first time in nine years we won’t have a grandchild enrolled at Spindlewood, the magical little Waldorf preschool/kindergarten tucked away at the end of the Proctor Road in Lincolnville Center. Spindlewood is special for many reasons. Every child is asked to bring outdoor gear, as every single day, no matter the weather, children play outdoors, so rain coats and boots and snow suits, hats and mittens are a must. In the spring and fall they catch frogs in the pond, wander through the gardens, feed the sheep and chickens. Perhaps you saw Spindlewood’s new lamb in the Strawberry Festival parade, complete with a daisy chain around her neck.

 The school building is a neat little cottage complete with kitchen, where every day the children help prepare a hot mid-morning meal. Every child has his/her own little cutting board and utensils to peel the carrots and chop up the potatoes for the soup. Bread making day everyone gets to knead the dough. Spindlewood still has openings for this fall for 3-6 year olds, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, 8 a.m. to noon with optional afternoons until 3 p.m. Call 763-4652 to set up a visit and casual tour of the grounds.

Bear Cub

Last Saturday morning dozens of volunteers descended on Rick McLaughlin’s restaurant on Ferry Road at Lincolnville Beach for the annual Blueberry Pancake breakfast, the Lincolnville Improvement Association’s one fund-raiser of the year. As one of the pancake flippers, I can tell you what goes on in the kitchen, as three of us made some 800 pancakes that morning, and did little else! The three pancake flippers had a support team of a batter girl, a batter dispenser guy, a blueberry provider, and a meat cooker (for the sausage and bacon). We make a grand mess of the kitchen, while Rick patiently helps us out with griddle temperature and the proper utensils to use and how to run the batter mixer, and so much more. Between the L.I.A.’s organizer Lee Cronin and Rick and those dozens of waiters, syrup pourers, coffee makers, etc. etc. some 400 breakfasts were served, and we all had a good time. All funds raised are used by the L.I.A. for college scholarships for our L’ville students.