Matt of All Trades blog, like the title suggests, is by a Vermont author and offers offbeat musings on pop culture, media, journalism, humor, weirdness, stupid people, smart people, my life as a journalist, landscaper, photographer, married gay man, dog lover and weather geek and more. It's run by me, Matt Sutkoski, a native Vermonter living in St. Albans, Vt.
The Whipple Hollow Cemetery in West Rutland, Vermont looking immaculate thanks to the hard work of many town residents. Thanks to Ken and Jean Heleba for photo.
Years ago, my dad, Red Sutkoski, restored an old cemetery in a remote corner of his hometown of West Rutland, Vermont.
He loved his projects, and the outdoors, so he spent a lot of time at the cemetery, clearing TONS of brush, trying to prop up old gravestones, planting flowers and erecting a flag pole at the Whipple Hollow Cemetery.
It was a huge project. People stepped forward to help him by excavating rocks and debris, donating flowers, and doing whatever it took to make the cemetery whole again.
Red's project - and the town's great help with it - caused quite a little stir, garnering publicity from the Associated Press and the Boston Globe, among others. Dad had a great sense of history, and remembering the dead was important to him.
He thought that we all build on the shoulders of the people who came before him and us, so we need to honor everyone who came before us, and remember the contributions they made. ,
Now dad has passed on, having slipped away at the age of 95 back in January.
A couple months after dad died, I stopped by the Whipple Hollow Cemetery. People had been trying to take care of it the best they could. Somebody had been mowing the grass. Some weeds had been pulled here and there.
But Red in his later years couldn't handle the big jobs. The woods was beginning to encroach again into the grave sites, wild grapevine was attacking everything at the cemetery and tall weeds rattled against the gravestones in the cold March wind.
The Whipple Hollow Cemetery was beginning to look sad again.
My dad, Red Sutkoski, at the West Rutland World War II Memorial unveiling last August
April 24, which would have been my dad's 96th birthday, was a sunny, pleasantly cool day. Me, my siblings, our husbands and partners and nephews, I think there were eight of us, went to the Whipple Hollow Cemetery to do a needed cleanup.
We got a lot done. We removed piles of broken branches and grapevine and stuffed it into the woods, hiding the mess. We raked away tons of leaves and weeds. We didn't get the whole cemetery done, but it definitely looked better.
And Red was smiling down on us. Because the cemetery he'd worked on brought the family together that day.
We laughed and enjoyed ourselves as we worked and visited and joked with each other as we cleaned up the cemetery on that bright April afternoon.
It's exactly what Red would have wanted on his birthday.
Come to find out the whole town of West Rutland, it seems, is also thinking about the Whipple Hollow Cemetery.
Forgive me, here, because I don't know the names of most of the people who have been helping, but I do know the town has the cemetery's back. And the backs of all those who came before them.
I know Stanley Dziubek has been up there at Whipple Hollow, clearing a LOT of brush and grapevine that we missed earlier, and doing a ton of other work. My sister Laurie tells me a nice woman in West Rutland who has donated flowers to dad for the Whipple Hollow Cemetery in the past, has done so again.
People raised a flag on the cemetery flag poll, and planted American flags at gravesites.
Today is Memorial Day, when we remember the veterans who served our country and thank them for their incredible service (Red was a veteran, too!)
People from West Rutland have been called "Stone peggers," a legacy of marble quarry labor riots back in the 1930s.
Metaphorically, West Rutlanders have been embracing the grave stones at Whipple Hollow Cemetery. They remember the importance of the past, and the people who lived in those days.
Like my dad, Westsiders know they've built their lives on the shoulders who came before them, like those buried back in the 19th century in this cemetery.
They're remembering the veterans who served. They're remember my dad, which is an honor for the Sutkoski family. They're remembering the people who built West Rutland, They're honoring the way people in this rugged little town help each other out, and honor memories.
Want more proof? Just check out the amazing World War II memorial in front of the West Rutland Town Hall. That was another major community-wide undertaking that drew in the whole town.
The unveiling of that memorial last August was one of the final public events my father went to, and as a World War II veteran, he told me how humbled and proud he was of the way West Rutland remembered its veterans.
I guess you could call the warmth and giving and remembrance as seen at the Whipple Hollow Cemetery a new form of being a "stone pegger."
My dad, Red Sutkoski, in his tavern, Red's Place, shortly
before he retired in 1991. Red's Place
was a popular gathering spot in West Rutland,
Vermont for the four decades my father owned the place.
Photo by my brother in law, David Jenne.
My dad, Red Sutkoski passed away Saturday afternoon, January 23, 2016 at the age of 95.
He had a damn good run, that's for sure.
He wasn't well known outside of Vermont, but in a time when we can all be overwhelmed by the greed, crassness, ill will and anger out there, the whole world could learn from his grace, giving nature and gentle wit.
Dad was born in 1920 to Polish immigrants in what was then the busy marble quarrying town of West Rutland, Vermont.
Dad, known to everyone from Day One as Red for his red hair, lived a sweep of West Rutland's history:
He saw onstruction of the duplexes built for Vermont Marble Company workers, the Great Flood of 1927, the Great Depression, the labor riots among West Rutland quarry workers in the 1930s.
Red saw Prohibition,during which he good naturedly took note of who got busted for making what dad called "Screech," which was the shockingly abysmal home made booze people discreetly made during that time.
Along with most of West Rutland's young men, Red marched off to World War II. He came back, opened his restaurant and bar, and from that perch saw the town at first thrive with the marble quarries, then go into a near death spiral when the quarries closed and the jobs evaporated.
He watched West Rutland struggle back from those days, and had a hand in its slow rebirth, by encouraging its redevelopment while honoring the community's history.
Red was the unofficial Town Historian, as he was the go to person to ask whenever you wanted to know what happened in town anytime after 1920, the year he was born. His mind was sharp to the end.
He was much more than West Rutland's memory vault, and everybody in town knew it. His warmth, humor, compassion and friendship brought out the best in the town,. The best in its people. His family. Me.
My dad, Red Sutkoski outdoors in his younger days. He loved
being outside, especially if it was working on a project
to benefit those around him.
That restaurant and tavern Red owned for 40 years in the heart of West Rutland had the official name of Marble Valley Restaurant, but everybody just knew it as Red's Place.
Or maybe embrace it. With Red's laughter ringing out over the sound of either a Polish polka or Patsy Cline warbling from the juke box, the smoky Red's Place was the most welcoming and lively place in town.
There's even a song by the excellent Vermont bandStarline Rhythm Boys called Red's Place that is about my dad and his bar. It captures the vibe of the bar, and my dad just perfectly. (Watch the video of the Boys performing that song at the bottom of this blog post.)
Red's Place wasn't fancy, and neither was the clientele. Dad liked it that way. Sure, he embraced and befriended everyone, including the rich and powerful. As long as they didn't abuse people with their power and money, or victimized them with it.
Dad's soft spot, though, was for the underdog, which was why Red's Place was such a good fit for him, and such a good fit for West Rutland.
Red's Place was a second home to quarry workers, Polish immigrants, truck drivers, farmers, and other town residents who just wanted a friendly refuge for the evening.
Many of us Americans are perhaps inadvertently raised to celebrate the rich, the powerful, the flashy, the thrilling. And that's all OK, except when we do so at the expense of everyone else. Or worse, we ignore the underdogs as not important and not worth our time.
Dad knew everyone was important, and he showed it by being welcoming to everybody. As long as they weren't hurting anyone else.
Dad's example in his life and work showed me how to do the opposite of that. He taught me to seek out the people we're "supposed" to ignore and dismiss. The ones that have no power, who live quiet lives, who live humbly, through choice or circumstance.
For all that I'm a much richer, happier, well-rounded person. We should all live by dad's example. The world would be a much better place if we did.
Red Sutkoski as a young man reading the paper with a faithful
companion at his West Rutland, Vermont home. It was
a perfect combination for him. Red loved animals,
and he was always curious about what
was going on in the world around him.
That doesn't mean we should be somber sympathizers to those who aren't at the top of the heap. The only way dad's example worked, how his life worked, was through a sense of humor.
If there's not laughter, according to the Rules of Red, there's not much else to live for.
So Red loved telling stories of other's foibles, in a way that celebrates rather than ridicules our pratfall moments.
As mentioned, West Rutland had many Polish immigrants that came to work in the quarries during the later 19th century and early 20th century. Many people, including dad, regularly spoke Polish.
At Red's Place, you'd often hear people yell out "Nostrovia," the Eastern European equivalent to "Cheers!" when people share a toast.
At one point, a new guy started coming into Red's Place. He was worried about fitting in, and didn't speak much. He listened, trying to understand the vernacular.
This guy kept hearing everyone saying "Nostrovia!" and finally decided to make his move. He bought the man sitting next to him a beer, and chimed in with that golden cheer. The man clinked the bottle with his new buddies at the bar and shouted, "Nice driveway!"
The moment was so funny that dad immediately embraced the Nice Driveway guy as a good friend.
Dad loved telling the "Nice Driveway" story, such that I've taken it upon myself to spread the tale. Everyone knows that when they share a drink or a bottle with me, we'll clink our glasses and tell each other, "Nice driveway."
If that's not a good tribute to Red, I don't know what is.
God knows dad's sense of humor was gloriously goofy. One great example was a day a long time ago when he was walking along Marble Street in West Rutland.
A car with out of state plates pulled up along side him, its driver obviously lost and in need of directions. "How do you get to Tinmouth?," the woman in the passenger seat asked dad.
"My brother takes me,!" dad replied.
Of course, he said he was just kidding, and made sure the couple in the car got on the right road to Tinmouth.
Roads figure pretty prominently in my memory of dad.
When I was about six or seven years old, the state was building a four lane road in back of our house. The Brand New Route 4.
The way the road was built in back of our house, there was a two lane eastbound lane, situated at an elevation several feet above the parallel westbound lanes.
As they were building the road, dad and I would go up and explore the construction site. Often, he'd start singing, of all things, a bit of the Scottish song "The Bonny Banks of Loch Lomond."
The part he'd sing, was "You take the high road and I'll take the low road."
On the surface, his words could be taken as a simple commentary on the highway construction. But there was a deeper meaning. He was instructing me to take the high road in life, just as he did. I guess the best way we can remember Red and his life is to always take that high road. And I'm not talking about eastbound Route 4 here.
Red's M.O. was to take the high road quietly. He had a gorgeous habit of honoring history, and the people that came before him. In a remote corner of West Rutland, the Whipple Hollow Cemetery had become overgrown, broken down and all but forgotten by people in town.
So he took it upon himself to clear the broken trees and branches, rip out the weeds, replant grass and got some help fixing broken grave stones. This kind of stuff dad did is infectious.
As dad was at the Whipple Hollow Cemetery one day, Markowski Excavating was working on a nearby construction project. When they saw what dad was doing, they quickly went up to the cemetery with an excavator to clear rocks, stumps and debris away.
Dad never worried about controversial topics, especially when they involved love. When I came out as gay and introduced him to Jeff Modereger, the man I would marry, dad embraced Jeff like he would his own son.
Dad's biggest goal was that his three children, me, Lynn and Laurie, would be happy and well taken care of. Dad went out knowing that the husbands and partners of us three kids were making us all happy, and would take care of us beautifully once he was gone.
My dad and my father-in-law, Don Modereger, were both about 90 years old when Jeff and I married. Don had a lot in common with Red, especially in terms of their warmth, generosity, compassion and good humor.
Red and Don's only face to face meeting was at my wedding. (Don lived way out in South Dakota, and it was hard for both Red and Don to travel.)
Even so, Red and Don immediately became good friends. I can't help but think the two fathers are sharing a good laugh as I write this.
This month, dad's physical heart finally gave out, worn down by 95 years of work and family and joy and troubles and worry and friendship. But his metaphorical, spiritual and loving heart kept beating strong. It still is.
There's not going to be a wake or a funeral or anything like that, because Red said he didn't want such ceremonies. He never wanted people to make a fuss over him. Red told us that if anybody wanted to mark his passing, they should just do something kind for someone else.
To close out and keep celebrating Dad's life,the video of the Starline Rhythm Boys performing "Red's Place" is coming up.
When you watch it, grab a beer, and another one to share with a friend. Clink the two bottles together, tell each other "Nice driveway," laugh, and then say or do something good for anyone you see around you.
Red will see this, fetch another round for his friends in heaven, and the party will go on here and up there. Just as he wants it.
So dad, all I can say to you now is "Nice driveway."
My dad, Henry "Red" Sutkoski, 95, catches up with
friends during a World War II Memorial unveiling
in his home town of West Rutland, Vermont Saturday.
My father, Henry "Red" Sutkoski, now 95, says he remembers when World War II ended, the troop ship carrying him and fellow soldiers returned home and prepared to dock in Boston Harbor.
A tug boat pulled up along side the troop ship dad was on. Suddenly, a band on the tug boat started playing "Sentimental Journey" to welcome the returning soldiers.
To this day, "Sentimental Journey" is just about dad's favorite song.
Fast forward 70 years later and there we were, in West Rutland, Vermont Saturday, where dad has lived most of his life, taking another sentimental journey, this one returning back to World War II.
There was a lot of 'em, considering the town only had about 3,000 residents at the time. About 600 West Rutland residents served in World War II, or about 20 percent of the town's population.
Few World War II veterans survive to this day, of course. My dad was an honored guest at the memorial unveiling, along with a few other surviving West Rutland veterans like Joe Czachor, Leo DiGangi, Charlie Katomski and Stanley Wos.
The story of how West Rutland's new World War II memorial came to be is its own sentimental journey, one graced with an overwhelming need to honor the town's World War II heroes.
On Facebook, people began to wonder what happened to an old memorial that had to be taken down years ago because it had deteriorated.
A nice crowd gathers in front of the West Rutland, Vermont
Town Hall Saturday for the unveiling of a
World War II memorial.
The town's historical society had a World War II discussion one night and somebody came up with the idea for a new memorial. The idea took hold, big time.
Lots of research, lots of community fundraising and lots of planning over several years led to this new World War II memorial that was unveiled Saturday.
The memorial, listing all 609 men and women from West Rutland who served in the war, is in a place of honor at the most prominent place in West Rutland, right in front of the community's handsome Town Hall.
On Saturday, the guest speaker was retired Senior Master Air Force Sergeant Rick Aldridge. He's too young to have served in World War II, but the West Rutland native who served a long, proud career in the military announced at the beginning of his talk that he would take the audience on a sentimental journey back to those war years.
I don't know if Aldridge's announcement that his talk would be a sentimental journey was a nod to my dad or not, but Aldridge told the story of the quarry workers, farmers, merchants and others from West Rutland who answered the call of duty to fight in the war, because that's just what had to be done.
Aldridge described how everyone else left behind in West Rutland during the war coped with strict rationing, the worry over what the Axis dictators would do if they were not defeated, and fear for the fate of their loved ones literally battling to save democracy.
After the war, the returning West Rutland veterans picked up their lives. Some stayed put in the quarrying community, others set off to start educations, careers, families elsewhere in the nation.
Aldridge remarked how the people of the World War II era are always referred to as the "Greatest Generation."
He's right, of course. If I had to judge a "Greatest Generation" by the way my father has lived his life, he truly lived the life of someone who deserves that title.
Through the decades, through his successes, his mistakes, his fortitude, cheerful stubborness and especially his sense of humor, dad has always been a model of how to live a life with dignity and grace.
So many people from the "Greatest Generation" are like dad, too. In this era of screaming, bickering TV pundits, a "gimme gimme" culture, opportunistic politicians, corrupt business people, routine dishonesty and other ills of today's society, we'd all do well to take careful notes on how the "Greatest Generation" lived their lives during and after the war.
My generation, the ones after that, and the ones who aren't even born yet should just take a sentimental journey and look back at what the World War II generation did.
They say the Greatest Generation made America great. That's true. They also say America isn't as great as it once was. Maybe that's true, too.
All the more reason why we should really embrace the ethos of the World War II veterans. Like the ones gathered in West Rutland on Saturday. Like my dad.
The World War II memorial unveiling in West Rutland Saturday sent me on my own sentimental journey, reflecting on the lessons my dad taught me. The example if his life, teaches me, teaches everyone, how to live honorable.
I don't measure up to my dad's level, of course, but at least he's a guide that puts me on the right path and keeps me from veering off course into too much laziness, meanness, or selfishness.
Maybe if we all follow the steadiness and honor of World War II veterans, this country might yet have another "Greatest Generation"
That would be the ultimate way to thank all the World War II heroes, like my dad.
Also, dad? Here's that song you like. Thank you. For everything.
A few months ago, the people who run the biggest cemetery in my home town of West Rutland, Vermont put up a new sign so that people could find it.
One of the world's most grand cemetery signs,
in West Rutland, Vermont
The sign is an instant classic, as I was reminded when I visited West Rutland for Thanksgiving.
Click on the photo to make it bigger and easier to really see.
The cemetery is a run by local Roman Catholic chuches, usually a pretty staid outfit. But the sign design is basically Greek Orthodox meets Las Vegas.
I love the ornate crosses, the royal blue backround with the images and flowers and leaves.
The nicest touches are the arrows on either side of the sign that points to the ground, to tell us precisely where everyone is buried.
In case anyone needs to know, you see.
I think it could be improved upon, though. Why not go for broke? Wouldn't it be great if there were chaser lights on the sign that lead to those down arrows. That would really tell you what this cemetery is about.
The sign could also use some accessories. Maybe one of those things that have fans going to make little blow up figures wave around, like you see at used car lots during their Big Annual Sale.
These figures could also point toward the ground, reinforcing the message the down arrows on the sign already convey.
I also must say the gravestones in the cemetery lack a certain style. They're just your standard issue marble or granite markers telling us who is buried, maybe a line saying who loved them, or a brief, rest in peace sort of message.
Yawn.
The gravestones need pizazz! You could create themes based on the people who died. The accountant could have money decorations plastered to the gravestone. The deceased lawyer could have a figure of a judge and a lawyer arguing on top of the marker. The possibilities are endless!
Yes, I know all this is sacriligious. But we're always told at funerals that we're celebrating the life of the dearly department, and of course their journey to heaven (assuming that's where they're going)
So maybe West Rutland has the right idea. They've made the cemetery a bit more celebratory, and that's not such a bad thing
