There’s so much to know about my paternal grandfather. Grandpa Vayo was a humble guy, though, so it’s taken a lot of research to piece together the story of his life. Lots of conversations with Dad, emails to my brothers, and searches on Newspapers.com.

And here we are.

Harold Edward Vayo was born on this day in 1899 in Brewer, Maine. His parents, George and Alice, had already lost a child to cholera. Little Gladys Alice was only 15 months old.

So Harold grew up as if he were the oldest child in the family. Three more siblings followed: Carter, Evelyn, and Francis.

Dad tells me his father (whom he called Daddy), was “the family scholar.” He loved to read – his favorite author was Charles Dickens. In the spirit of that author, let’s just say Grandpa had great expectations for his life.

Grandpa Vayo was an artist. He painted, he sketched, he wrote poetry. He played piano by ear.

Thanks to the editors of the Bangor Daily News from a century ago, we now know he was also a busy student and enjoyed social outings.

I used to shake my head when our local weekly paper ran their “news” columns about the goings-on of local residents. Who came to visit, who went out of town, who got over a case of the sniffles, that sort of thing. But I must say, having access to this information about Grandpa is nothing short of a gift.

Grandpa was 15 when his woodworking project was put on display. Other blurbs in the daily paper include him in write ups about social events, church mixers, and even a dance at a yacht club. He completed high school in three years. He was busy.

Dad’s answer when asked what his father taught him and which advice had the greatest impact on his life?

He taught me to appreciate family. To be loyal and attentive to your family.

Grandpa started early. He loved his mom dearly and bought her two porcelain-bisque figurines as a birthday gift when he was just 10 years old.

Religion was a cornerstone of my grandfather’s life. I was surprised to discover he’d attended a Catholic seminary in Baltimore for the 1922/23 school year.

Although Grandpa didn’t become a priest, he formed a lifelong friendship with Father Robert Murphy, a fellow seminarian at the time. Grandma and Grandpa’s first child was named for Father Bob. Sadly, Robert G. Vayo only lived five days.

Backing up a few years, Grandpa first went to Bates College in Maine. In the fall of 1918, he and good friend Alton Rowe entered Bates. In addition to their regular classes, they were enrolled in a government program for those who might be drafted. They were honorably discharged from the Student Army Training Corps just a few months later, when World War I ended.

Next, mon grandpere became a French teacher!

For two years, he taught French at Bar Harbor High School and was head of the department.

After the first year, Grandpa received this letter of recommendation from the school’s principal:

Now, far be it for me to correct a high school principal … but he got the year wrong. Luckily, I thought to check the postmark on the envelope before getting too confused about Grandpa’s busy timeline. The letter was written in 1921; here’s the text:

To whomever it may interest:

I consider Mr. Harold E. Vayo one of the best French instructors I have met during seventeen years of high school work. I also believe he is the most valuable all around man I ever had on my teaching force. I do not usually recommend in superlatives but in this case it seems to be necessary.

Yours very truly
A W Austin
Prin. B.H.S.

Grandpa headed back to Bates College to continue his studies, where he was named an assistant professor in the French department. A year later, he transferred to Baltimore for a year’s study as a seminarian.

The next year, 1924, was exciting.

Grandpa’s family took a cross-country trip. A relative had opened a restaurant in Pasadena, California (where his future great-grandson Thomas would live many years later) and they wanted to visit and possibly stay. (Eventually, I’ll write a separate post about this adventure.)

Grandpa’s career as an advertising and sales manager began in Paducah, Kentucky, at Rudy’s Department Store. It was a big store, and Grandpa designed ads and window displays.

The above window display is from May 1926. I haven’t found any documentation of Grandpa’s start date at Rudy’s, but I have a feeling he was on board by then and may well have designed the display.

… because he was saving up to marry Grandma on Thanksgiving Day! He’d met Lucie Plante a few years earlier, when they both worked at B. Peck Co. Department Store in Lewiston, Maine.

They got married at Saint Francis de Sales Church in Paducah, just the two of them and their witnesses. But ever since, they celebrated on Thanksgiving and gathered as many family members together as they could.

Let’s start with the back row, from left: sorry, Cousin Muff, most of you got cropped out by the camera; her mom, Aunt Jean; Grandpa and Grandma; Dad holding Billy; Uncle Paul; Aunt Barbara holding Paul’s second of five children, Paul Jr. Front, from left: a grumpy-looking me, Aunt Janet holding Cousin Patricia (with whom I share a birthday); Patricia and Paul’s mom, Genia; my brothers Dave and Harry. Whew!

After a few years in Paducah, the young couple headed to Utica, New York, where Grandpa continued his career, this time at Robert Fraser, Incorporated.

And they started their family:

Harold E. Vayo Jr. was born in 1930. A year later, Jean arrived.

From Utica, the family moved to Lowell, Massachusetts, and then New Haven, Connecticut (where Dad met his future bride). Eventually, they returned to Lowell, where they lived for the rest of their days.

Grandpa dabbled in poetry. I can’t help but wonder if my father was the inspiration for this one, which ran in the Boston Globe in 1942:

Here’s another poem, published in Bar Harbor Life, about a natural spring in Acadia National Park, where Grandpa served as a guide one summer:

Sieur de Monts Spring

When Eden’s gate (as the Book relates),
Were closed on the “fallen pair”
When heaven frowned and its Wrath poured down
On that Garden, once so fair,
When Sin denied, and Love defied,
And the beauties of Nature were slain,
There was just one spot that Satan forgot –
On an isle, off the coast of Maine.

How the waters smile as they leap and pile
On the cliffs of the rugged coast;
And the zephyrs muse as they kiss the eaux douces
In the valley He must have loved most!
And the birds sweeter sing at Sieur de Monts spring,
For His love fills the earth and the air.
There’s an “Eden” reborn, with the birth of each morn,
In a valley that’s free from all care.

His final career move turned out to be his favorite. Grandpa worked at what was then called the Tewksbury State Hospital and Infirmary, He worked in the psychiatric wing, helping veterans, alcoholics, and men who were down on their luck. As recreation director, he played the piano for them, acted as a big brother, and informally counseled the men.

My Dad was a dreamer. An idealist. He saw the best in people.

Dad says his father was not strict, but “when pushed, you knew he had a backbone.” Apparently, that was a theory Dad tested repeatedly over the years.

My brothers and I remember Grandpa Vayo as a kind man. And a talented one.

Boy, could he paint!

Dave remembers visiting Grandma and Grandpa as a college student. They knew he was a vegetarian and made accommodations in their meal planning. He emailed: … looking back at it now I admire their open-mindedness even more, since when they were growing up vegetarians were often seen as crackpots.

Harry remembers Grandpa playing his Martin guitar; his favorite song was the “Maine Stein Song,” made popular by Rudy Vallee in the 1930s.

And Bill passed along a postcard Grandpa sent. We always admired Grandpa’s distinctive handwriting:

Dad tells me his father coached him as a child, “Young man, your mouth will get you into trouble someday.” He confesses that it took until adulthood for that sage wisdom to sink in fully.

Your Grandpa was deeply in love with your Grandma.

Grandpa left us two days before Christmas in 1993; he was 94 years old. Grandma followed him to heaven exactly 20 months later. She missed him terribly.

In 1920, Grandpa started collecting sayings, poems, advice, jokes, and comics in a scrapbook, with the word “Clippings” embossed on the cover.

We’ll leave you with one of the many quotes this good man pasted into his book an entire century ago:

“When we burst through the shell of self-love and begin to serve humanity, we shall find happiness.“

“Scrubbin’ Up” “Sieur de Monts Spring” © 1942 Harold E. Vayo, Sr. All rights reserved.

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