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Eddie Povich
The first time I met Eddie he was out campaigning. I was living on top of the hill on Alton Ave in Ellsworth. He knocked on the door. I opened it to see a red faced man with light hair and a welcoming smile. That’s all it took.
While Emily hung onto my knees and the dog tried to assert her overly friendly nose, Eddie laughed and joked and made friends. He gave me his palm card, the details candidates have about themselves and their campaign, and then he smiled.
“Do you go to every house?” I asked.
He said he did.
“Isn’t that hard?”
I imagined him hitting each and every home in his district, all those doors, all those people who hate people coming to their doors, hate to be disturbed especially by politicians.
He told me that it was a good thing to go door-to-door. He told me that politicians head to Augusta and they forget who it is that they are representing. They forget their friends and neighbors.
“I don’t want to do that,” he said.
He never did.
Even when he had a position of power, Eddie remembered what it was like for those of us who don’t. That’s part of why he’s an every day hero for this community.
I didn’t always agree with every vote Eddie took, every position he had, but he always listened despite those differences. He told me that he had a responsibility to listen to people. Sometimes they gave him heck about his decisions. He expected that. He wanted them to hear it. He wanted to know what people were thinking, how they felt about what was going on in Augusta and in their neighborhood. Eddie wanted to be held accountable.
When I was a reporter for the Ellsworth American, I knew that I could always call Eddie to find out details and sources about what was going on in Augusta. If you called him for an interview, he would call you right back and answer your questions. He was unafraid and he was accountable.
That’s a rare thing in a politician. It’s even a rare thing in a person. Most of us don’t like to face up to our mistakes. Not Eddie.
But it’s more than that. Even when he wasn’t being a politician, even when he was running his family’s store, Mike’s, on Water Street, Eddie remembered people. He remembered community.
Even if he hadn’t seen my daughter in over a year, he’d lean to her height and say, “Emily. How are you doing? Still honor roll?”
She’d smile and answer like she’d just seen him yesterday and he’d listen. It didn’t matter if she was six years old or twelve. He’d give her that same attention each and every time they spoke.
One of my friends brought her little boy to the candy counter last weekend, the weekend before Eddie died.
“Hey Michael,” Eddie said, smiling. He laughed. He joked with the boy who isn’t even in kindergarten yet. He made Michael feel important as he picked out his important candy purchases.
When Michael and his mom left the store, Michael was amazed that Eddie knew his name. He asked his mom how Eddie could even remember that.
“That’s his job,” his mom said. “A good business man knows his customers and wants them to come back.”
That’s absolutely true. But it’s only part of the reason and the passion behind Eddie Povich. Eddie knew Michael’s name because he cared. He cared about the people who went in and out of his store. It didn’t matter if they were Republicans, Independents or Democrats. It didn’t matter if they voted at all. He cared about all of their stories, their passions, and he gave them his time, his advice, his ear.
In our rush-a-minute, cyber world where people are attached to cell phones and PDAs, zipping around multi-tasking, that kind of attention is needed and it is rare.
And Eddie gave it.
He had an old-fashioned sense of responsibility to the people of his community, and a keen love of tradition. Where else can you find a penny counter full of candy in Ellsworth? Only at Mike’s. Where else can you find someone who remembers your kid’s name? Only at Mike’s.
That was because of Eddie.
He was an Ellsworth institution, a good man who tried hard, who cared passionately and generously about people’s lives and their stories. He will be missed, greatly missed.