Walking Through Maine With 'Down-to-Earth' Bill

Daniel Maccoby accompanied Rep. William S. Cohen (R-Maine) this summer on a two-week, 300-mile walk through Maine. This is the first of a two-part series: the second part will appear on Monday.

ON U.S. ROUTE 1, NEAR EASTPORT, MAINE--U.S. Route 1 is a narrow, two-lane asphalt highway, winding its way through Washington County in eastern Maine. The leaves on the trees by the side of the road are tipped with reddish orange as the first touches of autumn begin to envelop the county, even now at the end of August.

The summers are short here, and the fall begins early. Thousands of acres of blueberries are being harvested in the fields, and Washington county, the world's largest blueberry producer, must complete the task before the first frost hits some cold night in September.

Sparsely scattered throughout the fields and woods of this Downeast region are the rural communities for which Route 1 is Main Street. Cherryfield, Columbia Falls, Jonesboro, Machias--all are homes to an average of several hundred inhabitants who use the road to drive to the fields during the day, and perhaps to Machias in the evening to see a movie or eat at Helen's Restaurant.

In this pre-Labor Day season, however, the local cars and pick-up trucks which drive by are frequently interspersed with sedans and stationwagons bearing out-of-state license plates and anxious tourists heading north to escape the heat wave and smog alert descending upon the East Coast metropolises.

Some six miles south of Machias on Route 1 the cars pass a man in a blue workshirt and brown denim pants, striding along the shoulder of the road. Some of the cars honk and the man waves in response. Approaching a farmhouse, he leaves the road to greet a farmer standing by the side of the building. "Hi, I'm Bill Cohen," he says. "I'm walking through the county and wanted to stop by and see how things are going."

Bill Cohen is a 33-year-old freshman Congressman from Maine's second district. A liberal Republican and formerly the mayor of Bangor, he upset his opponent in the 1972 elections after walking 600 miles through Maine in an effort to meet the voters and acquire the grass-roots support necessary in a district the size of New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Vermont and Rhode Island combined.

Following his election, Cohen was one of three freshman Congressmen who participated in a month-long Harvard Institute of Politics program. Now, during the August 1973 Congressional recess, he is back on the road for two weeks, this time walking 300 miles through Hancock, Washington, and Aroostook counties in northeastern Maine.

"Many of the major ills that infect modern-day government stem from the fact that public officials simply do not listen to the people," Cohen says. "This results in one of the most serious problems threatening all of us, both as a nation and a people--the high level of alienation of the average citizen from his political and governmental institutions. By walking through the towns and along the highways, I can meet thousands of citizens who would otherwise have almost no contact with the political system. They deserve a chance to make themselves heard."

The men and women of Washington county have a lot to say and they're glad that a Congressman is willing to listen. Their comments--ranging from the rising cost of living to the Watergate scandal--are tempered by a Downeast twang and a certain rural flavor that would be described by some as "conservative," but viewed by the citizens themselves as merely "down-to-earth."

This down-to-earth quality, combined with a small-town atmosphere, creates a scenario of rural life and attitudes which is all-pervasive in Washington county. It's a region in which the undertaker in the town of Cherryfield also runs the ambulance service and where Helen's, a small restaurant in Machias famous for its pies, can become a county center. "You'll meet more people from Washington county here at Helen's than you will in the whole damn town," said one middle-aged man in baggy brown trousers and frayed shirt, scooping up his blueberry cream pie.

Even non-residents attest to Helen's culinary prowess. Affixed to the wall by the cash register is a slightly crumpled napkin on which is written: "I've been a driver for 29 years and I bring my truck 40 miles out of the way to eat at Helen's every chance I get. And I'd take a longer detour if I had to."

A long-haired, bearded man in his middle 20s walks into the restaurant, accompanied by a woman of about the same age who is dressed in frayed blue jeans and a loose blouse. It is painfully obvious to the diners who have observed their entrance that she is wearing no bra, and the man with the blueberry cream follows the couple closely, rotating slowly on his swivel chair at the counter, until they have seated themselves in one corner of the restaurant. A waitress shakes her head and clicks her tongue. "Will you look at that," she chides, and retires into the kitchen. A majority of the customers appear to make a few comments on the arrivals before continuing with their meals.

After dinner, one of the men at the counter confides, "Those goddam hippies on welfare--you just can't keep 'em out."

The issue of social welfare is frequently mentioned by those who talk with Cohen. Maine has relatively liberal welfare laws, and many long-time residents feel that young men and women who aren't interested in working move to Maine to take advantage of the state's generosity and prey on the taxes of hard-working residents.

"And do you know who these people are?" insists a factory owner in Lubec. "These are the sons and daughters of middle-class families who are too lazy to get off their asses. When they come to Maine, they get as much money as most working men here."

"Hell," he continues, "all they have to do is file a form with the welfare office, and they get a check in the mail. It sometimes takes months for the government to find out whether or not they really need welfare. And then, when they run out of money they write home to Mommy and Daddy for more."

"The work ethic is still very strong in Maine," Cohen says later, "and these people see a very visible, though not necessarily large, percentage of cheaters. For the working man who goes to work eight to ten hours a day and is still barely able to make ends meet, it's very frustrating."

The fact that Washington county is one of the poorest parts of the state only aggravates the situation. The unemployment rate hovers close to 12 per cent, and neither blueberry picking, the fishing industry, nor the seasonal digging for clams and worms on the coast is sufficient to provide the county with a healthy economy. The average family earns a little more than $6,000 per year while 19 per cent of the county's families live below the poverty level.

Several men tell Cohen that they are skeptical of the officially quoted 12 per cent unemployment rate. "The problem is," says one, "that some people are just unwilling to work on an official payroll. They go out clamming or chopping wood, get paid in cash, and then go and collect unemployment or welfare benefits."

"I could give ten people jobs right now," he continues, "but no one wants legitimate work. We can't let this happen in Maine."

The inhabitants of Washington County are proud of Maine and concerned about the future of the state. "My husband and I lived in California for 24 years," an elderly woman tells Cohen through the window of her Volkswagon, "but we're home now. Maine is a beautiful state, and you're doing a good job down in Washington for us."

Turning to a reporter standing next to Cohen, she adds: "He listens to us; he tells us the truth. Put that in your article, young man."