This is the hardest column I have ever tried to write. It is about a pal who passed a week or so ago. I wanted to write earlier, but just couldn’t bring myself to do so.

Sam Stevens was my mother-in-law and my pal. I know, mothers-in-law are often portrayed as fussy women who meddle in family matters. Sometimes they are tragic figures, sometimes comedic, and other times, they are sad. Sam was all of that, as we all are. But she was more. Outside of my late bride, she might have been my best friend. If it sounds complicated, it is. But here is the short version.

I am from away, from Hoosier land. Some 60-odd years ago, I was a young Marine who fell for an East Boothbay woman named Susan. Sam was her best friend. At a holiday party, a big guy was bothering Susan. After a while, I decided I was tired of his guff and decided it was time to do something about it. Sam pulled me aside, said she knew what I was thinking, but that it would probably be a good time to rethink my plan. I did, and she was right.

Later, Sam married Susan’s widowed father. I came home from Vietnam, found a job in Indiana, married Susan, and Sam became my mother-in-law.

As the wife of one of the principals of a busy shipyard, she also raised a gang of kids while living in “the big house” inside the yard. And she always knew she might have to host important customers from the New York Yacht Club, customers with names that frequently appeared in the New York Times, who might show up for lunch of soup and a sandwich.

We lived thousands of miles away, but Susan and Sam kept in touch with frequent phone calls. When I was allowed to join the call, Sam would proudly tell me about the ins and outs of local politics. She loved to do the political grunt work, stuffing envelopes and handing out yard signs, working the polls. She was once elected as selectman, but said it was not her fault as she was drafted.

When visiting, we would attend church suppers. While the guests gossiped she would grab my arm and step me into the kitchen where we would attack the pots and pans.

In quiet moments, she would tell of growing up in Lewiston with her mother, a nurse, and her father, a woodsman and construction foreman. She described French-speaking neighbors and cousins who worked in the mills. One retired after 40 years, still making minimum wage.

Sam preferred to support her community as a worker bee. She loved to help neighbors, but preferred to stay in the background. For example, she volunteered at Boothbay Harbor Memorial Library for some 60 years, becoming a fixture at the library’s used book store. She would coordinate the volunteer schedules, but always declined to serve as president. She would rather lug boxes of donated books up the creaky staircase, stuffing each volume in its rightful place, than go to meetings.

She would proudly sit at the checkout desk, greeting patrons while quietly suggesting they might just like to buy one more book. Her only reward was knowing that the dusty little used bookstore provided adults, and especially children, with treasured books. And by the way, they donated some $30,000 to the library each year.

Like most residents, she worked during the summer tourist season. For many years, she quarterbacked the desk at the old Rocktide Inn, helping managers, Phil and Mary Lou Koskela, coordinate bus tours, schedule workers, and care for treasured regular customers and newcomers. She was especially good at explaining Boothbay (and Maine) to folks from away.

She would tell of one shy woman who wanted to know why the harbor’s boats were all lined up in the same direction. Sam said she stuck her tongue in her cheek, smiled, and said the local Chamber of Commerce asked fishermen to line the boats in a row to provide good photos for tourists.

Sam’s all-time favorite Rocktide story involved a very self-important matron who insisted that Sam drop everything and accompany her to the dining room. As Sam walked from behind the desk, the woman grabbed her arm, steering her down the long hall. When they reached the big glass windows, she pointed to the bay.

“What is going on? When we stayed here last year, there was a lot more water out there.”

Not wanting to insult a good customer by explaining that it was low tide, Sam just patted the woman on the shoulder and smiled. “Thank you for pointing that out, dear. I'll get our maintenance crew on it right away. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours to refill it.”

And that was pure Sam.