Letters

Elaine Jones and I joked about “our secret love.” For years, we’d talk on the phone every night. She was an extraordinary source for me at The Independent, with a keen sense of what was right for the community and sharp critique for anyone who wasn’t doing it.

She knew everybody, and many town workers held her in high esteem as a trusted and tireless champion.

“So-and-so stopped by the stand and told me …” she’d start — and we’d be off and running with an investigation into the latest scandal. The paper would come out, and she’d be at the podium in Town Hall demanding answers, while officials wondered how I’d found out.

One disgraced former supervisor tried to mess with her husband, Les’s, final payout when he retired from his job with the town. Standing behind a podium she could barely peer over, Elaine brandished the check before the disgraced politician, then tore it up and threw the pieces into the air.

Les and Elaine had an enviable love. During our midnight talks, she’d say, “Hang on, I have to go give Les his shot.” I could hear her murmur, “Good night, dear,” before she’d come back to the call.

When he became ill, she was his fierce advocate. I told her more than once, “If anything ever happens to me, I want you.” She was the perfect role model, and I definitely was channeling Elaine when it was my turn to care for my mom.

A founding member of the local Independence Party, she bore no blind loyalty to any political side. Her political “side” was the community. She could carry petitions for a candidate one day and call them out the next. And if she loved you, that love was eternal but never blind. She’d call you out, too — then probably give you some meatballs.

Because she was my secret source, I didn’t actually visit Elaine very often. But when I did, she always sent me home with meatballs. If it was summertime, she’d walk barefoot out to the farm stand and fill a bag with fresh mozzarella, tomatoes and basil. “You want some corn?” she’d ask. She was always pushing the corn.

Elaine was a completely unique person, fearless and so, so smart. Always purely herself. How many of us can claim that extraordinary trait?

She fed me information.

She fed me meatballs.

And she fed me love.

Today, I’m going to go get some meatballs and toast Elaine. They won’t be as good as hers, or served with the love she always kept simmering in the kitchen.

Kitty Merrill

Springs