Caffeinated Politics

“What’s up, Captain?”

That was Todd Eugene Wilson’s signature greeting whenever he called me. Over the years, it never changed. The first time we spoke—about 24 years ago—I was struck by the unmistakable Maine accent that colored every syllable. Even after living in Florida for a time and then settling in Tennessee, Todd never lost that habit of dropping his “r”s in casual conversation. It always brought a smile to my end of the line.

Todd passed away today in a Nashville hospital after several difficult weeks battling a cruel infection. He was 57—far, far too young to leave behind his wife, his family, and the many friends who loved him.

He was the older brother of my husband, James, who has a twin sister, Melissa. Their childhood home in Corinth, Maine was steeped in can-do Yankee traditions, instilled by Robert and Marion. Todd carried those values with him throughout his life. He was an avid fisherman, a skilled carpenter, and in recent years, took great joy in his smokehouse, crafting meals that were as hearty as they were delicious.

From the very beginning, Todd’s sense of humor stood out. Our first phone conversation happened years before we met in person, and it included a line that still brings laughter to our home. As we were getting to know each other, he said, “I don’t care who my brother is shackin’ up with.” (James and I had dated for two years to the day before moving in together.) At the time, I wasn’t sure how to take the remark. But Todd was laughing, upbeat, and the tone of our conversation never wavered. Over time, I came to understand that it was his way of welcoming me into the family. That story, I think, reveals something essential about Todd: he wasn’t mean-spirited or inclined to hurt feelings. He could be loud, opinionated, and direct—but at his core, he was kind.

Not long after, Todd scored a major win in our household by introducing me to New England Coffee. One Christmas, he sent a bag of Blueberry Cobbler flavored coffee. It was such a treat that I began buying it regularly and sharing it with friends and family. As I write this column, there’s still New England Coffee in our pantry.

Todd drove a semi-truck for many years. On one northbound trip, James and I met him in Milwaukee. It was the first and only time I met Todd in person. He told me to hop up into the passenger seat, and though we only drove about four miles to a restaurant, it remains my one and only experience “in a cab.” That memory still makes me smile as I write tonight.

Todd was outgoing, funny, engaging—and still dropping his “R”s when telling a story. Somewhere along the way, I read that in Maine, when someone passes away, it’s sometimes said they’ve “gone to the final port.” That phrase came to mind this afternoon as I stood outside, thinking things through. In his final years, Todd loved taking his boat out on the water to fish and unwind. His passing today was if the waves simply carried him off—softly, peacefully—toward the horizon. Surely to better fishing grounds.

Godspeed, Todd.