Chelsea Remembers
Its Family Doctor
By Emily Marshia

Brewster Martin, longtime family doctor-and many other things-in a portrait by The Herald's Bob Eddy at his retirement in the 1990s.

It was a Wednesday evening, August 8, 2007. A storm appeared to be brewing just to the east and could have poured into the Chelsea valley at any moment. There was a warm, persnickety breeze jostling the trees around the north common. The unpredictable air was abuzz and the hills were alive with countless stories of Dr. Brewster Martin.

The next day, his world, the greater Chelsea community, would bid him farewell beneath warm rays of sunshine. But on that night, as callers passed through the Town Hall to revel in his luster and offer his family solace, there was apprehension in the wind—a reluctance to release him from his timeless role as a touchstone of wisdom and wit.

As the Martin family and the town of Chelsea gathered to drape themselves in his memory, stories danced out into the evening sky. Most eyes were creased with affectionate laughter, not wet with tears, as most found it impossible to recall the decades of Dr. Martin without belly-shaking mirth and resounding joy. The tapestry of Brewster’s story grew more vivid in color and texture as the evening matured.

His presence was in folks’ gestures, in their detailed expressions of his impact on their lives, in their recollections of the last time they had seen him. His presence filled the room, much as it did wherever he went in life. His presence was in the soft lighting cascading on the stage curtain that rose on many of his performances. His presence was in his children’s laughter, in their hands, in their eyes. His presence was on the street outside where he walked up to five miles each day. His presence has continued to echo off the hills in all the days since his death on August 4.

Sheer Presence

In David Wolfe’s estimation the mark of a man "is how much we miss his sheer presence. And if ever a person projected a presence it was Brewster Martin." At the service celebrating Martin’s life on August 9, the Tunbridge pastor who ministered the spirits of the Route 110 valley alongside Martin’s ministering of body and community, found many perfect words to characterize the man who was so easy to enjoy and yet so complex he was difficult to describe.

"Passionate…vibrant…exuberant…focused…routined…talented…vigorous…a man of whose interests and abilities spanned a mind-boggling array of activities," were just a few of the articulate ways Wolfe described his friend.

Wolfe put it so eloquently when he said that the basic facts of Martin’s life are accessible (see side bar article). He did not eulogize a list of committees, accomplishments, or successes. He spoke of Martin’s presence, his ability to cast his exuberance throughout an entire room, audience, or stage, his willingness to share his energy, his fascination with the people of his community.

Wolfe could offer first-hand knowledge of Martin’s deep commitment to caring for the people of his community and the many stories that evolved from years of house calls, office visits, fairs, plays, bridge games, walks through the village, and dinner parties, and conversations outside the post office. "I know intimately how much he cared about you," he shared.

Always a Storyteller

"The real reason we miss him is because he respected our stories," Wolfe speculated.. Within his family and his community, Martin was a noteworthy storyteller. His stories were not always clean or embedded in moral virtue, but rather steeped in the rich and rugged experiences of the people he cared for, worked with, and lived alongside in the Chelsea valley for over 50 years. Wolfe believed that many of those stories would not have grown roots without Martin there to play his role in them nor would they have been told and retold without him around to embellish the details.

In his eldest son, Scott’s, words he spent much of his life "caring for and listening to all of you [his community], and then after his retirement he still cared for you and then he began telling your stories. Dad loved spending time with his family and many times that family included you." Scott held a thick stack of 200-300 index cards with him as he spoke at the memorial service.

"Don’t worry, these are not my notes," he joked. In fact the cards each held just five or six key words that Martin used to remind himself of a particular story he wanted to remember. When he was asked to speak at an event or when he went to a party, he would shuffle through the deck, and bring along a portion of the stack in his pocket. The cards sat on his dresser, a collection representing his life’s travels, both near and far.

His sister-in-law, Vida Martin, ventured to say that the limited number of words he used to jog his memory on each card "gave him the chance to embroider a little extra into the story each time he told it."

Now his children have tasked themselves with documenting the stories represented on the cards. At the memorial service, they requested that folks jot down their stories of Martin and send them to his family. Scott has taken the note cards home with him to Massachusetts to begin filling in the blanks for the stories he is familiar with.

"What I look forward to most is hearing different versions of the same story, because I’m sure Dad’s version wasn’t always how the story started out." Hearing all the stories has been both healing and overwhelming for his family. Healing because they feel closer to him and his community each time they hear a tale; overwhelming because there are so many stories to tell and yet there is so little time to sit, hear them, and hopefully remember them. These stories have brought a new closeness to the family and the Chelsea community in recent days, a welcome thread connecting Martin’s children, who are spread all over North America, with their hometown.

Living by Example

Martin’s children will remember him more as a teacher than a doctor because he lead them by example, always equipping them with candid knowledge and modeling benevolence toward others. "People always came first," shared his son, David, "If he was in the middle of a project and someone came to the house needing something from him, the project was put aside."

Martin’s family never saw a distinction between their father’s time with his family and his time with the community. "He was the same man at home and at work, what you saw was what you got," smiled Scott. This has rung true in the weeks following his death as the family has grieved alongside their father’s patients, neighbors, and friends. It has been comforting for the family to hear of Martin’s days about town and it has been soothing to the community to see Martin likenesses and mannerisms in his children and grandchildren.

The principles Martin imparted to his young children every night at the dinner table shaped their own appreciation for life and for people. Scott shared the words his family has always lived by in three premises: "Respect all people, period. Appreciate others and find small ways to show them you care. And share your talents so that you can make others’ days happier and brighter."

Those core beliefs guided how Martin and his wife, Clara raised their children, and in turn, these ideals also lead the Martin children to help make decisions for the end of their parents’ lives. As a doctor, Martin spoke freely of death with his children throughout their lives.

"From the time we were little, death and dying was not something to be afraid of," shared Martin’s youngest, Anne. "I think we knew from the time we were very young where our parents stood and that it was okay to ask questions."

When Martin suffered a severe stroke on July 28, his children followed his wishes, knowing that if he couldn’t go for walks or talk or play bridge or play piano, his quality of life would not be redeemable in his eyes. His children took him home to die on Wednesday, Aug. 1. With the help of a Hospice team, they kept him comfortable, surrounded him with the music and songs of his family, and most importantly never left him alone. Community visitors were encouraged to write a message to Martin in a notebook, which his family would read to him.

It was a family effort; sometimes up to 16 people spent the night in the brick house on Chelsea’s Main Street to take shifts and be near him and each other. "We talked to him, he could hear us playing bridge, sometimes we just sat with him and held his hand." recalled Anne.

"It was really beautiful," revealed Debbie, his eldest child, "beautiful and peaceful." Martin’s was a passionate choice, a passionate story to the end.

Martin died in the same room where he and his children sat with Clara when she lost her battle with cancer in 1990. He had become a fervent proponent of Death with Dignity legislation since his retirement in 1993, so his family knew just what to do. Those family principles lead the way as they fostered a respectful, nurturing place for Martin to feel loved, appreciated, and surrounded by the things he loved most in life: family, music, and the talents of his children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews.

While the end of Martin’s life was a private journey for his family, the Chelsea community supported its path—with food, support, blankets, beds, prayers, and respect. The surreal quality of life without him has yet to take root, but an unexpected spectrum of mourning has broadened the grieving process for his family each time a ripple of one of his good deeds comes home.

It was obvious that every moment of Brewster Martin’s life was filled to the point of overflowing into the next. His hands touched so many lives and healed countless bodies and spirits. During the celebration of his life, the congregation filled the church with one of his favorite hymns, "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee." During the third verse, the organist stopped playing and naked human song, wrapped in sadness and joy simultaneously, billowed from the windows and flew into the summer sky. One phrase captured him completely, "Wellspring of the joy of living…"

Reverend Wolfe argued that Martin "was not a large frog in small pond, but that he would have been a huge presence no matter where he was." He certainly embodied talents, interests and opinions that do not typically harbor inside one body. He was a country doctor, an actor, a musician, a friend, a neighbor, a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a brother-in-law, a peanut M&M junkie, a speed walker, a snappy dresser, a dancer, a traveler, a lover of water, a student of life, and a teacher to many. Dr. Martin’s community will be eternally grateful that he chose this pond.

Anyone who would like to share a story of Brewster Martin or a story that he often told is asked to mail it to: The Martin Family, PO Box 128, Chelsea, VT 05038. Please include your name; the family hopes to someday publish a collection of Brewster’s stories.