I joined the Maine Warden Service in September of 1970, fulfilling a childhood dream of one day following in the footsteps of my family members by pursuing a career in law enforcement. Most of my family had been involved in law enforcement in one way or another over the years.
My grandfather, Leland Ford, was a Maine State trooper in the earlier days of the Maine State Police. He was stationed at Troop A, patrolling the southern Maine towns around Sanford until his untimely death from pneumonia in 1954.
My father, Velmore Ford, was a part-time deputy for the York County Sheriff’s Office. He, too, patrolled the Sanford-Springvale area.
My mother, Ethelind Walker, spent countless hours rehabilitating a variety of wildlife for the Department of Inland Fish and Game. Being constantly around nearly every type of wild critter imaginable piqued my interest of one day becoming a Maine Game Warden. Raccoons, fishers, otters, bobcats, deer, hawks, owls, squirrels, ducks, and several other species of game roamed throughout my yard, and my decision to pursue a career in wildlife was more determined with each new critter that came along.
We lived in Emery’s Mills, a small community a few miles north of Sanford. Our house was near the shores of Mousam Lake. With swimming and fishing in the summer and skating and ice-fishing in the winter, it was a great place to grow up. There was always something to do out of doors, and the area was well noted for hunting. My brother Jerrold and I always found some means of mischief to keep us occupied.
My stepfather, Warden Vernon Walker, patrolled the Sanford-Springvale area for twenty-three years before he retired. I tagged along with Verne every chance I could get. He was the single biggest influence in my young life as to wanting to follow in his footsteps.
At an early age I was well acquainted with many of the wardens in southern Maine. The rapport and respect these men had developed with the public they served was second to none. Their mission to protect and preserve the great wildlife resources of our state seemed like a desirable ambition to pursue. Never knowing what might happen from one moment to the next was also exciting for a young fellow still unsure of what his destiny in life might be.
I struggled through Sanford High School, graduating as a medium student at best. I couldn’t seem to put forth any extra effort to get the most out of my studies. I’d much rather be off hiking in the woods or fishing out on the pond. I was unable to correlate the importance of school-work in reference to the dream I was pursuing. I intended on becoming a Maine Game Warden come hell or high water, and geometry, algebra, chemistry, and the like certainly weren’t going to make any difference whatsoever—or so I thought.
The only subject I excelled in was art. And even then, I only drew wildlife scenes or painted landscapes of a remote trout brook or other rural locations I envisioned. I did create one portrait, however, a not-too-pretty caricature of my chemistry teacher. I didn’t particularly care for the man and I simply hated and never understood chemistry. He caught me in the act as I sat in the back row of his class. In a fit of sheer rage he ordered me to bring my artistic rendition up to the front of the classroom for the entire class to view.
It wasn’t a very complimentary portrait by any means. I regretted drawing it, and I’m sure the teacher later regretted having me show it. But his demand was met, resulting in a quick trip to the principal’s office and my very last day of chemistry forever. That drawing was nearly my undoing for graduating. (Incidentally, the principal confided that he could see a close resemblance to my chemistry teacher in the drawing.)
One year of working in a plastics factory in Sanford after high school was more than I could stand. Never being able to look outside from within the dark factory walls took its toll. I decided that it was time to see the world while I was young and single. I ventured into the Air Force recruiter’s office and made a four-year commitment to Uncle Sam, much to my folks’ chagrin.
After basic training I volunteered for duties in Vietnam and Alaska and was thoroughly surprised when I was to sent back to Maine instead, as a radar operator at a small air base in Topsham. So much for seeing the world. While there, I took the written warden exam and passed with flying colors, but I still had a few years to go before completing my military obligation.
Maine Game Warden John Ford Sr.
A week after my discharge, I was called to Fish and Game headquarters for a chief warden’s interview and an oral board exam. On September 20, 1970, I was sworn in as one of the newest members of the elite team of wardens covering the state. The pay was a whopping $70 a week for 120 hours of work, six days on and two off, except for the fall when all days off were canceled. Oh, and I was to be on call twenty-four hours a day.
I was proud and excited. My childhood dreams had become reality and my adventures were about to begin. I would have what I could only consider a front-row seat to life itself.
Burnham, northeast of Waterville, was my destination. I picked up my supplies in Augusta and headed north for that paradise and some of the best deer-hunting country in the state.
Verne Walker wisely advised this rookie warden to maintain a daily diary of moments I enjoyed most during my career. “You’ll forget what you did two days ago if you don’t. Take it from one who knows,” he said with a chuckle. “Who knows—maybe someday you can write a book about your own adventures.”
My mentor also gave me another bit of advice that I treasured and have always tried to follow: “John, you treat those folks the same way you’d like to be treated and you’ll get their respect. Be firm, but more so, be fair. And remember, they shot deer illegally up in that gawd-damned country long before you arrived on the scene, and they sure as hell will be shooting them illegally long after you’re gone. Just be firm and fair, and you’ll do just fine.”
Great advice from a great man.
I’ve enjoyed my front-row seat to life. I got to see the very best of my neighbors, and at times, the very worst. The twenty years flew by like it was only yesterday, and never for one minute did it feel like work. It has been a journey I truly feel I was blessed to have taken, and I have no regrets. Sportsmen of Maine are by far the very best anywhere, and the many friends I made along the way will remain as friends forever—even those I found myself holding accountable every now and then.
Over the years, thanks to Verne, I recorded my adventures, mostly the humorous ones of my own doing and demise, more so than the tragic incidents. I share some of them here with you now, with some of the subjects’ names changed to protect their privacy. I hope you enjoy the trip.
John Ford Sr.
April 2012