3 p.m. …

Ralph Tuttle poked his head in the door to Chip Morrison’s office and posed the umpteenth question of the day for the chamber president.

A member of SCORE, Tuttle was looking for a speaker who could talk to a gathering of manufacturers about retail sales.

“How about Skip Lalemand over at the mill?” suggested Morrison.

“That’s a great idea; he does retail and wholesale,” said Tuttle. “I’ll give him a call.”

Morrison, wearing a herringbone tweed jacket and an inextinguishable smile, had been up since 4:45 a.m., preparing for the chamber’s monthly breakfast meeting followed by a press conference and then a regional planning conference. It was midway through his day, with two more functions yet to come.

The question from Tuttle barely registered with the 62-year-old, except in its ordinariness.

“That’s the sum total of my life,” he said to a visitor. “I’m always trying to connect the dots.”

As a dot connector, he is a master. President of the Androscoggin County Chamber of Commerce since 1995, Morrison has overseen its explosive growth. Numbering 876 in 1999, the local chamber tallies 1,304 members today, nipping at the heels of Portland’s 1,482 members.

But growing the chamber’s membership isn’t his only accomplishment.

• A capital campaign launched in 2005 to move the chamber into new digs at the Business Service Center met its goal of $500,000 in only six months.

• More than $250,000 has been raised for college scholarships since 2000, starting with seven recipients that first year and now nearing 20.

• An affiliate for younger business people dubbed YPLAA has grown to a membership of more than 350 in its first full year.

• The annual “Not Your Normal Formal” – a wacky blend of costume party, auction and cotillion – brings in about 5 percent of the chamber’s operating budget from the highly anticipated one-night gala.

• An active, 37-member board of directors sets policy and goals that stretch from lobbying for pro-business bills in Augusta to collecting 1,000 toys for underprivileged children.

• Businesses wanting to host the popular Business After Hours monthly networking events are booked through 2013.

Morrison is quick to share the credit for the chamber’s success with its board, staff and membership. But those who have watched the organization’s growth and growing presence in Lewiston and Auburn train the spotlight back on Morrison.

“He’s a powerhouse,” said Jan Barrett, a member since 1998 and last year’s board chair. “He has incredible energy; he never slows down. … You never see him in a slump. His energy is contagious.”

Morrison’s infectious personality is part of his appeal. He’s comfortable on stage, whether playing trombone with the Auburn Community Band or as Dr. Chumley in Community Little Theatre’s production of “Harvey.”

He’s a gleeful emcee, presiding over boisterous monthly breakfast meetings like a benevolent uncle at a family reunion. Last month he donned candy-cane antlers for the holiday breakfast; two months ago he introduced his wife, Jane, newly hired as director at Schooner Estates, as a new member.

“I’ll tell you, this is the first time I’ve had to sleep with a new member,” he quipped to the laughing crowd.

Earlier that morning …

His unflappable affability makes it easy to meet and greet people. After the breakfast meeting on that October day – where he dispensed 50 door prizes (“We’ll be here ’til midnight!”) in record time – he zipped over to a press conference hosted by FISC and FairPoint Communications.

“Hey, thanks for throwing the party,” he said to Gene Johnson, the FairPoint CEO who hopes to buy Verizon’s land lines. The event was to announce $1 million in new business for FISC if FairPoint can seal its deal.

An invited speaker, Morrison talked about FISC’s growth and CEO Carol Sabasteanski’s long-term commitment to supporting local businesses – a credo from her time on the chamber board.

He worked the crowd briefly afterwards, grabbing half a chicken salad wrap and a cup of coffee from the buffet, which he nursed on the walk back to his office. It was the first food he’d had all day, skipping the buffet line at the Hilton chamber breakfast earlier.

“Stomach was churning; there’s too much going on,” he said.

Back at his office, he clicks his computer’s inbox.

“I can’t have 45 e-mails already,” he said, wincing. “It isn’t fair.” Donning oversize aviator glasses, he got to work.

His desk abuts a brick wall in the newly restored Pontiac Building, but his office is already cluttered with reminders of a varied career. Framed on one wall is his 2001 Citizen of the Year Award from Auburn and a 1994 Public Administrator of the Year award from the Maine Chapter of the American Society of Public Administrators. Next is a print of the Blaine House inscribed with “Thanks for all you did over the years. It made a difference” signed by Gov. John McKernan – who appointed Morrison to his Cabinet – and his wife, U.S. Sen. Olympia Snowe.

Morrison barely made a dent in the mail when Tim Vrabel, branch manager at Bangor Savings Bank, dropped by to introduce two new staff members. Vrabel was leaving for a new job with the Public Utilities Commission, and he wanted to make sure the new folks became active in the chamber.

“This is the best chamber in the state, bar none,” said Vrabel. “It’s very active, a fun group without artifice, no pretense.”

Morrison gave the two a primer on the local business environment. “It’s very competitive in the banking area … you’ll feel it all the time,” he said.

Then he turned to compliment Vrabel for the bank’s success in winning over new businesses and for its support of initiatives like YPLAA, which was launched with a $10,000 grant from Bangor Savings Bank.

“The chamber is a great organization – it was before I ever got here,” said Morrison to the two newcomers. “It really works for you if you get involved.”

The past

Involvement is something he knows a thing or two about. Raised as the oldest of three brothers in Waukegan, Ill., Morrison was introduced to public service at a young age.

“I was 4 when my mom took me to the community chest,” he said. “I gave them a dime, or maybe it was nickel – I don’t remember, it was the ’40s.”

Both his parents served on municipal committees and charitable boards their whole lives; there were similar expectations for their children.

“It’s where I get it from,” he said, noting that none of his siblings nor their cousins opted for careers in retail, despite their grandfather’s founding in 1890 of The Globe, a high-end department store in Waukegan.

Instead, Morrison chose to study public administration, getting a master’s degree and then jobs as assistant city manager in Des Moines and city manager of Benton Harbor, Mich.

Eventually, he landed in Washington, D.C., where he did consultant work. But the crazy hours, especially with little children at home, caused strain. The final straw came when the family goldfish died and Morrison couldn’t leave work to bury it.

It was time to move. In 1978, he got an offer to become city manager in Auburn. It was a job he loved for nine years, and would have probably continued if the governor hadn’t knocked on his door.

“Gov. McKernan called me, asking if I’d consider a position on his Cabinet as commissioner of administration,” said Morrison.

That job segued into state labor commissioner, a hot-seat appointment, at the time. In 1990 the state was still stinging from crippling labor strikes in Rumford and Jay and a contentious gubernatorial race loomed.

In fact, Morrison’s appointment wasn’t endorsed by the House but got the two-thirds vote needed in the Senate, reflecting the division within the Legislature at the time.

The toughest time in Augusta came when state government closed for two weeks in the summer of 1992. Only essential staff were allowed to work.

“I had to tell public employees that they weren’t valuable. It was very painful to me,” he said.

12:40 p.m. …

Morrison clearly has a soft spot for others.

As he drove from his office to a conference on infrastructure at the Ramada Inn that day, Morrison mentioned that it took six weeks before he could bring himself to remove a constellation of noseprints from his windshield after his beloved Lab, Satch, passed away. As he left the hotel’s parking lot after moderating a panel at the conference, a down-on-his-luck man approached him, asking for a lift to a local credit union.

“Certainly, sir,” said Morrison. “Tell me where you are going.”

His compassion was evident even as he grappled with one of the most difficult incidents in his career. In August, he fired an employee he suspected of stealing money from chamber accounts.

His face ashen and lined in worry, he mused at the time that she must have been facing terrible circumstances to bring her to the point of theft.

“I can only imagine,” he said.

Despite feeling personally betrayed, Morrison also felt strongly that the chamber should publicly acknowledge the incident and use it as a learning experience for the organization and its membership. His executive board agreed.

“It’s a widespread problem, ” he said. “You work closely with people and you get blinders on. … You have to think about that.” A chamber seminar on employee theft is planned for later this year.

5 p.m. …

It’s two hours after Tuttle had asked for Morrison’s help lining up a speaker, a time when most folks are winding down their work day.

Not Morrison. He was on his way to an open house for the local chapter of the American Red Cross, which just moved into new offices on Lisbon Street.

“I like it! Moving on up!” he exclaimed as he toured the new facility. A former member of its board, Morrison chatted up Executive Director Laurie Levine, who picked his brain about an approach for new directors.

He popped a few stuffed mushrooms into his mouth and then departed, on his way to hear Fuel restaurant owner Eric Agren give a talk at Gallery 5 about downtown development. Morrison conceded that he could have used a little down time about then, but he’s so impressed by the young entrepreneur’s accomplishments he wanted to hear what he had to say.

At 7 p.m., he ended the day where it began: at the Hilton. The main conference room had been transformed into an exhibition hall, hosting an art auction to benefit Habitat for Humanity. Morrison’s famously wavy hair had begun to wilt a bit. He loaded an hors d’oeuvre plate with crudités – what would pass for supper – and scanned the room for Jane. Two hours later they left with two prints, one a stylized calligraphy of the alphabet for their grandchildren, and the other a landscape done by local artist Joyce Coyne.

“I think I was comatose, but I was still standing” at day’s end, he joked.

For now, Morrison says he can’t see doing anything else. He loves his job, his community, his life. Dismissing some minor ailments, he said his health is just fine – certainly strong enough to sustain his other passion in life: golf.

“Maybe this is the last full-time job I’ll ever have,” he mused. “I love what I do. It’s a perfect job for me.”

No bureaucracy; the chance to make a difference; fun, engaging people who share his enthusiasm and a fired-up vision for the area.

“There’s so much energy in this chamber,” he said. “People love to come to it. There’s energy and that keeps it going.

Then he laughed.

“Me, too.”