Let me be clear about something. 

I love the town of Sabattus. I love the rolling green hills, the bucolic farmland, the sparkling ponds. 

I love that I can spend all afternoon getting filthy on the trails off Bowdoinham Road and then chill out at either Dunkin’ or Cumberland Farms, depending on how much money I have in my pocket that day. 

I love that there’s a vape store, a dollar store and a pretty raucous nightclub and yet no matter where you are in Sabattus, you know you’re in a classic small Maine town with a population that never rises much above 5,000 souls. 

Hell, I even like hanging around at Martin’s Point Park and watching people launch their boats or fish off the rocks.  

I tend to like the people who inhabit this town, too. The are hardworking and passionate souls who might yell at you at a town meeting but who will nonetheless stop to help you out when your brake calipers seize up out there on Crowley Road. 

Sabattus folk are good folk. Salt-of-the-earth, really. And if some freak storm were to come along and blow my house from Lewiston over the town line and into Sabattus, I wouldn’t complain a bit. I’d be happy to become one of them. 

Sabattus and me? We cool, all right? 

But I’ll tell you this: trying to cover this town for the newspaper isn’t a picnic, no siree. Covering Sabattus as a newsman, I feel a bit like that Sisyphus fellow rolling that rock up a mountain over and over, presumably until he’s dead. 

Mark LaFlamme

Years back, out of either journalistic altruism or giddy drunkenness, I agreed to take over coverage of the town. You know: town meetings, board decisions, all that political stuff that happens in every town across the land from the Atlantic to the Pacific. 

How hard could it be? 

If I could time travel, I’d go back and punch that earlier me right in the beak. 

When I first started covering this local Peyton Place, I thought it was going to be a breeze. I had made the acquaintance of Town Manager Tony Ward and he was treating me right. 

Meanwhile, Gary Baillargeon had taken over as Sabattus police chief. I knew Gary from his days at the cop shop in Auburn and so this was a fine arrangement. If I heard scuttlebutt out of Sabattus, I’d send an email to either Baillargeon or Ward, depending on whether the situation at hand involved politics or mayhem, and within minutes, I’d be off and running. 

It was so easy, a chimp could do it. I spent most of my time covering the town of Sabattus in full cruise control, my feet on the desk and blood pressure at all time lows. It was sweet. 

And then, BAM! The police chief became embroiled in controversy and he resigned his position shortly after. It was announced that career cop Sheila Wetherbee would take over as head of the Police Department and suddenly my feet weren’t on the desk anymore. 

“My dearest Sheila Wetherbee,” I wrote, in a hasty email to the new chief. “As a crime reporter presently covering the town of Sabattus, I hope we can establish a working relationship and become best buds. Do you play cribbage? What kind of liquor do you like?” 

Chief Wetherbee and I DID establish a decent working relationship, as it happens, but it wasn’t easy. Wetherbee was by nature distrustful of reporter types and here I was, some guy she’d never heard of wagging a notebook in her face.  

We sorted it out and for a time there, I was back on cruise control. Big doings in Sabattus? Why, I could just drop a line to Chief Wetherbee and have it worked out in no time. 

Then, because this is Sabattus we’re talking about here, there was a shake-up. Just as I was getting comfortable again, Wetherbee was gone. I don’t even remember why she resigned, she just did. And then suddenly, there was talk of poor morale at the Police Department. Officers were leaving, one after another, and I had questions. 

Just call Tony Ward and see what’s what, right?

Nope. 

By that point, Ward, too, had departed, leaving me weak again in one of my flanks. Or something. A new town manager by the name of Timothy Kane had taken over and Mr. Kane and I had trouble getting started on the right foot. 

Meanwhile, former Auburn cop Dan Davies took over as acting chief of the Sabattus department and, well, this part was OK, at least. Here was a reason for optimism. My relationship with Davies was so well established that I had once voluntarily allowed him to shoot me with a taser. 

In the middle of that upheaval there came a controversy over whether the town should disband its Police Department altogether. 

That matter was handled during a feisty town meeting and it was back to business as normal — for what felt like maybe a week. Then, because in Sabattus, there is some kind of cosmic law demanding that there be SOME kind of drama going on at all times, a new scandal emerged.

As I was struggling to get established with Town Manager Kane, there came new reports of woe and unhappiness coming out of Sabattus almost daily. By then, I had plenty of tipsters; people who live in the town and who contacted me nonstop with allegations of shady dealings by the Select Board and town manager. 

As I struggled to keep up, consulting my cheat sheets to recall who was in what position in Sabattus presently, a no-confidence movement was suddenly afloat in which a few dozen town residents flung accusations at Kane and his board. 

The no-confidence movement involved a 37-page packet that was so long and detailed, it caused my head to spin all the way around on my neck just like poor Linda Blair back in the day. And while this fiasco was going on, Sabattus Fire Chief Troy Cailler abruptly resigned after butting heads over and over with the town manager and select board, and there went yet another person who had been a terrific source for fire and mayhem news — Cailler was around for three years which, by Sabattus standards, I suppose one would call “a good run.”

In the midst of all this, I had a face-to-face meeting with Kane and one of his selectmen. The selectman generally just glowered and barked at me, but Kane and I negotiated some kind of peace and here at last, I began to get a handle on things again in Sabattus. 

Kane was talking to me at last and I felt blessed that I had Dan Davies as the police chief whom I could count on to get back to me when things were rocking and rolling. Pretty good, right? 

Nope. 

That cozy relationship lasted roughly a minute, as far as I recall. Just like that, Davies was out and some new cat was coming in to serve as police chief. 

Enter Erik Baker, another career cop and in general, a tough old bird. 

“My dearest Erik Baker,” I began in my letter. “Please note that I spelled your first name correctly, with a K instead of a C on the end of it. Clearly this should indicate to you what a thorough and trustworthy reporter I am and so we should be buds. Do you shoot darts at all?” 

Baker was all right. As police chief, he would never, ever give me more than he was required to give, but at least he was smart enough to know he had to give me SOMETHING and he always returned my messages. 

Well, all right. Things are looking up again. Kane is talking to me, Baker is accessible and this ship is back on course. I might even be comfortable enough to put my feet back on the desk, by golly. 

Yeah, right. In the spring, the embattled and fractious Kane resigned just ahead of the town’s annual meeting. Not only that but longtime Selectman Mark Duquette called it quits, as well, and town leadership was again in disarray.

It’s all a blur after that. Baker took over as interim town manager while continuing to serve as police chief. 

“This might not be so bad,” I consoled myself, when I came out from underneath my desk. “One known contact in both positions? This might work out just fine. Right?” 

Nope.

Last week, Baker quit, not one but both positions. “To spend more time with family,” was the official reason given, although I hear rumors that, like previous chiefs before him, Baker was tired of butting heads with the town Select Board. 

And now both the police chief and town manager positions will be denoted, for a time, by giant question marks. And who am I to call when things get wild out in Sabattus, as things ALWAYS get in this crazy, beautiful place? 

Beats me, bro. My new strategy for covering news out of Sabattus is to get hammered out at Martin’s Point for a while and then stumble over to Cumby’s to hear the news directly from the people. 

Town managers and police chiefs may come and go, my friends, but the people of Sabattus are constant, and they know the ins and outs of town drama better than any elected official ever could.  

“Dear old guy getting coffee at Cumby’s,” I’ll begin in my letter. “I’ve spent all day getting plastered at the beach so you just KNOW I’m a reporter who can be trusted. Please, my friend. Tell me everything you know and let’s be buds. 

“Say, do you like Parcheesi?”