Mention his name, and the same thought, essentially the same word, surfaces each time.
Thanks.
From the Canterbury Shaker Village community, to Native Americans, to world-famous documentarian Ken Burns, to the planet itself, Bud Thompson, who died last week at the age of 99, did things that enriched learning, culture and life.
He built museums, preserved the past, lectured to college students, played music, sang songs and gave people direction.
Not by offering unsolicited advice, mind you. By listening. By injecting you like a COVID vaccination, reducing fear and instilling confidence.
Dave Lamb felt that effect left by his stepfather. Lamb is a master craftsman in Canterbury. He makes furniture that takes years to build, costs thousands of dollars and widens your eyes as you move closer to appreciate the detailed carvings and rich wood.
“I was 14 and I had my apprenticeship,” Lamb told me by phone this week. “So many parents would have said that you want a secure job, be employed with a big corporation. But to encourage a kid to be self-employed, and doing it by being a master craftsman, that was a risky path, but he always told me to do what you love, not what others thought and not what was always the secure thing to do.”
Thompson did things his own way in his own life. Thompson dropped out of high school and was given an honorary degree two years ago by Kearsarge Regional High School.
In between, he fell in love with and became curious about different areas of life. Art, music, singing, history, people.
“He took an interest in others and he really wanted people to see the beauty in the natural world and see the beauty of what the human being can be,” stepson Steven Lamb said. “We are mindful about values and that’s why he gravitated to the Shakers and Indians. They had a common set of values and a very strong value system that influenced others.”
Added his old friend Sarah Kinter of Canterbury, a guide at Shaker Village, “There was so much connection between what the Shakers believed, in nature and faith and simplicity and equality, and what he believed. He had that love all his life.”
The Shakers appealed to Thompson. Their peace, their appreciation, their praying, their kindness. He moved his family to the village in 1972 and shouldered the burden of making sure the Shaker Village would last forever.
He showed the three remaining Shaker Sisters what life looked like at Old Sturbridge Village and how their culture and way of life could be preserved within the walls of a museum, as well as the walls of restored buildings and the 694 acres of forests, fields, gardens, nature trails and mill ponds, all under permanent conservation easement.
Thompson was the historical director at the Shaker Village living museum, and an honorary trustee. His wife, Nancy, was a tour guide and the director of education.
Later, they moved to Warner and took their love for spirituality, history, Mother Earth and communal philosophy with them, forming the Mount Kearsarge Indian Museum and filling it with artifacts purchased and discovered by Thompson.
Thompson’s passion for walking in others’ shoes was not lost on Granite State filmmaker Ken Burns, whose appetite for knowledge has led to documentaries on everything from the Civil War, to Vietnam, to the Brooklyn Bridge, to Major League Baseball.
Burns, reached via his website, said he learned about state history through Thompson. He said Thompson made him believe in himself. Sort of like the impact he had on Dave Lamb and his woodworking.
“Bud Thompson was that rare human being who taught with each gesture, gave freely of his knowledge and kindness, and reminded us that good guys do finish first,” Burns wrote in an email. “He helped me over the last 40 years in immeasurable ways, first at the Shaker Museum, then at the Kearsarge Indian Museum. But it was his faith in me and friendship that I will miss the most. He was a great man.”
The Kearsarge Museum reflects deeply held beliefs that were cherished by Thompson. His vision of Native Americans, his curiosity about their history, their real history, began when an Indian named Sachem Silver Star visited his second-grade class.
Silver Star told the children to sit on the floor, in a circle, a sign of belonging as one. It wasn’t long before Thompson realized the contributions made by Native Americans. That’s on display in Warner. Baskets and jewelry and clothing. Not weaponry. Not perceived warlike tendencies that had been portrayed by history books for so long.
“He felt they had been shown as a military opponent of the white people,” said Darryl Thompson of Gilmanton, Bud’s biological son. “He wanted to show them as spiritual human beings and show them as ecologists. In a world of pollution and climate change, he wanted to show cultures that lived in far greater harmony.”
There was more to the man, of course. He traveled the country as a singing troubadour, entertaining thousands along the way as he paired his baritone voice with his Spanish guitar. He sang classical songs, country-western, opera.
“He was interested in finding unique music and he stumbled upon the Shakers,” Dave Lamb said. “Once he got to know them, he became intertwined in their culture and society.”
Thompson also had a sense of humor. His jokes at times were off-color. Perhaps he’d introduce one of his sons to the waitress in a playful game of matchmaking, nearly pushing the boy to duck for cover under the table.
Kinter, who’s 70, said she never gave Thompson the satisfaction of knowing that he had knocked her off balance with one of his dirty jokes.
“He loved to tell me the worst of them,” Kinter said. “I’d never let him know that he’d thrown me off my game. If Nancy was around, she would give him a hard elbow in the ribs.”
Nancy and Bud moved into Merrimack County Nursing Home in October. She still lives there. She suffers from dementia. Her husband shuffled with a walker, but he remained sharp until the end.
Thompson, growing weaker in recent months, knew his time was coming. He returned to the nursing home from the hospital by ambulance. He wanted to say goodbye to Nancy.
Dementia had closed her world. This time, though, she understood. And this time, he was the one who gave thanks.
“When Bud came in she just knew what was happening,” Kinter said. “She held his hand and they knew this was the end of their journey.”