It was a sad day when I picked up the morning newspaper to learn that Lt. Col. Frank P. Hopkins, 82, U.S. Air Force, retired, had died at his beloved home in Wallagrass on Jan. 30.

We had been pen pals since I first encountered his biting wit years ago in the short and pithy letters he’d write to the editor, taking the Bangor Daily News to task for some real or imagined journalistic faux pas, as often as not involving the handling of obituaries.

“Oh Wise One,” began a typical note. “Check your latest Columbia Journalism Review for a nice piece on an obit writer for the NY Times. If only the BDN could spend a little time personalizing their obits, give them the human touch. They have the feature writers who could do it, too…”

He forwarded his idea of a great sendoff, quoting an Afghan emir speaking of the death of his father in 1879. “Instead of that bleak ‘gone to meet his maker’ the BDN loves for obits, how I’d love to see the following in the paper: ‘He has cast off the raiment of existence, obeyed the voice of the Great Summoner, and hastened to the land of Divine Mercy.’ Now that’s class!'”

Once, he enclosed a BDN obituary reporting that the newly deceased had enjoyed “riding up one road and down another.” His note of approval read “At last, a proper epitaph. And in only seven words.”

And so it came as no surprise to learn that Hopkins had written his own obituary for Thursday’s paper, nor that it included this tongue-in-cheek explanation: “He was afraid that no other writer than himself could do justice to his powerful intellect, extraordinary heroism and penchant for hard work.”

The obituary, vintage Hopkins, took the reader through his World War II and Korea service (including 51 combat missions in a B-17 over Fortress Europe) with humor and self-deprecation. “He was rewarded for his terror and bad marksmanship by receiving eight air medals, five battle stars and a Purple Heart,” Hopkins wrote. “This hapless warrior was no hero, only lucky…”

Readers learned that the staunch Democrat had voted for a Republican only once in his entire life, “that being for a state senator whose Democratic opponent was a cult member,” and that he “never forgave himself, but did regard it as a choice between two evils.” His hobbies included “patting dogs, looking at clouds and doing powerful thinking while watching candles burn.” He also enjoyed “writing cranky letters to newspapers, telling them what they were doing wrong.”

Boy, did he ever. And he wasted little space. A “long” Hopkins letter – always composed on his aging typewriter – might total two, possibly three, paragraphs. More often, the message was packaged succinctly in a half-dozen words. One of my favorites came attached with a BDN clipping featuring a six-column banner headline: “Plane May Have Flown Too Low Before Crash” over a story about a Presque Isle aircraft accident. Hopkins used only two words in skewering us. “Ya Think?,” he wrote.

A few years ago, Hopkins was temporarily lodged at a Bangor nursing home while recovering from surgery. At the suggestion of his wife, Dorothy, I paid him a surprise visit. We had never met, and except for our correspondence, didn’t know each other from Adam. I looked forward to meeting the man who often signed himself “F. Penrose Hopkins, President and Chief Executive Officer of The Wallagrass Institute” and I wasn’t disappointed. We talked of many things that day. Politics. The news media and other aggravations, of course. Life in The County. Why Johnny can’t spell. Never has an hour zipped by so quickly. “Remember Hopkins’ law,” he said to me, on parting. “There is nothing so small that it can’t be blown out of proportion.” And I soon adopted the credo as my own.

His last letter arrived just three days before his death. He told me he had had “another joy ride via ambulance to EMMC” before Christmas. “Now what I want to know is why the vehicle which transports the wounded must be so damned uncomfortable, while the hearse that carries the dead rides like any presidential limo.”

And then came his obit, personalized and with a kicker so Hopkinsonian in its approach as to bring a smile to those who knew him. “An avid avoider of parades and ceremonies, he wishes for no final services…”

If I could receive one final note from my cherished pen pal, F. Penrose Hopkins, the Wallagrass Institute’s resident curmudgeon, I have absolutely no doubt what the message would be: At last, a decent obituary in the pages of the Bangor Daily News.

NEWS columnist Kent Ward lives in Winterport. His e-mail address is olddawg@bangordailynews.net.