Global Courant
The engines of lobster boats thump to life in quiet bays. Lumberjacks trudge deep into the forest. Farmers tend vast expanses of wild blueberries. Maine’s Down East region is where sunlight first kisses the soil of an American state each day, where vast wilderness and ocean meet in one of the last places on the East Coast unspoiled by development.
That makes it a striking backdrop for one family’s bold vision for the region: a flagpole rising from the woods to a sweeping sky—the tallest ever, taller than the Empire State Building. And on it? A huge American flag bigger than a football field, visible from miles away on a clear day.
For promoters, the $1 billion project, funded in part by donations, would unite people of all political affiliations and remind them of shared values in an era of national polarization. Here’s how Morrill Worcester, founder of Worcester Wreath, puts it: “We want to bring Americans together, remind them of the centuries of sacrifices made to protect our freedom and unite a divided America.”
So far, the project, dubbed the Flagpole of Freedom Park, has done just the opposite. In Columbia Falls, with a population of 485, the closest place to the piece of land where the pole would rise, the debate has exposed community and cultural focal points.
Does the peaceful environment want the visitors it would bring? Would the massive undertaking damage the landscape? How do you combine development and environmental awareness? How are traditional industries faring alongside service economy jobs?
And perhaps most importantly, how does an American city show its love for the country at a time when even the Stars and Stripes themselves have become politicized?
WHITE HOUSE ACCUSED OF US FLAG CODE VIOLATION DURING PRIDE MONTH DISPLAY
The flagpole alone is a bold proposition. It would be 1,461 feet tall, surpassing the Empire State Building, with elevators taking people to observation decks where they could see clearly at Canada. Frets a resident: “It’s like putting the Eiffel Tower in the Maine wilderness.”
But that is not everything. Morrill Worcester envisions a village with living history museums that tell the country’s story through the eyes of veterans. There would be a 4,000-seat auditorium, restaurants and monumental walls bearing the name of each deceased veteran of the Revolution. That’s about 24 million names. Slick presentations showcased what amounted to a patriotic theme park, replete with gondolas to transport visitors around.
In Columbia Falls, many were amazed at the scale. It would require paving over forests for parking lots and the construction of housing for hundreds, perhaps thousands of workers, potentially transforming this oasis into a proliferation of souvenir shops, fast food outlets and shopping malls.
From above, the landscape here remains a sprawling green canopy. Below are dozens of streams, ponds and lakes teeming with trout and historic streams of Atlantic salmon. Deer, moose, black bears, beavers and fishing cats roam the forest floor. Interspersed with the forests, wild blueberries are barren.
“This is the last wilderness on the East Coast,” said Marie Emerson, whose husband, Dell, is a beloved native son, a longtime blueberry grower and college research farm manager.
She says it’s that rugged coast and pristine wilderness that make this corner of the world special, and a major development could destroy forests and wild blueberry trees that have been here for 10,000 years, with Native Americans as the first stewards. She asks, “Do you want to kill the goose that laid the golden egg?”
Still, not everything is gold. Tourists flock here in summer to escape cities, pollution and noise and enjoy clean air and dark starry skies. But behind the beauty lies a region that many have a hard time with.
An American flag flies in Patriot Park, home to a collection of monuments honoring veterans in Columbia Falls, Maine, on May 27, 2023. (AP Photo/Robert F. Bukaty)
Logging, blueberry picking, and lobstering don’t always provide year-round employment; resourceful residents supplement their income by digging for clams or collecting balm tips for making wreaths. The region rivals the highest unemployment and poverty rates in the state. The county’s residents are among the oldest in the state and are experiencing rampant opioid abuse.
There’s a joke people tell here. It goes something like this: We may send lobsters, blueberries, and wreaths out into the world, but our biggest export is young people looking for work.
IN MAINE, A PROPOSED $1B PATRIOTIC PARK WILL HAVE A 1,776 FOOT FLAGPOLE
Worcester’s unique story of pride, patriotism, and hubris begins at Arlington National Cemetery and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, where the sacrifices represented by tombstones left an impression when he was a boy.
He never forgot even when he built his wreath making business. In 1992, he began providing thousands of embalming wreaths to decorate headstones in Arlington. That went on quietly for years until photos of the cemetery wreaths against a backdrop of snow went viral. The annual effort grew so large that the non-profit spin-off, Wreaths Across America, run by his wife, now delivers more than 1 million wreaths to military cemeteries and graves.
It has made this corner of the world synonymous with patriotic zeal. Motorists entering Columbia Falls encounter Pledge of Allegiance flags and phrases along US 1. A welcome proclaims, “Columbia Falls, Home to Wreaths Across America.”
Few question the family’s motives. But as the wreath program grew, some became skeptical. To them it seemed as if Worcester had coupled his chariot to a sacred cow: the country’s veterans.
Worcester unveiled its even grander gesture last year. Yes, he informed local officials first. But most residents learned of details when, in an act of classic American showmanship, he and his sons staged a formal announcement with flashy images showing the flagpole — wait for it — 1,776 feet above sea level.
“Most people were, shall we say, shocked when they saw how big it was,” said Jeff Greene, a contractor and one of three members of the city’s Select Board.
There was a bigger problem. The proposed site is not technically in Columbia Falls. The 10,000 hectare plot is located in a neighboring municipality under the supervision of a government agency. Worcester’s solution: push a bill through the legislature to allow the citizens to vote to annex the land.
He also landed in hot water months later when the Maine Department of Environmental Protection charged Worcester Holdings with building Flagpole View Cabins — more than 50 of them — without the necessary permits.
City residents began to take sides. Some saw a gentle man trying to provide much-needed jobs and doing some good. Others saw a businessman accustomed to getting his own way trying to ram his version of America down others’ throats. Patriotism, they said, is not measured by the height of a flagpole. And divided political discourse seeping into the local discussion? That’s not great either, says Greene.
“What we desperately need in this area of the country, or in the world at large, is the ability to listen to someone you disagree with in an effort to find something of value,” he says, adding: “Even if you don’t agree.”
On a recent day, Charlie Robbins found himself deep in the woods next to Peaked Mountain Pond. The silence was broken by chirping birds, the gentle breeze and the gurgle of water flowing into a stream that feeds the Machias River, where endangered Atlantic salmon are returning.
In the distance, a hill of several hundred feet rose at the far end of the pond. There the flagpole would tower over the landscape, topped by a watchtower with flashing lights that cut through the dark stillness of the night.
“It would be out of place.” says Robbins, a retiree Maine Department of Transportation laborer who enjoys hunting and fishing, accompanied by his dogs, German pointers Max and Libby. Despite his comparison to the Eiffel Tower, he does not question the flagpole’s motives. “It’s just different from my vision,” he says. “I hunt and fish in the area. I don’t like the crowds. It’s a bit selfish, but that’s how I feel.”
Many agree. In March, residents overwhelmingly approved a six-month moratorium on major projects to give the city time to develop the necessary rules and regulations. Until they find out, no flagpole. Not a giant flag. Not a patriotic theme park.
Still, it is delicate to criticize the flag, which crosses fault lines in a country where politicians have dressed themselves in red, white and blue.
At a town meeting, a resident said she didn’t like waking up every morning and looking out her window to see a giant flagpole. Her comment struck a chord.
CLICK HERE TO GET THE FOX NEWS APP
“That didn’t sit well with me,” says Peter Doak, puffing from a pipe in the kitchen of his house, which was built in the 18th century. “Maybe one day we’ll wake up to the hammer and sickle flying up there,” he growls, describing the flag of the former Soviet Union.
The retired school principal comes from a seafaring family stretching back five generations, including naval officers. He broke with the ranks and joined the army. He was a green beret in Vietnam. Criticizing Old Glory sounds unpatriotic to him and others who served – and to families who lost loved ones in war.
“To say that the flagpole with the United States flag it’s an eyesore, I don’t really like it,” he says. “But they don’t mind looking out the window at cell phone towers or the windmills.”
Morrill Worcester doesn’t say much about it these days. The Worcester family declined repeated requests for interviews. In a statement, the family said the project will move forward – while leaving the door open for changes.
The family is supported by support and donations — though it won’t say how much money — and respects the wishes of city residents who want more time to study the proposal, Mike Worcester, one of Morrill Worcester’s sons, said in a statement to The Associated Press.
“As we refine our plans,” the statement said, “we remain committed to our vision and are more confident than ever that our evolving plan will result in a place where all Americans can celebrate our nation’s service history together.”
And so the project stands for now, frozen by administrative moratorium – a curious moment in the life of a city, and a glimpse of how the love of home and country can be powerful, and sometimes at odds.
Doak, the army veteran, knows Morrill Worcester as a humble but determined man. And while Worcester never served in the military, no one doubts his patriotism. Each week, Worcester is on US 1 waving flags next to a group of residents, even in snow storms and rain.
Doak describes his friend as a visionary. He sums it up like this: People thought that Walt Disney World, built in a swamp area in Florida, was a crazy idea. They thought Mount Rushmore was bizarre. Both are now cherished.
“I’m going to tell you now that he’s going to build that flagpole,” says Doak. “So why wouldn’t it be Columbia Falls?”
