A Man About Town

You have to start with the hardware store: Lincoln Park True Value. Bruce Robert Smith, Sr. owned it, lived in the apartment above it and spent nearly every day at it. That store anchored Main Street, which itself anchored Lincoln Park, New Jersey. Bruce anchored the town.

He was there nearly every day, light and sweet coffee in hand, dishing advice on everything from plumbing to painting and talking it up with the regulars – most of whom had colorful nicknames he’d provided. Stubby Jack, Wingnut, Battery Man, Joey Bagga’ Donuts, there’s too many of those regulars to count, some with names not safe for print. They came for their supplies and sundries, for sure, but they also came for the ribbing, the conversations, the laughs. Bruce was a funny guy, always with a smile, a sly comment, sometimes with just a handful of words.

He was more than that hardware store guy, though. He packed in a lot of life. He was a snowplow operator, volunteer firefighter, Fire Chief (Hose Co. 1, although he had plenty of friends from Hose Co. 2), fire inspector and one hell of a bat on the fire station softball team. He didn’t need speed to hit a home run. He could hit the ball so far he could lightly jog around the bases.

He liked fun – loved it, in fact. First, it was the 1978 25th Anniversary Edition Corvette and then those beautiful motorcycles: the 1919 Indian with the sidecar, the 1927 trike, and two Harley-Davidson full dressers. He rode ‘em cross country, sometimes in the saddle, sometimes towing them with his buddies. They hit Sturgis, they took them to Alaska and Florida and all places in between.

That rebel culture of the road suited Bruce well. He did things his way – nobody else’s. He’d grab a stick of butter off the Thanksgiving table with a fork and take a chomp out of it just for a laugh (and also because he really liked butter); take his nephew canoeing in February floodwaters for the adventure, listen to his doctors when he felt like it, light up a cig in his hardware store long after the state banned it. His favorite radio station was Lite-FM.

He was loyal, too. Bruce’s friends were friends for life – more times than not – and he was never far from his family. He ran that hardware store with his father and brother-in-law. He never missed the holidays and he absolutely adored Christmas – giving gifts, decorating the house, you name it. He lived a mile from his sister, Lorraine and 30 miles from his sister, Linda. He grew up in the house his mother, Frances, and his father, Philip, lived in until their own passing.

He married young, had a son, divorced, dated on and off for years and then found his true love, Suzy Mola-Cheski in 1999. They courted for a decade and married in 2009. With the marriage, more family came into Bruce’s life, including Blondie, Anthony, Beans (Sierra) and most recently, Declan. He retired, sold the hardware store, moved to Florida to a beautiful home on the water with ducks and wildlife. He picked up a gig at the local Home Depot, where to no one’s surprise, he won Employee of the Year.

The grandchildren were his life. There’s a photo that says it all: Bruce on his motorcycle, Beans in her red rain boots holding on from behind, beaming. They did everything together – from running errands to planting in the garden. When Declan arrived, even as Bruce’s sickness progressed, he wanted to be there, to hold him.

Like most of us, he also endured tragedy. His son, Bruce Jr., succumbed to illness in 2022. But he was also surrounded by love – the people that we’re in Bruce’s life we’re really in it. He demonstrated caring by his presence. Weddings, funerals, big ceremonies, Bruce was there.

The guy had passion. He lived his life on his terms. He was his own boss. He dreamed big vacations, then took them. He liked the casinos and often won. He collected the things that interested him – shot glasses, patches and badges that marked memorable moments or destinations, photos and trinkets. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t spell, he went for it anyway with the signs he put up around the store: “Yes, we’re open for Clubus Day” read one (Columbus Day, in case you’re wondering). Good lord if the man had to spell the word “Eight,” it ended up looking something like “Eitgthghth” – at least he had the letters right.

The point is: he was real and he made people’s lives better just by being there – behind the counter, at that small town hardware store, with his advice, the jokes and the misspelled signs.

He was also a hero, though he never bragged about it. He fought fires and saved people’s homes and lives not for money, but because it mattered to him. In his final years, as his sickness took hold, all that care he put into the world came back to him. He was able to spend his final months and days in his home with Sue by his side. The words were gone, but he was still there – the edges of a smile forming and a fist bump when those he loved arrived.

Bruce Robert Smith, Sr. was born on September 19, 1954 and passed on the morning of Friday, September 27, 2024. He lived – really lived – every damn day in between.

Bruce’s official memorial page is available and details about his service will be posted here. Leave your tributes and thoughts there, as well.