Do you remember the days of Rockwellian Americana as portrayed in It’s a Wonderful Life, Leave it to Beaver, and Father Knows Best, when milk was  delivered directly to consumers’ homes?  Customers would place their order with the milkman (it was almost always a “he”), and it would be delivered the next day either to an insulated box on the front porch, or in some places to a double-doored cubby installed in the wall.  Glass bottles were sealed with little waxed foil caps, and the milkman would pick up the empties along the route, then clean and reuse them.

“Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds”—it’s the U.S. Post Office’s unofficial motto, but it could also be said of the old-time milkman. However, the rise of suburbia, the advent of the supermarket—and the contemporaneous rise in car ownership, which made it easier for folks to get to the store—eliminated the need for the specialized service.   Today the friendly milkman is no longer a part of our daily scene.

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At 5’10” and 175 lbs, he was not an especially imposing physical figure, but his enthusiastic spirit and exuberant personality made him an impressive presence in any space he entered.  Dark hair framed his pleasant face, and a mustache accentuated his perpetual smile.  Norm was born in March of 1950 in Rochester and attended school in Williamson, NY.  His family owned a dairy farm as well as a wholesale and retail business, and they were all devoted participants in their Church.

He enjoyed delivering the milk, butter and eggs because it gave him a chance to interact with people.  Being extremely gregarious, he made friends everywhere he went.  When he delivered his products to a restaurant he would chat with the people who were there having breakfast and jokingly greeted the group of retired regulars with “how are you old farts and liars today?” always having a  joke to tell them and leaving them laughing. When he heard that one of the families on his route was having difficulties, he’d leave some extra supplies for them packed in ice in a shady spot on their porch.

In addition to the milk delivery, he did refrigeration repairs for his customers and usually worked 24/7, leaving little time for leisure pursuits.  However, when he did find time to relax it was outdoors.  He was a “man’s man” who enjoyed hunting and fishing at his hideaway camp in the Adirondacks.  He fished just for the fun of it – catch and release–and had no plans to ever retire from what he considered his perfect life.

Norm had a second chance at marital bliss when he reconnected with a young lady he had met at Church years before.  Linda was a fellow delivery person  (one of the rare females) for his company. After dating for six years, they were married in July, 1988, in a local park on a beautiful day and celebrated their union with about 100 guests.  The reception was a casual, chicken barbecue with all of their friends and family in attendance.  Although he rarely took vacations, Norm did take his new bride on a honeymoon to Franconia Notch, NH.

Norm had two grown children, a son and daughter, and Linda had two young daughters, creating a blended family of six.  He treated the girls as his own, and they reciprocated his love and affection.  His large extended family also embraced its new members, and they made celebratory occasions of any and all family get-togethers and backyard barbeques.  Norm was always the life and center of the party and made sure everyone was having a great time with plenty of food and plenty of fun.

He drove a 14-wheel refrigerated truck and left home cheerfully at four each morning to run his route.  One day just before his 51^st birthday he lost control of the truck and hit an abutment—it was a fatal accident.  At his wake the line of mourners stretched out the door of the funeral home and around the block.  Neighbors brought hot coffee for the more than 800 people braving the cold to pay their respects.  For the funeral service there was standing room only in the church.  Norman Eaton is remembered by all who knew him as a person who lived a life of generosity, joy and love and exemplified the “milk of human kindness.”