For generations, islanders have resisted having law enforcement officials in their midst. Not because residents are outlaws, but because island life is different. As island constable David Ames put it, “we kind of like to be left alone.”
But islanders pay for county law enforcement anyway.
Matinicus pays $16,690 in county taxes this year. That obligates Knox County to provide this outermost Maine island with law enforcement. On paper, anyway.
“I personally have been out there numerous times,” said Knox County Sheriff Dan Davey. “There is a group out there [on Matinicus] that definitely does not want the presence of law enforcement.” Some years ago a part-time law enforcement officer was assigned to Matinicus, but he left the island after a short stay. Some islanders say he just left; others that he really didn’t have much choice about his departure. The deputy’s reputation on the island suffered when he arrested the driver of a truck that rolled over in his front yard. Since there is no jail on Matinicus, he handcuffed his suspect to a pole in his basement. The suspect won a claim against the sheriff’s department.
A couple of years ago, the sheriff investigated a complaint of a assessors board member’s dog biting people. This incident didn’t endear islanders to his department, either.
Davey, a veteran of 17 years in law enforcement, first with the Lincoln County sheriff’s office, said residents’ resistance isn’t the only obstacle to law enforcement on Matinicus. Transportation can be a major hassle. Knox County Commissioners haven’t seen fit to fund a boat for the sheriff’s department, so deputies must rely on the mail plane or other flights from Owls Head, the U.S. Coast Guard in Rockland, or the state Marine Patrol. All of these modes for a 20-mile passage to the island are weather-dependent.
Davey confirmed that occasional assaults and burglaries take place on Matinicus, but not all of them are reported. “Residents are afraid of payback.”
Wanda Philbrook, who works at the Matinicus post office, said it’s true that residents are wary of calling on authorities to settle island issues. She herself listened more than once to a friend who complained that her husband beat her. Finally, Philbrook called the sheriff. “I’d seen enough of it.” The husband was convicted of abuse and sentenced to five days in jail. “He got a slap on the wrist,” she said.
Philbrook agonized over calling police. “In a way, I knew it would be the end of our friendship.” She isn’t opposed to a reasonable level of law enforcement on her island, and said that if Knox County “had things set up right, they could be out here in 40 or 50 minutes.” She would like to see the Marine Patrol cruise by Matinicus on a weekly basis; “that would make people behave themselves.”
In a community surrounded by ocean, there aren’t many secrets. Serious crimes are rare, but some locals have dubbed the lower harbor “Probation Point,” in reference to sternmen with criminal records, sometimes involving drugs.
Wanda Philbrook’s husband, Clayton Philbrook, an emergency medical technician, once helped a sternman who fell and hit his head, apparently suffering the effects of drugs. Wanda Philbrook acknowledged one problem is how to spend your free time. “All there is to do is work out here.”
Matinicus lobsterman Charles Rogers agreed that there are no dance halls, movie theaters, not even a store. Henry Young’s Store — later the Offshore Store — was once the hub of island life and home to the post office. The store closed years ago. “You can’t do anything out here. All you can do is sit and drink,” he said. Still, residents find things to love about isolated island life. “I like the solitude, myself,” Rogers said. As for law enforcement, “I really don’t think we need any,” he said.
The one official link to law enforcement is David Ames, a lobsterman elected to his one-year post at town meeting. He can warn speeders to slow down, tell people to tie up their dogs, and for more serious complaints, pass them along to the board of assessors, or the sheriff’s department. If there are disagreements on Matinicus, islanders often settle things themselves, quickly. Ames said in most instances, no outside law enforcement is needed.
Ames served in the military and the merchant marine before coming home to Matinicus. “For me, it’s family and history. Of course, I was raised here. If you think about it, how many other people in the world can say they live on an island?”
Matinicus has plenty of rough seas facing its 25 working lobstermen. But there is certainly no crime wave. In the past, summer cottages were sometimes broken into, but not recently. For the year 2000, Matinicus had nine incidents reported to the sheriff’s office, compared to — for example — the town of Owls Head with 439 incidents. The only place with fewer reported incidents (a total of eight) was Isle au Haut, where a part-time deputy recently resigned to take a state forestry job on shore. Vinalhaven, with a summer population of 6,000, is the only island in the region with a full-time deputy, plus coverage from a Maine State Trooper.
Monhegan, 10 miles from the mainland, pays more than twice the county tax paid by Matinicus, according to the Lincoln County commissioners’ office. For a $35,510 tax, Monhegan is entitled to law enforcement coverage but has no resident deputy. Like Matinicus, it has a resident constable, Donna Cundy. She is appointed by the board of assessors, and handles complaints such as dogs running loose, or excessive noise. On Monhegan, as with Matinicus, serious crimes are practically unheard of.
“I would say the law enforcement provided to the islands is at a bare minimum. It’s their option. It’s their cost,” Sheriff Davey said.