By Alan Earls

When Franklin’s Paul Compton passed away on Feb 12, it was the end of an era and of a remarkable life. A resident of Medway as a child and then Franklin for the rest of his life, Paul was shaped by the rural world of 1950s Franklin, in which opportunity was either a job in one of the town’s remaining factories or mills, or a course of independence as a tradesman and entrepreneur. He chose the latter, developing skills in almost every trade and, eventually, mastery of fire protection sprinkler systems. But first, after graduating high school in 1960, he followed his family’s connection to horses by establishing and growing  C&W Horse Transport Company, which took him to every corner of the East Coast, mingling alike with farm hands and wealthy racehorse owners.

Always spotting potential leverage between someone’s castoffs and their potential value, Paul haunted flea markets and auctions and became expert in saving the town’s older homes threatened with demolition as highways and developments advanced. Over a period of years, he bought, often for prices as low as a ceremonial dollar, half-a-dozen homes that were no longer wanted and moved them to his neighborhood, at the intersection of Pond Street and Overlook Drive, in effect creating his own New England village.

He also, somehow, found time to travel the British Isles, Europe and the Near East -- inevitably spotting bargains, like oriental rugs, to send home.

And while Paul could drive a very hard bargain, which did not endear him to some people, his motivations were often more than pecuniary. He had a wide streak of the Curious George about him,  sometimes buying some odd item or gizmo just to take it home and figure out how it worked.  

He lavished special attention on vintage printing equipment, make-or-break one-cylinder engines built a century or more ago to power farm machinery, and every kind of kerosene or whale-oil lamp imaginable. 

His barn was a carefully organized library of tools and industrial components that often had people knocking on his door for the solution to fixing or reviving some kind of vintage apparatus.

And, of course, any visit to Paul turned into a lively and often entertaining conversation ranging from the proper use of roofing nails to his thoughtful (and colorful) opinions about local government or the affairs of the nation (he was a subscriber of the Wall Street Journal and read each issue to start his work day).

For those of us who knew him, it is still hard to imagine Franklin without Paul. The stories Paul told, and the stories others told about Paul, would fill a very large volume: surviving a deadly childhood illness at Boston’s Floating Hospital, a near disaster in flying horses to Europe, turning a nag into a winning race horse, and so many more. Love him or hate him (and there are people in both camps) you could not ignore or forget Paul, he was simply too unique, a representative of an American ‘can-do’ type that is now all but extinct.