Charles Sowder always gentle, kind, generous
Charles Sowder was a newsman, and a good one, retiring as city editor of the Coeur d’Alene Press nearly 40 years ago.
But since he died Sept. 21 at the age of 95, the reminiscences of friends and family members dwell on his gentleness, his kindness and his generosity far more than on his professional accomplishments.
Gerry House, a longtime neighbor of the Sowders on Hayden Lake, recalls that, as the two House kids were growing up, Chuck let them use his rowboat and dock.
“On a couple of occasions, our son dropped his can of worms on Chuck’s dock and made quite a mess,” House recalls. “He never said a word, just cleaned it up. Don’t know that I’d be that nice if the situation were reversed.”
That was despite the fact that the House family “had issues with” Sowder over the property boundaries surrounding the land that each owned near Honeysuckle Beach.
“He never let that get in the way of his kindness to us,” House says.
Donald Dundon, now of Hayden, recalls that he met Chuck some 28 years ago, when Chuck visited the offices of the Sandpoint News Bulletin where Dundon worked.
“The many times since then when we met, Chuck was always dedicated to making a person feel good about himself. He saw the best in everyone. Whether it was my photos, or stories I had written, Chuck was full of praise. I know it was not just me. His praises and encouragement went out to all.”
But Chuck Sowder wasn’t always a people pleaser. Dr. Robert Scates of Coeur d’Alene recounts a story told to him about Chuck’s days at the University of Idaho where he was a journalism major:
“During the freshman hazing period, Chuck didn’t have his cap on at the right angle, and the captain of the football team decided he would catch him and make him conform. He chased Chuck (who had a limp caused by polio) up and down hills and over the campus, but was never able to catch him.”
Another Hayden Lake neighbor, Nancy Morris, says Chuck was “very comfortable” to be with. “He never forgot a face, and always looked out for the neighborhood kids, even though he and Liz never had any of their own.”
Liz was Elizabeth Peters, a Public Health Service nurse whom Chuck wed in 1956. In the 1940s, he’d purchased Beaver Hollow, a 480-acre tree farm on the east side of Hayden Lake. They worked it as a team until her death four years ago.
Her niece, Maryann Erickson, of Missoula, recalls that the Sowders spent a good deal of time there, clearing slash and planting seedlings. And, according to Dr. Scates, Chuck cut firewood on the farm, then split it and delivered it to widows and the elderly.
That wasn’t the only hard work he did. When rising waters began flooding his three-story home several years ago, Chuck saved it and others.
According to his friend Rich Anderson, now of Green Valley, Ariz., “Chuck gave the appearance of being lighthearted about it and claimed he had an indoor swimming pool, but we knew the anguish and uncertainty he felt.
“Many trips into the mountains for stones. Many bags of cement, piles of gravel and sand. Chuck’s labor of love and necessity resulted in a beautiful wall around and across three properties. But the heavy lifting and hard work had its consequences – hernia surgery.”
The Sowders agreed on most things, but in religion, each went his and her own way. Dr. Scates recalls that Chuck would drive Liz to St. Luke’s Episcopal for Sunday services, then head for the First Presbyterian Church for his worship.
“After his service was over, he would rejoin Elizabeth for coffee hour there, where he was always welcome.”
And Rich Anderson recalls that Chuck prepared the program for each Sunday service.
Chuck worked most of his career for the Coeur d’Alene Press, starting as a general assignment and sports reporter and photographer.
“He loved all sports,” says niece Maryann, “but he especially loved football. He covered the high school games for the Press, and even helped coach during the 1940s and 1950s.”
Larry Belmont, now retired as the director of the Panhandle Health District, says Chuck’s brand of integrity in the practice of his profession helped save his agency.
That was in November 1977, he says, when the Idaho Board of Health and Welfare, bowing to pressure from the state builders’ association, was about to rescind regulations protecting the Rathdrum Prairie Aquifer from sewage effluent.
Chuck learned that board members had had a conference call in which they’d agreed to the recession, a violation of Idaho’s open meeting law.
He informed Belmont and the health district’s lawyers. They threatened to sue the state board, which then abandoned its attempts to dump the health district’s regulations.
“In all the years, I never saw Chuck in a bad mood or depressed,” says Dundon. “He loved life fully and shared it fully and joyfully.