Mary Elizabeth Penson Sept 14th 1917 - May 16th 2009

My father died twenty years ago. Long enough ago that I really barely remember the service. I got to hold his hand while he died in the hospital, and this is the significant memory I carry from his passing. When my mother passed away last weekend, most of the services were setup to take place at the same places my father’s were. This necessary tie in helped to underscore the notion that they were together again.

My mother wrote the following article about 3 months ago for the local paper which was doing a series on married couples and how they connected. This is the article in full:

Features@ Star Telegram.com

For FEATURE, “I Do! I Do!”


"How do you know when you’ve met the man you are going to marry ? It’s not hard when you read the signals right.

We had just graduated, he from Morgan Park High in Chicago, and me from York High in Elmhurst, Illinois. We were both enrolled in a newspaper writing class on the downtown campus of Northwestern University. Two young men seemed interested in me; one had red hair, the other looked like Tyron Power. Both offered to do my research as I worked the latest and barely made it to a six o’clock class. Shameless hussy that I was, I accepted both offers, gleaned what was useful from both, and turned my paper in as the professor walked through the door. When it came time to discuss how to write an attention catching opening line, the professor used my paper as an example. That did it for the red-head. He no longer offered to do my research. But Tyron hung on. Actually he was an artist, and more interested in the composition of the newspaper.

We both now lived on the south side of Chicago, he with his parents in Beverly Hills and I with my widowed mother in a south side apartment near the lake. After class he got on the same elevated train I did, and sat down next to me. There was a little talk about where we both lived, and then he offered to buy me a White Castle when we got to my station, and we got acquainted over those mini burgers. And then there was that historical weekend when beer became legal and I got my first taste of what a hang-over was like.

But the true taste of mate-for-life material came one Sunday afternoon when we were walking along the lake shore toward the Loop. Large boulders extending into the lake for six to almost a dozen feet formed an embankment. We stopped to see what the crowd was watching. A small white poodle was trying desperately to gain pawhold and get onto dry land. I stood there mesmerize and then horrified as the waves slammed the pup against the rocks. I knew then that he was fighting for his life. So did Jack. Beside me he yanked off his shoes, rolled up his pant-legs and jumped over the boulders and onto the sand. He caught the dog and threw him up onto dry land where the pooch shook Lake Michigan all over the spectators and trotted away.

That was the day I knew whom I was going to marry. Before Jack died of cancer in 1980, we had forty-eight wonderful years and four great kids."


Mom, I love you. Angels speed you on wings to heaven.