(Betty Ann Foley, later Betty Foley Reddig, 1975).
These are the Foley girls as mothers, circa 1953. The cousins are toddlers. Mom and I are in the middle. The Sisters have got their start out of the little River town where they were born, and they all accomplished something based on a drive as strong as that which forced their great-grandparents out of a famine-ravaged home. Intentionally ravaged, by hunger, so the deck was stacked against them.
Their father Mike was a handsome man and tough, so he was blessed with daughters who colored the little river-house with laughter and beauty. Upon his death, young, their Mother had to take on a paying job and raise them herself. Grandma was a tough lady in her own right, and we remember her as graceful and caring. She also recognized the power of organized thinking. Her daughters made their choices, and all of them worked.
On this Mother’s Day Eve, I want to briefly describe the fire that drove Betty to master her world. She thought that going to college might be an answer to escape the little town on the brown banks of the mighty Ohio River. She was valedictorian in her class at the high school where her father’s picture hung on the wall with athletes of local renown. There was no money to spare in Grandmother’s house, so if she was to be the first in her Irish family to attend a university, she needed a scholarship. She earned one. There was a war on.
At Ogalbay College, she discovered the needs of the Nation had forced the normal four-year curriculum for the boys to a more intense three. She saw an opportunity to speed her way to a degree and applied for the same accelerated education. She was informed that it was only to speed the young men to uniforms. Not for women. She did it anyway, even if it meant hopping through a window to shorten her path between classes. Her determination impressed one of her professors, who had been called to New York to enable wartime petroleum production at the Texas Company Headquarters in New York City.
Reaching out for opportunities on graduation, she was offered a junior position normally filled by a bright young man. She asked her mother if she would permit her to get on a train, unescorted, and head from the Valley to the City and see if there was a way ahead in a war-torn world. Grandma said she ought to take the chances she had. She then walked her down to the train station to see her daughter off on an adventure in the Wide World.
Mom lived it. She worked in an office in the iconic Chrysler Building, and made her way in the city. With war’s end, the boys began to flood back home. Her marriage to a tall young Navy pilot was another opportunity blessed by love, and that led to all the rest of a remarkable adventure in the American Century. She bore three children and made a family filled with challenge and lit with love.
(The Foley Girls were all new Moms together, 1953).
She taught her children a certain sense of determination that came from her experience. Active in civics and political movements, she helped secure a new State Constitution in Michigan, and presided over historical associations in the towns in which she sequentially lived.
Her children took her sense of adventure as a hallmark for their own. She managed the family affairs in a strong partnership with her husband, and they lived long and productive lives. Dad ended as the Mayor Pro Tem of their retirement community on the bluff above the vast glistening lake. She fought for their independence, helping manage their last married project in constructing a new three-car garage with attached living quarters to help manage their affairs. She was organized to the end.
Her strength managed the decline of her husband, the transition from full independence to a more practical assisted living. When that assistance was no longer sufficient, she was concerned when her husband was taken by her sons for full supervision. His life faded in peace. Word came of his passing in the beginning of a new year, ten years ago.
There was a flurry of communication in the immediate and expended family, plans were made to travel and provide support. Mom again made her own plans. She was not informed of her partner’s passing, and another call was received late in the same afternoon. She had lunch in the quasi-formal dining room and returned to her apartment.
She was found by staff later that afternoon, the day of her husband’s death. She had not been told of his passing but as with all things, she knew. Staff said she was in her walk-in closet, apparently preparing to go out.
She now knows a little more about the grand adventure of life than we do. But the message she left on her passing was clear. Be prepared. Get a sensible coat. And go where you are needed.
Give your Mom a call tomorrow if she still lives in this world. She gave you life. And she gave you love.
Copyright 2022 Vic Socotra
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