Myrtle Mae

I can't quite put my finger on the exact year I first met Marilyn.  My dad was serving as pastor for the Christian Church in Bosworth, MO and Marilyn's parents lived right across the street from the church.  And they had an indoor bathroom; the church still had an outhouse.  I was probably six or seven when our family first met Marilyn and her kids, Lisa and Bryan.  They lived in Jefferson City, but visited Grammy and Papa often, so we'd see them at church and we became good friends.

During the summer, I'd spend a week or so in Bosworth with Lisa, Bryan, Marilyn, Grammy and PaPa.  Grammy would fix us pancakes and let us drink Pepsi-Cola for breakfast.  Then Lisa and I would saunter on up to the pool hall to drink some more Pepsi-Cola and watch the old men play pool.  It was not unlike "To Kill A Mockingbird" except that there was no Boo Radley.

One of my most vivid memories is of Lisa and I and another girl (whose name I obviously can't recall) happily washing off the day's dirt in the bathtub (remember, we were itty bitty then and could fit three in a tub).  All of the sudden, there was pounding on the bathroom window...lots of it.  Never have you seen three little naked girls hop out of the tub and run through the house, dripping wet.  Marilyn, of course, was the culprit.  She found it hilariously funny.  So do I, fifty years later.

We moved from Marshall to Jeff City in the early 70's and our friendship grew even stronger.  We went to the same church and, oftentimes, our families seamlessly melded into one big, loud bunch.  During my dad's career in politics, Marilyn was a driving force, running us kids to various campaign events, making sure we had our red, white, and blue shirts and foam boater hats in place.  She was tireless.  She later worked for dad in the treasurer's office and I spent many a weekend at the Parrish home on Indian Meadow Drive, when mom and dad were away for a political event.

Everyone called Marilyn by her first name...kids, too.  However, my parents were old school.  It wasn't cool to call an elder by their first name.  So we came up with Myrtle (or Myrtle Mae).  Eventually I got old enough to call her Marilyn, but occasionally I'd slip up and call her Myrtle.

The Parrish house was THE house to congregate.  Every kid on the block seemed to gravitate to Marilyn.  She was funny, energetic and always up for anything.  She was the Cool Mom.  On more than one occasion she allowed me, Lisa, Bryan and my brother to skip church so we could watch an old black and white Marx Brothers or Abbott and Costello movie on Saturday night or Sunday morning.  It was important to laugh, she'd say.

I have so many wonderful memories of Marilyn.  One of the best (and, now, funniest) is the day all of us kids were loaded into her car and she's driving us in downtown JC.  All of the sudden she slammed on the brakes and yelled, "There's Squeaky!  Look!"  And right then I got my first (and, I think, only) look at a "lady of the evening."  How many other moms do you know that would do that?

That's what was so great about Marilyn.  There was no class structure in her world.  Everyone was equal and everyone had a story to tell.  Maybe it was because she lost her husband so early (1967) that she determined to get the most out of life.  She had plenty of obstacles, but chose to see the good side of humanity and used those challenges to grow as a person.

And, she was about as loyal a person as I've ever seen.  She was the first person I'd ever heard describe themself as "a yellow dog Democrat" - meaning she'd vote for a yellow dog before she'd vote for a Republican.  She spent the majority of her adult career working in the Missouri capitol.  She knew EVERYONE.  And everyone knew her.  She had a smile that lit up the room and a laugh to match it.  Anyone who's heard that laugh is smiling right now.

When I heard Ron answer the phone on Saturday and say, "Hey, Lisa" followed by, "No, no," I knew that Marilyn was gone.  It's still hard for me to believe that she's not still here.  We just got a Christmas card from her and my folks just talked to her a week ago.

Marilyn lived her life on her terms.  She was fiercely independent and, some might say, stubborn as a mule.  Does that surprise you?  All Democrats are mules.

Marilyn - my second mom - I love you.  I miss you.  I remember you.

With love...