Eulogy Pt 2: Papergirl

[I've sucked pretty bad at updating recently. Hopefully this will be me getting back on track, but I can't guarantee anything]

About sixty years ago the Harrisburg Patriot prided themselves on being the most liberal local newspaper in central Pennsylvania. They were ahead of the curve on all the social issues of the time, as they believed the paper in the state capital should be. But then the unthinkable happened: the Philadelphia Inquirer suddenly became completely unreasonable and hired a woman to write for their paper. Sure it was a figurehead post, but still, a woman on staff? How forward thinking! The Patriot had to respond: not to be outdone, they hired two women.

One of these women indeed stayed in her writer position, submitting her weekly column that no one, not even her fellow women, would read. The other was not so content. She made it very clear that she was here to work, not to be shown off. She submitted her column, followed by badgering the editor for bigger and better assignments, which she eventually received. When the novelty wore off and the smoke cleared, she was still there. And Joan was ready to work.

This is how I remember the story, as Joan told it to me about four years ago. Granted, I editorialized a few details. It's entirely possible that I remember things incorrectly, and very probable that she exaggerated a few details. However, as I knew Joan, she probably exaggerated the story to make herself look less, well, let's be nice and say feisty*. I would not be the least surprised if all of these details were true.

By way of example, the Starbucks that I worked at in Pennsylvania sold the Patriot. Joan was at this point long retired, as I would estimate her age to have been 80. Like nearly everyone who sold the Patriot, our deliveries were inconsistent, leading to us often not having the paper simply because we didn't get it. On one such occasion Joan wanted to buy it. She asked us if we often sold out, at which point we explained that we almost never sell out but had simply not gotten the delivery. "I'll go talk to them," she told us. We all chuckled. We had no idea.

We never again received so much as a late delivery, let alone a missed delivery. Further, several weeks later when I met the editor, he actually apologized that we had been missing deliveries. Missed deliveries remained common everywhere else. We were the only business getting reliable delivery. The newspapers would sometimes sit in the boxes on the street for several days, but we'd have the new edition at Starbucks, all because Joan took care of it.

In her old age Joan was rather lonely. She, after all, lived alone, and most of her friends had already passed away. She would come into Starbucks to buy things for her "friends," though I do have my doubts about the existence of some of the friends for whom she would buy pastries and drinks. Don't get me wrong - I'm sure some of them were real, but not all. She would let us know that our pastries were stale, but she would still buy them. And she would start talking to you while you were cleaning the lobby. And when she started talking, you were not getting away - let's hope there's no line, because she has you for twenty minutes.

About fifty percent of the time Joan carried all her things in a Kate Spade purse - I do believe she was quite a fashionista in her day. Otherwise she kept everything in a grocery bag - every fashionista eventually becomes a crazy old lady, as Joan was proving. And when you spend that much money on one purse, you can't really afford a second.

Joan and I had a very special bond, like a cantankerous old woman and oh-so-handsome grandson. I really did care about her. Joan never discussed anything too serious or personal, so I never knew that much about her, but I always felt like we were close. She apparently felt the same toward me - even when I moved to Seattle, she would frequently ask how I was doing.

Though I don't know any of the details surrounding it, Joan passed away on a Monday in late December of last year. It's amazing how much the death of someone we hardly know can impact us. It's not at all similar to the death of someone we care about. But at our core we know that death was not part of God's original design. Death is scary and ugly and unsettling, but unfortunately inevitable.

*Not many people get the opportunity to text message their sister saying, "What's a good synonym for bitchy?" I got that opportunity today, and she returned an excellent list. Thank you for your help, Hannah.

[I've sucked pretty bad at updating recently. Hopefully this will be me getting back on track, but I can't guarantee anything]

About sixty years ago the Harrisburg Patriot prided themselves on being the most liberal local newspaper in central Pennsylvania. They were ahead of the curve on all the social issues of the time, as they believed the paper in the state capital should be. But then the unthinkable happened: the Philadelphia Inquirer suddenly became completely unreasonable and hired a woman to write for their paper. Sure it was a figurehead post, but still, a woman on staff? How forward thinking! The Patriot had to respond: not to be outdone, they hired two women.

One of these women indeed stayed in her writer position, submitting her weekly column that no one, not even her fellow women, would read. The other was not so content. She made it very clear that she was here to work, not to be shown off. She submitted her column, followed by badgering the editor for bigger and better assignments, which she eventually received. When the novelty wore off and the smoke cleared, she was still there. And Joan was ready to work.

This is how I remember the story, as Joan told it to me about four years ago. Granted, I editorialized a few details. It's entirely possible that I remember things incorrectly, and very probable that she exaggerated a few details. However, as I knew Joan, she probably exaggerated the story to make herself look less, well, let's be nice and say feisty*. I would not be the least surprised if all of these details were true.

By way of example, the Starbucks that I worked at in Pennsylvania sold the Patriot. Joan was at this point long retired, as I would estimate her age to have been 80. Like nearly everyone who sold the Patriot, our deliveries were inconsistent, leading to us often not having the paper simply because we didn't get it. On one such occasion Joan wanted to buy it. She asked us if we often sold out, at which point we explained that we almost never sell out but had simply not gotten the delivery. "I'll go talk to them," she told us. We all chuckled. We had no idea.

We never again received so much as a late delivery, let alone a missed delivery. Further, several weeks later when I met the editor, he actually apologized that we had been missing deliveries. Missed deliveries remained common everywhere else. We were the only business getting reliable delivery. The newspapers would sometimes sit in the boxes on the street for several days, but we'd have the new edition at Starbucks, all because Joan took care of it.

In her old age Joan was rather lonely. She, after all, lived alone, and most of her friends had already passed away. She would come into Starbucks to buy things for her "friends," though I do have my doubts about the existence of some of the friends for whom she would buy pastries and drinks. Don't get me wrong - I'm sure some of them were real, but not all. She would let us know that our pastries were stale, but she would still buy them. And she would start talking to you while you were cleaning the lobby. And when she started talking, you were not getting away - let's hope there's no line, because she has you for twenty minutes.

About fifty percent of the time Joan carried all her things in a Kate Spade purse - I do believe she was quite a fashionista in her day. Otherwise she kept everything in a grocery bag - every fashionista eventually becomes a crazy old lady, as Joan was proving. And when you spend that much money on one purse, you can't really afford a second.

Joan and I had a very special bond, like a cantankerous old woman and oh-so-handsome grandson. I really did care about her. Joan never discussed anything too serious or personal, so I never knew that much about her, but I always felt like we were close. She apparently felt the same toward me - even when I moved to Seattle, she would frequently ask how I was doing.

Though I don't know any of the details surrounding it, Joan passed away on a Monday in late December of last year. It's amazing how much the death of someone we hardly know can impact us. It's not at all similar to the death of someone we care about. But at our core we know that death was not part of God's original design. Death is scary and ugly and unsettling, but unfortunately inevitable.

*Not many people get the opportunity to text message their sister saying, "What's a good synonym for bitchy?" I got that opportunity today, and she returned an excellent list. Thank you for your help, Hannah.

Eulogy Pt 2: Papergirl