Growing up in a small town at the edge of civilization occasional visits by a seemingly endless host of relatives brought much color and entertainment to our lives. It helped that many of them told some pretty good stories. Knowing those aunts and uncles gave me a connection to the larger world. I learned we weren’t just hicks from the sticks. Our family had a history grounded in the red dirt of Smith County, Texas. We actually came from a specific place that was real. It is there still to this day. I loved to hear them talk. Among my living relatives there was for a time three aunts named Ruth and two named Mary. There was a curiously large number of distant cousins named Eunice. And until this week, I had two cousins named Mary. What once had seemed like an abundance of family turned out to have never been enough. Oh, how I want more time.
Mary and Tom were somewhat abstract to me when they came to live in Dallas. Tom was smart and taught something. Mary had a book store. That’s what I knew about them. Turned out they could not have been more real. Over three plus decades their gracious hospitality and Mary’s innate ability to organize and improve things greatly enriched the lives of many, many people including mine. It turned out Mary too had an appreciation for family history. We enjoyed referencing our dear grandmother of whom we shared happy memories. We traded family recipes. We both liked books. I hold pieces of their family furniture, which I cherish. Tom throughout the years proved to be patient, kind, and tolerant of the family he’d married into. For that and for his friendship, I am grateful. To adequately express the love and appreciation I feel for Mary would take an impossibly long time. And I don’t know where to start. So let me end by speaking for all those who love Mary. We are better people for having known her. My heart goes out to Tom and Betty and Lynn.
Memories of Mary
Earliest – I’m standing with David Looney on a dock at the bay and I’m in trouble. There is a boat floating freely and Mary is yelling at me to get in the water and secure the boat. I, terrified of jellyfish, found the courage to say, “No!” David to the rescue. The boat was saved. And I learned it was possible to say no to Mary and live to tell the story.
Later – In Dallas I’m riding in the backseat with Mary driving and Betty co-piloting. The radio is playing. I think to myself, please don’t let Mary ask me what’s the number one song in Dallas. Of course, she asked. And she never did she stop asking questions. Hers was an amazing thirst and capacity for information.
Later still – Uncle Sydney telling of the newlywed Mary turning in her credit card. That surrender for him brought home the fact that Mary was truly wedded, gone, and off the payroll.
Speaking for my late brother Jack who would want this story told – Mary in my hometown on a hot summer day suggested going into town to find an air-conditioned store to get away from the heat. Sadly, for Mary no such store existed for many, many miles.
—Ken Dingler, a cousin