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We moved next door to the Shavers on Athens Road in 1960, a few months shy of my third birthday. Patty and I have been “best friends” since then, despite our two-year difference in ages. We were in each others’ homes so often, Lois was a second mother in my childhood.
She was one of the best people I’ll ever know. The only time I ever heard her raise her voice to her children was when she thought they weren’t behaving like good people—to each other or to strangers. (This was a far cry from my loving-but-loud Greek-American household, so I took notice even as a young child.)
As I grew into an adult, Lois became a friend. Someone I could always talk to and depend on. I watched her give herself so freely to her children and to others, and I’ve used her as an example of how I should live my life. I only hope I can live up to her standards.
I’m a better person having grown up with Lois Shaver in my life. May her memory be eternal.
I told Ned that I want to be the Lois of Gracie and Joey’s family. The travel-with in-law. Someone you’re happy to have in your home. The person you are most comfortable leaving your child with. The Lois.
My sister Lois was the most authentic person I have ever known. She was always perfectly herself. She was smart and kind, loving and giving. I am blessed to have had a sister who became for me a mentor, a role model, and such an amazing friend.
I don’t know many other people like my grandma and maybe none at all. I could always count on her. To take care of me. To do the right thing. To be generous. She was such a steady, comforting presence in my life.
She made the holidays special for Catherine, Tommy, and me. Christmas was grandma’s house. When I would stay with her in the summer, we would go to the movies, walk Frankie, read, watch TV in the evenings, and do errands. Nothing special. But it was easy for us to be together.
Grandma loved when I wore pink. She made the best gravy I’ve ever tasted. She was a model of what quiet, real integrity looks like. She showed me that you should be kind to people just because and that being kind doesn’t mean you aren’t also strong. I love her a lot and I know she loved me a lot too.
Lois was a bright and caring person . She was my I sister in law, and despite living in different parts of the country our families saw each other on frequent occasions . I especially remember the Christmas holidays and our visit to Fred and Rosalie at Port Charlotte Florida.. Staying in a two bedroom one bath house with our collective 12 kids was a challenge to all. The open air screen porch was fully occupied.
Lois enriched my life immeasurably and it was an honor to be considered her friend. She leaves behind a legacy of love and kindness.
I had the pleasure of getting to know Lois over the years through Patty, including her occasional visits to our book group. As a true book lover, she was always welcome and a delightful guest. I appreciated seeing her sense of humor glimpse through her quiet demeanor on occasion. During her recent years, I was moved by Patty’s faithfulness in visiting her, reading to her, taking her for walks. What a special honor to get to share her declining years with her in that way. Sending love to all.
Lois and I were colleagues; we both worked as itinerant teachers in Fairfax County’s program for hearing impaired students. I wonder how many spouses enjoy dining with their mate’s professional acquaintances? After my husband retired, he was always game for joining Lois and me at our planned lunch dates. Jerry admired Lois’s thorough knowledge of the news and of history, a subject she adored. When he died in 2012, Lois spent a very long day with my family as we travelled from the Temple to the cemetery and then back to my home for the start of shiva. I worried about her stamina, but she never complained. Her quiet support was a measure of how kind she was. I will be forever grateful for her presence on that difficult day.
For my part, I just adored everything about Lois: her sympathetic ear, her positive responses, her twinkling eyes, and good sense of humor. It didn’t hurt that we shared many things in common: a love of lemony desserts, birthdays in January when we could indulge our sweet preferences, and a love of art. Lois and I often met at the National Gallery to take in special exhibits during school vacations. Our first stop at that museum always had to be the gallery which contained Dubuffet’s cow paintings. I guess your can’t take the farm out of the farm girl.
May she rest in peace.
My Aunt Lois was one of the kindest and giving people I have ever known. We used to visit her frequently from Florida, and she introduced me many times to the wonders of the Smithsonian, which are still among my favorite places to this day. We also always got to see her in Florida in the spring (I affectionately called her my “Easter Aunt”). She also inspired a love of reading, and would always get me books or gift cards to buy books for any occasion, which fed my thirst for learning. I believe she loved every one she ever met (and every being, such as her canine companions like Jenny & Frankie). She was active in her community and in helping others for so long, that I’m sure many owe her as much or more than I do thanks to what she gave to them. I love you, Aunt Lois, and the choir of bells in heaven is lucky to now have you among its host!
Lois was my godmother and my aunt. I was happy to get to know her better when John and I moved to Virginia. She welcomed us with open arms and would invite us over for dinner and conversation. She was one of the smartest people I know. I also enjoyed seeing her when she would visit Las Vegas. John and I were blessed to have her in our lives.
There were two unique things about Lois I really admired. First, she wanted people in her life because they were different from her, not despite it. Talking about her friends (or me) she would say, “She did this crazy thing, I could never do it, but I love hearing about it.” She made you feel like you were brave and interesting.
The second thing–this really mystifies me–is she never seemed to do anything she didn’t want to do. Living in suburban DC, she was a sitting duck for having to take guests to the same tourist places for the zillionth time, but that’s not what Lois did. She’d give you her car keys and a map, or drop you off at the metro with carte blanche to call her when you were ready to be picked up. She usually didn’t want to join in games, but she liked to sit in the same room doing a crossword puzzle and listening in. She probably wouldn’t agree with me when I say that is a stunning feat of self-confidence.
I feel like this is saying good-by to Lois, and I don’t want to say good-bye.
Aunt Lois took me in for holidays when I was living in Philadelphia. She was always eager to have me over, and always seemed to have time to talk when I stayed with her.
She was unfailingly kind and thoughtful. She was a wonderful soul who brought happiness and caring to the world around her.
I hit the jackpot in the mother-in-law department. I’m glad I got to know Lois and I’m glad our kids had “Grandma” in their lives. Thanksgiving dinner is the setting I think of first when I think of Lois. She managed the whole meal for many years and then gradually allowed others to bring side dishes and pies. The temporary table at her Fairfax Square apartment (tables and chairs neatly stored under beds when not in use) was always big enough, but sometimes just barely. The food was great and the best thing was how much Lois enjoyed that meal. I’ll think of Lois often, and always on Thanksgiving.
It’s hard to know where to start with memories of Grandma. I think of her greeting us on her front stoop with an ecstatic Frankie when we would drive up from Richmond. I think of little things from childhood, like trips to the Old Country Buffet (we loved it so much!) or delivering Meals on Wheels with her. Lately, I have been thinking about how she talked about the Great Depression, which was as a more or less happy time when her family was happy to share what they had with others. To me, that captures something distinct about Grandma’s spirit.
Another view of Grandma: six or seven years ago, I left my dog, Velveeta, at her apartment for the afternoon while I went into DC to see a friend. Apparently V spent much of the time trying to climb into Grandma’s lap. Eventually, Grandma hailed down some passing youths from her balcony and recruited them to take V for a lap around the complex. That was all very Grandma to me, including that she found it all amusing afterwards.
One more thing. I still remember her saying that she asked her doctor if she should be worried that she was addicted to walking, since, broadly speaking, addiction is something that you feel bad if you don’t do. Maybe the only thing I ever heard her worry about out loud. I miss her so much.
Lois was one of the most wonderful people I have had the pleasure of knowing. I enjoyed my visits as a child and as an adult. I grew up thinking that everyone took many people into their home for visits, only to discover later in life that not everyone had the graciousness and patience to do so. I remember my visit with my three children (so they could see DC). She was so helpful and welcoming. We talked late into the night. Her wisdom about the ways of life and different types of people impressed me. She was able to help me understand and appreciate many people in my life. I love Aunt Lois. I am so glad she was in my life.
To me, Lois Shaver is a legend.
She was the prototypical “good person” in my world and the world of so many other people. She played in big bells in her church bell choir (she was unusually strong), delivered for meals on wheels, and was the center of her family. She was so unbelievably kind and calm. How she was able to tolerate – let alone love – my siblings and I, who were essentially terrorists as kids compared to her, always baffled me. But she did it and did it with ease! She was an expert at loving imperfect people.
It didn’t occur to me until I was an adult that she was also someone who had led a rich and interesting life outside of being the living embodiment of Midwestern grace. It turns out, the same person who was turned off liquor forever after 2 martinis made her a little dizzy also housed an impressively interesting set of people in need of housing in her finished basement. Everyone from family members to the drummer for Minor Threat did stints in that basement when they needed it, and my grandmother welcomed them all. There are so many stories about how comfortable my grandmother was with just about anyone, but the fact that she was living with one of the people who created the “Straight Edge” hardcore movement – while he was pioneering that movement! – is my favorite.
She had fantastic taste. Everything she owned or made was as it should be – her glasses were exactly the right size, her furniture was comfortable, even her dog was delightful. And like a good Minnesotan: none of it was showy, you wouldn’t even notice any of it until reflecting on it later.
My god did she make the perfect Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. I’ve never known anyone so classy; I’m sure I never will.
I never met “Patty’s mother” in the flesh, but I heard stories about her. One experience that stay with me:
Patty, her husband, several other friends and I were invited to spend a week at “Bent Mountain” with Anne Holton and Tim Kane. At one point, Patty held up a blue tee shirt for infant Catherine. About the size of a postage stamp, it was emblazoned with Lois’s nickname for granddaughter Catherine– “Catmo”. I was curious to meet this mirthful lady, and sadly, I did not get the chance. Thanks for sharing the lovely memorial about Lois’s life. Surely there will be angelic presences around.
Sixteen year old Rosalie “Rosey” Curtis of Minneapolis, Minnesota spent the nights of August 16 and 17, 1947 at the Hotel Knickerbocker in Chicago, Illinois, without her parents or any of her siblings. How did that happen? [A note about the name “Rosey.” The vast majority of the high school era notes to Rosalie from her buddies addressed her as “Rosey” or “Rosy.” In college, she seems to have left Rosey behind for Lois.]
One place to start the story would be in 1944, when many Minnesota high school glee clubs came together in St. Paul to perform under the direction of noted conductor Robert Shaw. According to a 1947 newspaper article, that event inspired some of the singers to start the Bob Shaw Choral Club, which by 1947 had 45 members from six high schools (including Rosey’s School, Washburn High) and three colleges. The members were as young as 16 and as ancient as 21. Nineteen year old Bob Mantzke served as director.
To follow the next part of the story, you need to know that there is an annual event called the Minneapolis Aquatennial held in late July. First held in 1940, when Rosey was nine, it is still going strong. In 1947 a choral contest was held in connection with the Aquatennial and the Bob Shaw Choral Club took top honors. The win meant that Bob Mantzke got to attend the August Chicagoland Music Festival on the Aquatennial’s dime, but what about the other Bob Shaw singers? It was a question of money. The headline from the newspaper article tells the tale: “Aqua Choral Winners Slate Fund Raiser.”
The fund raiser was a concert and let’s say it was a success because Rosey made the trip. We know this because 1) she mentioned the trip several times over the years and 2) she kept some paper memorabilia (ticket stubs, brochures, the hotel bill, some hotel stationary) from the expedition. With the memorabilia as a guide, it seems that Rosey left from the Great Northern Union Station in Minneapolis on a Chicago NorthWestern System train on Friday, August 15. She may have taken the then-famous Chicago Northwestern’s Twin Cities 400, so-named because it traveled 400 miles between the cities and took 400 minutes to complete the trip. The train trip would have ended at the Chicago and Northwestern terminal. I wonder whether it was Rosey’s first inter-city train trip, and who she sat with during the 400 minute ride.
Rosey’s weekend digs at the Hotel Knickerbocker were an easy cab ride away from the terminal. If she took a cab, it may have been her first cab ride.
The Hotel Knickerbocker is quite something. Built in 1927 (two years before the stock market crash), it is fourteen stories high, has 350 guest rooms, and includes art deco features — a nice place. The hotel’s legends include an Al Capone connection. The room rate for Rosey — $4.50. But that’s per night, so the total bill was $9.00. It seems that she was in room 324. It’s possible that August 16 and 17 of 1947 were Rosey’s first nights as a guest in any hotel. Did she share the room with another club member?
Did the Bob Shaw group perform at the Chicagoland Music Festival? Maybe. Surprisingly, we don’t have a program from the 1947 Chicagoland Music Festival, and none of the paper saved by Rosey mentions that the group was going to perform in Chicago. But her ticket stub includes the word “talent” in all caps. It seems that “talent” should perform, but we can’t say for sure.
The Festival, held annually from 1930 to 1964, was a big deal in the 1940s. It was sponsored by the Chicago Tribune, took place in Soldier Field (a large stadium, now the home of the Chicago Bears), and was attended by tens of thousands, sometimes a hundred thousand if the Tribune is to be believed. Musicians of many styles performed during the one-day event. Were the Bob Shaw group members there just to enjoy the show (which in itself would have been an amazing experience)?
The visit to the Windy City may have included a boating excursion. Rosey’s memorabilia collection includes a brochure describing a boat ride on “the Diesel powered Yacht ‘Wendella.’” The trip around the Grant Park area of Lake Michigan and into the Chicago River would set a 16 year old back $1.25 ($1.09 + $.16 federal tax). Did Rosey experience “the world’s most beautiful skyline” from the deck of the diesel-powered Wendella? Did she find out why the boat was called “Wendella.” Those are two more among the many unanswered questions concerning the Chicago trip.