Wire-winder, diner owner, fed every kid on Cherry Street
1931 — 2024 · Erie, Pennsylvania
My mother talked into a recorder at her kitchen table for the last two years of her life, mostly because I wouldn't stop asking. This is her, kept. — Carol
"You watch what words you let people make sad."
Money · Joy & gratitude
I was born two years into the Depression, so I'll tell you what rich is and you can stop wondering. Rich is when nobody you love needs a thing you can't get them. A coat, a coffin, bail, breakfast — doesn't matter what it is. By that measure I've been rich since about 1974, and I never once had what the bank would call money. Figure out which one you're chasing, honey. They don't run in the same direction.
To someone younger: Add up what you'd grab in a fire. That's your net worth.
Friendship & community · Aging
You want to know what holds a life together, and everybody thinks it's the big things — the wedding, the diploma, the funeral. It's Tuesdays. Our league bowled every Tuesday for forty-one years. That league buried husbands, met babies, sat with Florence through the chemo twice. Three marriages among us went down and the league never missed a week. Pick your people, pick a day, and show up for forty years. That's the whole recipe. Everything else is decoration.
To someone younger: Pick your people, pick a day, show up. Repeat for forty years.
Work & calling · Leadership & mentoring
I wound wire eight hours a day and then poured coffee for thirty years, and people my daughter's age sometimes get a face on like that's a story about settling. Let me straighten you out. There is no small work. There's work done all the way and work done partway, and you can tell which one a person does in about four minutes, and so can everybody else, and that — not the job title — is what they're saying about you at your funeral. I poured coffee all the way. Ask anybody.
Joy & gratitude
People chase happiness like it's a vacation — some place you get to later, big and far away and expensive. Honey, I had it every morning at six: snow coming off the lake, the urn perking, Stan Jr. and the plow guys stomping in loud, and my hands doing work they knew by heart. Joy is a small thing that comes on a schedule, if you keep the schedule. Most people can't be bothered. Be bothered.
To someone younger: Joy keeps a schedule. Keep it with her.
During the '78 strike Dot kept the hardship fund ledger at her kitchen table. Fourteen weeks, every dollar accounted for, and I happen to know some of the dollars going out were hers going in. She'd deny it. She's not here to deny it, so write it down.
She'd see my truck at the light on Parade Street and my eggs hit the grill before I parked. Twenty-two years. My wife passed in '99 and for a month I didn't say one word at that counter, and Dot didn't make me. Kept the cup full and let a man be quiet. You don't forget who let you be quiet.
Grandma taught me to bowl, to make change in my head, and to say no thank you like I meant the no. At college when things got bad I'd call her at 5:30 in the morning because I knew she'd be up, and she'd talk to me like the trouble was real but the world was still mostly diner. I still call the air at 5:30 sometimes. The world is still mostly diner.
A green Adams order pad, the kind the Lakeview bought by the case, the last one she carried. Still in her purse when she died. Three orders deep on the top page in her shorthand — 2 ovr ez wht tst, blt no may, frnch dip xtra — and we have no idea whose breakfasts they were, only that wherever they are, Dot still has their order.
1931 · Erie, PA
1953
1955 · St. Stanislaus, Erie
1972
1985
2024 · Erie, PA
On the last tape I asked her how she wanted to be remembered, and she said, "Remembered? Put me down as a good tipper and tell the league I want a moment of silence and then one good loud frame." So: be a good tipper. Show up on your Tuesday. And if you ever pour coffee for someone who can't say thank you yet, that's her, still working the counter.
"A moment of silence, and then one good loud frame."