One week ago tonight was the funeral of our dear friend Henrietta Welch- who lived to the age of 104 and remained her sturdy, uncompromising self to the very end.
I’m going to write more about Henrietta and her moving memorial service another time- but for now, I just want to talk about a small, quiet memorial moment of my own that occurred – of all places – at the Soup Depot, a nice little family-owned restaurant that is a frequent stop for me when I want a reasonably-priced and quick meal. As I walked in there to grab a quick lunch on Monday, I noticed an array of pies on display.
When I finished ordering my lunch, I asked the waitress what kinds of pie were available. She replied, and I quote: “apple, blueberry, pumpkin, and chocolate cream …. and oh yeah, banana cream.” At the mention of banana cream pie, my heart leapt – and I ordered a slice. And when it came at the end of the meal, I took a moment to take a picture of it- and to think back to a moment in my friendship with Henrietta that gave her laugh-out-loud pleasure for at least a quarter century.
The moment took place perhaps 27 or 28 years ago – and it feels like it was one of the first of countless occasions that Henrietta took Kathy and me out for supper. (This was one of her favorite things to do with her many friends- taking them out to eat.) The restaurant was The Summit -one of Racine’s nicer and more elegant restaurants, and one of Henrietta’s favorites. We had a delicious meal and wonderful conversation (it was never a dull moment with Henrietta) and we sincerely hated to see the evening end.
Then came dessert- which was always an absolute ‘must’ when you were out with Henrietta; she wouldn’t have it any other way. My choice was the banana cream pie, which Henrietta said was made on site and was always delicious. I don’t think I had managed to have more than a couple of bites when I suffered an embarrassing mishap- due to my strange habit of sitting too far away from the table when I’m eating, especially towards the end of the meal. Somehow, as I was reaching my fork to the plate, I managed to flip the plate – pie and all – into the air. (In my memory, I imagine it twirling around like a pinwheel- but I don’t think it was quite that pretty or impressive a sight.) It landed on the floor- and what was left of my slice of banana cream pie landed right on my shoes.
It was one of those mishaps that would have been sort of funny in a more relaxed setting- but in a restaurant as nice as this, it was embarrassing and even a little mortifying. There was a moment or two of shocked silence, but then Henrietta began to laugh – and she continued to laugh as if she might never stop. And in a sense, she never did stop laughing. For years afterwards- and by years, I actually mean decades- she would recall that hilarious moment and laugh about it all over again.
I don’t tell this dumb little story as another example of Greg Berg being a Klutz (that’s not exactly big news to anybody who knows me) – but rather as a story about the importance of laughter. Henrietta Welch was one formidable woman … someone who was tough as nails and didn’t take guff from anybody … but she also someone who loved to laugh, and who laughed as much at her own foibles and failings as she did at anyone else’s- and laughter was always part of a visit with her- as inevitable as hello and goodbye. And if one wonders how Henrietta lived to the age of 104 and managed to maintain her vitality to a remarkable extent to the very end, I would cite her sense of humor and love of laughter as reason #1. But it’s not just that laughter helped her live so long; it also helped her live so well. It helped her through some of her first adventures in music that took her far from home and family – and it helped her surmount all of the challenges that were part of her one-room-school teaching experience. I suspect that her sense of humor was one essential reason why she was able to carve out such an enviable place among local music teachers as one of the first female band and orchestra directors in the Racine school district. When one is trying to break into a field so completely dominated by men, it takes ferocious strength and determination, which she had in spades. But I am certain that it was her delicious wit that really sealed the deal- and helped make her not only accepted and admired by her male colleagues, but also loved by her students. It also helped her make the best of her retirement years (in which she was anything but ‘retiring’) and helped her weather the frustrations of various health issues. I can remember visiting her for the first time at West Ridge, a senior facility for people undergoing physical therapy to which she had been recently admitted- and I fully expected to find her in a dark, mournful mood. It turns out that we laughed as much during that visit as we ever had before, because Henrietta was not prone to self-pity nor to the kind of self-absorption that can so easily overtake a person. Even in her physical therapy sessions, Henrietta was laughing- and leading others to laughter as well. She knew something that scientists are just beginning to understand and write about- that laughter is crucial to us being truly well and truly whole.
By the way, Henrietta also loved sweets – and she wholeheartedly indulged in them and encouraged others to indulge as well. And it went well beyond dessert at dinner. Christmas gifts from Henrietta often included a good-sized fruit cake (I’m not sure where she got the idea that we were fruit cake fans) and our Christmas gifts to her always included at least one box of those delectable Frango Mints from Marshall Fields. And I can think of many occasions when Henrietta confessed in mock horror that she had eaten an entire package of cookies the night before- or half a cake- or whatever. For a woman with tremendous self-discipline, resisting this kind of temptation was all but impossible for her. I know that eating sweets is not the magic key to long life and good health- and in most cases, it tends to lead to the opposite. But it folded perfectly into who she was and the way she lived.
It’s one of many lessons I learned from her- and this particular lesson will always come to mind whenever I see banana cream pie on a dessert menu. And when I order a piece (as I almost always will, in her honor) I will remember her … and will remember the sound of her laughter.
