Remembering Tia Toots
After Memorial Mass June 22, 2015
Fred Solowey
Three minutes to cover almost five decades of friendship, years that included living through upheaval at Cornell, where we met, her becoming a teenage bride and having two wonderful baby boys, yet managing to earn her PhD, burying parents and her beloved first born—whose name is carried on by my late-arriving son—Benjamin Antonio Solowey—sharing and loving three generations of dogs, and enjoying countless days at the beach, holiday meals, a trip to Cuba, getting paid to sing Meet the Mets at the National Press Club, buying a boat with “Captain Nick,” Nick and Ixchel’s wedding in Mexico and those beautiful grandbabies, Broadway shows, the Mets and a million laughs (besides those provided by the Mets)
People understand that she faced issues of race and class at Cornell, but not the extra burden she had at Cornell and throughout her career: lots of Hoody Doody-watching white baby boomers calling her Clarabelle.
This certainly continued on the hill, where a bunch of real clowns took down her beloved committee on children, youth and families.
Actually, I never heard Karabelle speak really ill of anyone (except maybe Duke and North Carolina). Whether it was a reactionary in Congress, a kid who didn’t want to go to sleep, various Bushes, a dog with a fear of walking on linoleum or an absent minded husband who could forget about the glasses on his own Roman/Jewish nose—they all “had issues.” Karabelle knew that we all have issues.
Even she had issues:
*Sure she could be calm during a political or family crisis, but she’d fall apart and could not bear to watch during a close, important Terps basketball game.
*She was a compulsive cleaner and we had to seat her wedged in on the side of the table next to the china cabinet to stop her from washing dishes or even vacuuming during a Seder.
*She had at least one, and maybe two hollow legs and could down enormous amounts of wine and still be coherent.
*She’d laugh at all my jokes (bless her), but I never heard her even try to tell one—even when the hollow legs were full.
She wasn’t Karabelle to us. Sam, in a throwback of at least a century—maybe more—called her toots. When Ben came long in 2003, she became Tia Toots Ben has nine aunts and uncles scattered across North America, but Tia Toots was the aunt he knew best and was a rock in his life. She bought him his first bike, took care of him during our getaway wedding anniversary weekends and was always listed as our emergency contact.
Heck, Katie and I knew she’d handle an emergency better than we would—unless it occurred during a close, important Terps basketball game.
Tia was always a wonderful person to be around. She was interested in everything and everyone and made everyone feel special. And this didn’t change a bit during these last two years.
Often she was the smartest person in the room but she had no interest in proving it.
We loved Tia Toots and always felt her love for us. We have an issue with not getting 20 or 30 more years with her, but Katie, Ben and I are profoundly grateful for having her in our lives
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