MAUREEN ALICE VOGLER ROWE
August 27, 1922 – March 1, 2015
Bob Rowe Memorial Remarks
Moe finished strong.
Over the decades, she became the person she was supposed to be – the best person she could be. Along the way, she helped us be as good as we could be too. At the end, what’s left is the quality of the relationships we form, and what we’ve done in the world. Looking around this church, Moe touched a lot of people and had a big impact. A lot of that happened through the relationships she made right here.
This church is an important part of where Mary and I grew up and who we are today. It was a huge part of Moe’s life, going back to the Eisenhower Administration. (At this point she would remind us that she voted for Stevenson, but that as the daughter of a Butte miner FDR was always her favorite.) And, she was a big part of this church. In her final months, she was concerned that she had become too infirm to attend on Sundays, but she was still part of the community, so in her final weeks she volunteered to write letters to shut-ins - writing letters, of course, being one of the things she did best.
Almost three years ago, we came together here to remember Dad. It’s very often that I hear his voice when I speak, or say something that I think he would say. I certainly inherited his hair and hairline. I hope I inherited his health and longevity. From Moe, I hope I’ve learned a bit about openness of spirit and generosity toward others and the world.
Neither of our parents were able to go to college, but both were smart and engaged and passionate about education. Moe gets credit for helping both Mary and me get through undergraduate and graduate school. She helped type I don’t know how many papers, with how many thousands of footnotes, all on an IBM Selectric. For those under 40, the Selectric’s cutting-edge technology was the “white out key” – but you did footnotes yourself, and every time you did another edit you started typing the whole document all over.
Our son Sam isn’t here today because he had major knee surgery this morning (as a result of a testosterone-induced ski incident). By coincidence, I graduated from college on crutches, after knee surgery. I told Moe at the time that part of the degree was hers. She agreed.
As I said, Moe finished strong. I moved to Montana in 1980, where both of our parents had such deep roots, and where Melanie and I met. Many of my best memories of both Mom and Dad are from the extended times we had together over the decades since. As soon as Moe and Melanie met, they both decided they liked one another better than either one liked me – which is pretty much why Melanie married me. It was wonderful to see Montana through my parents’ eyes, to share time with them, and to watch them with our children, Maggie and Sam. Dad would paint the fence, mow the lawn, plant a garden, throw a ball. The kids would always help. Moe would read to the kids, shop, cook, and teach them how to cook.
Sam remembers trips through Yellowstone, where he excelled at pointing out the animals the rest of us couldn’t see. Sam made a beautiful wooden cross for Moe that hung on her living room wall, and was next to her bed in her final weeks.
Maggie remembers cooking, standing on a stool next to Grandma. Moe was Maggie’s confidant, and they wrote great letters back and forth all along. Maggie wrote Moe a wonderful letter in February, after Moe decided to go into hospice care, which Moe read and re-read.
When they visited Montana, they walked everywhere. They made their own friends and made all of our Montana friends into their friends too.
I especially loved seeing Butte Montana through their eyes. Three of our four grandparents are buried in Butte (where they still vote). On almost every trip, we drove by “the little house on Henry street,” where she had lived with her parents. Just last summer I got to wander through the ore house, head frame and locker rooms at the Anselmo mine, just a few blocks away from that house, where her father worked almost to the end of his life.
Moe was a proud graduate of the Butte Business College, which was housed in the grand Medical Arts Building in uptown Butte. She always referred to it as “Butte Finishing School.” Last year, the company I work for started construction on a large new building at the same site. This was a big deal in the community, so we sent out invitations to the groundbreaking. Although I knew she couldn’t travel, I sent Moe an invitation as well. She sent this reply, in her beautiful handwriting, which was quoted in the newspaper:
Dear Bob,
As a former longtime resident of Butte and a graduate (cum laude) of Butte Finishing School, I am delighted to accept your invitation to attend the groundbreaking ceremony. Since I was formerly a legal secretary for the executives of the Anaconda Company and am now a senior citizen, I assume your invitation includes round trip air fare.
Eagerly awaiting your reply. May you also tap ‘er light.
(Tap ‘er light is how a Butte miner would say take it easy.)
She had to wait into her 90s, but she finally made the front page of the Montana Standard. (The reporter didn’t understand that “Butte Finishing School” was a joke. I’ve inherited obscurantism from her as well.) By the way, I would have gladly paid the air fare.
The folks made their last trip to Montana in 2008. Even then, Dad would have driven if Mom would have let him – she was always glad he couldn’t drive 660 miles on a single tank of gas. The walks were much shorter, but they did get to Butte one last time.
By then, they had moved to Clackamas Springs, which over time became their home, and where they made wonderful new friends. Mom would read to Dad, and they’d solve the crosswords together. She still took her walks, but not so long. After Dad died in October 2010, Moe continued to slowly decline – it became harder and harder for her to get around and more and more difficult for her to hear phone conversations. What didn’t abate was her ability to burn through a big, complex book in a week, and write a dozen letters in the same time. We couldn’t keep her in books, and we couldn’t keep up with what she was reading and recommending to us. We couldn’t keep up with her letters either. Usually twice a week we’d receive a letter or card, in beautiful long hand, and filled with book reviews, articles about Montana, and other clippings from whatever she was reading.
Wallace Stegner was one of her favorite authors. Somewhere, we have a cassette tape of a Stegner lecture that Mom and Dad attended sometime in the 1980s. This quote from Crossing to Safety suggests the best of the times we had with them, and also why people really enjoyed being with them.
Youth hasn't got anything to do with chronological age. It's times of hope and happiness.
Moe was hopeful and happy so much of the time, and that’s what others took from her.
Maggie, Sam, Melanie and I were all grateful to have spent time with Moe in her final months. In February, Moe decided that she would rather have hospice care than another trip to the emergency room. She missed Dad and her family, thought Mary and I might eventually turn out OK, and was truly ready for what’s next. Again, I think she was hopeful. Melanie and I were fortunate to be with her the next weekend, and to say everything that needed to be said. We got her out on two excursions – including to Mary’s on Saturday night to enjoy Mary’s family and Mary’s grandkids. My last photo of Mom is of the two of us wearing silly masks, with toys all around.
The next morning, she was too weak to go to church, but Steve Denny came to the Springs, and he, Melanie, Moe and I had a wonderful visit for much of the afternoon. Steve told Moe that so many people visit her not because they’re sorry for her, but because they want to be with her.
When Melanie, Maggie and I came back the following weekend, Mom was in a hospital bed at home, non-responsive but was still with us. We all sat together, read to her, and visited. We were so struck by how many people came to share their love with her. We looked through photos, letters and keepsakes. Over that time, and after Melanie and Maggie left, Mary and I had nearly a weeklong conversation – very much like the conversation we had after Dad died. After I went home, Mary stayed with Moe almost constantly, and was with her at the end.
Mary, you’re a great sister and friend – but you are a remarkable daughter.
I said that Mary and I spent time looking through keepsakes. We found a folded piece of paper, with Moe’s elegant handwriting, which we can consider her last of many hundreds of letters to us, a quote from Hebrews. So, as usual (just ask Mary or Dad), Moe gets the last word:
Faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.
Thank you for being with us to remember and celebrate a good person, who worked hard to live a good life.
