Memorial service for Margo

Approximately 40 people attended the service. Originally intended to be of 30 minutes length, the main part went to about 90 minutes, as many people wanted to add their thoughts and memories, from long term friends, to her children, to our UPS delivery girl. Afterwards many people stayed for refreshments are further conversation.

Below is the outline of brief memorial presented by Kevin. There was also a slide show of 78 pictures, set to “It Had To Be You” by Betty Hutton and “You Made Me Love You” by Harry James.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for being here.

“I haven’t done this before, so please forgive me if anything isn’t quite as you expect. This is probably going to be a somewhat unusual memorial service. Margo had actually expressed the firm wish that there not be a service, but last week, in the fresh grief of last week, that just didn’t seem right to me. Memorial services are for the living, a way to say thank you, we’re glad we knew you. And, in the end, that is all that I propose this be, a time for us to be together, to share a few memories, to say “I love you. We’re so glad we got to have you in our lives”, and perhaps to leave with a little glow inside because we knew her.

“Mom was born Marjorie Schiernbeck in Davenport, Iowa in 1922. She was Margie or Marney to family and friends, until my brother-in-law gave her the nickname “Margo”, which stuck. She was the younger of two children to survive. Her father was an inventor and consulting engineer, involved with electronics and the emerging field of radio. In that sphere she got to know a number of interesting people, including Ronald Reagan when he was an announcer at radio station WOC (she adored him, by the way). Her uncles were in all sorts of fields, groceries, banking, building, and entertainment.

“The world into which she arrived was in many ways quite different from the one most of us have known. She grew up through the Great Depression. Her family was never in want, but she remembered her father renting a field and the whole family raising their own vegetables to help things along. She remembered having to talk to the bank about the unsecured debenture bond used to acknowledge her lost fledgling savings account. She recalled when the government confiscated gold. She remembered the hobos, who never came to the front door to ask for help, but always to the back door, and who would mark the curbs with chalk to indicate which houses to pass by.

“An event happened one evening that made a deep impression on her. The family was getting ready to sit down to a nice dinner, chicken, I think, and a fellow came to the back door, asking if they could spare anything, anything that he could feed his family. Her mother and father talked about it for a moment, and then packed up their entire dinner, and he drove the man back to where he was staying. The fellow was stunned and grateful, and Mom’s family ate canned fish that night.

“In school she was very active in many extra curricular activities, often walking to school at a very early hour. One morning was almost kidnaped by a young man who was apprehended a few days later. Did her family coddle her? No, they bought her a sap, and she kept walking to school. She was a worthy advisor in Rainbow, planned dances, negotiated with orchestras. I think she really loved this time. She would often say that we have no idea how good things were back then, and how good people tended to be.

“In high school she met my Dad, Channing. They had a formal engagement of reasonable duration, and she got into her only trouble ever in high school… at lunch one day, one fellow made a joke about perhaps having to get married, and she dumped her cup of hot chocolate all over him. She did things by the book.

“When she was 19, World War II came. Dad entered the Navy and was selected for training as a radar operator. Shortly before he was to ship out to the Pacific, he was tapped to stay in the States as a radar instructor.

“In the fall of 1944 she had her first child, a son. I can’t recall what name had been agreed for him, but when she saw him she named him Channing, Jr., instead.

“After the war, my Dad used the G.I. Bill to get a bachelor’s degree in electronics. To help support the family, he worked long hours every summer painting tractors at the J.I. Case factory. The smell of paint and J.I. Case red color were a fixture in those times. Mom planned another child, and in 1949 my sister Nancy was born.

“Family and home were very important to Margo, so it was difficult on her when Dad’s career took him to an aerospace job in Detroit, working on the first Sparrow missile. Generally speaking, throughout her life she followed where he wanted to go, but there was one notable exception. At the end of the Sparrow project they were to go to Point Mugu air station in California for its testing program. She drew the line. The engineer who did take the assignment lost his life in an aviation accident during the project.

“Mom had some of the attributes we sometimes refer to as a ‘Proverbs 31′ woman. She took great pleasure in finding a bit of land for her family’s first home, for working with the builder and banker, and finding a way to stretch the finances to pay off the mortgage in just a few years.

“Marjorie had planned to have four children, but severe whiplash following a car accident got in the way. I arrived ten years after my sister, and I was the last.

“It’s difficult to paint a snapshot of a personality, of a life. At times Mom had a delicious sense of humor and fun… and to her chagrin but my delight she was very, very ticklish. (Sorry, Mom.) She took great care to ensure the education of her children and always helped them in any way she could.

“Of course, there were difficulties and sadness, too. She lost my brother while he was flying F4′s for the Navy in 1969. She took care of her mother after her dad died. And we lost my Dad just a little over four years ago, after nearly seventy years of marriage.

“She experienced a profound touch from God in the 1970s. She was experiencing a difficult medical problem that left her weak and at risk, and the doctors could not figure out why, so they recommended major surgery to remove the affected tissue and organs. There were so many pressures on her at that time, and she was frustrated and tempted to call the doctor and cancel, to just give up. As she would tell the story, she went back to her bathroom, calling out to God in some way, and suddenly she couldn’t move, and was surrounded by the brightest light she had ever seen. Slowly, warmth like a thick oil began to flow down from the top of her head, and she heard or sensed two words: “It’s alright.”

“From that moment on, she was cheerful. Her attitude worried her brother, and her doctors thought that she either had given up or didn’t understand the risk; they we’re only giving her a 50/50 chance of coming through the operation. She insisted that my Dad and I not wait at the hospital; “Stay home where it is comfortable, I’ll make sure someone calls you right away.” I don’t recall how long the surgery took, quite a while and longer than expected. Sometimes afterwards the surgeon, Dr. Playford Boyle at Sarasota Memorial, was in her room to do the first change of bandages, and as he removed them, he turned white. “Doctor, what’s wrong?”, she asked. He excused himself, and came back with two nurses to witness what he was seeing. There was barely a mark, she was fully healed. He said, “I’ve seen miracles in my practice, but nothing like this.” And she was home at the end of the week, not three weeks later as originally planned.

“She loved to tell that story and others, but with the onset of atrial fibrillation, she lost so much energy and vitality. Her memory began to get a bit foggy around the edges, and it became harder for her to deal with the world and its speed. Her lifelong stories began to drift in the retelling. And this was so difficult for her, because she loved to talk with people more than anything else. Family, friends, doctors, our company’s customers, delivery drivers … she just loved to talk with people, and usually tried to leave them uplifted and encouraged.

“But it was getting difficult for her. She would sometimes ask, “Why can’t I just go home?” So many of her loved ones had gone before her, there were so many people she wanted to see again. And she had absolute faith in Jesus and in the life to come. She would sometimes say to me, “You don’t really believe yet. You don’t know what I know, but you will, and it’s so good.”

“It would be her greatest wish that each of us would come to have this same faith and confidence.

“She and my dad had helped me start a business twenty three years ago, and for most of that time she answered the phones, opened the mail, wrote out the checks, and so forth. She loved the company, and knew many of our customers and their families by name. After her collapse and hospitalization in March, she was thrilled to come back to the company in April, and she was there on May 24, just hours before she passed on.

“She lived a life full of wonderful opportunity. She touched many people. She gave generously. She was no more perfect than you or I, but she did the best she could to do what she thought was right. I will always cherish the encouragement and love that both she and my Dad gave, the talking and listening, the planning and problem solving, the jokes shared and the storms weathered.

“I mentioned earlier that Mom left specific instructions that there not be a memorial service, but I hope that she would secretly be pleased to know that so many people remember her fondly.

“She was all about talking with people, and this really isn’t so much a service as it is friends sitting around and sharing. And so now I invite you to share your thoughts, stories, and memories of Margo. It doesn’t have to be anything profound or lofty. It can be something as simple, like how often she brought an extra biscuit from McDonald’s to give to Brent at work, because she knew he would be running late and have skipped breakfast.

“So, what do you remember about Margo?”

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2 thoughts on “Memorial service for Margo”

Kevin Hayes on July 10, 2013 at 12:37 pm said:

Approximately 40 people attended the service. Originally intended to be of 30 minutes length, the main part went to about 90 minutes, as many people wanted to add their thoughts and memories, from long term friends, to her children, to our UPS delivery girl. Afterwards many people stayed for refreshments are further conversation.

Below is the outline of brief memorial presented by Kevin. There was also a slide show of 78 pictures, set to “It Had To Be You” by Betty Hutton and “You Made Me Love You” by Harry James.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for being here.

“I haven’t done this before, so please forgive me if anything isn’t quite as you expect. This is probably going to be a somewhat unusual memorial service. Margo had actually expressed the firm wish that there not be a service, but last week, in the fresh grief of last week, that just didn’t seem right to me. Memorial services are for the living, a way to say thank you, we’re glad we knew you. And, in the end, that is all that I propose this be, a time for us to be together, to share a few memories, to say “I love you. We’re so glad we got to have you in our lives”, and perhaps to leave with a little glow inside because we knew her.

“Mom was born Marjorie Schiernbeck in Davenport, Iowa in 1922. She was Margie or Marney to family and friends, until my brother-in-law gave her the nickname “Margo”, which stuck. She was the younger of two children to survive. Her father was an inventor and consulting engineer, involved with electronics and the emerging field of radio. In that sphere she got to know a number of interesting people, including Ronald Reagan when he was an announcer at radio station WOC (she adored him, by the way). Her uncles were in all sorts of fields, groceries, banking, building, and entertainment.

“The world into which she arrived was in many ways quite different from the one most of us have known. She grew up through the Great Depression. Her family was never in want, but she remembered her father renting a field and the whole family raising their own vegetables to help things along. She remembered having to talk to the bank about the unsecured debenture bond used to acknowledge her lost fledgling savings account. She recalled when the government confiscated gold. She remembered the hobos, who never came to the front door to ask for help, but always to the back door, and who would mark the curbs with chalk to indicate which houses to pass by.

“An event happened one evening that made a deep impression on her. The family was getting ready to sit down to a nice dinner, chicken, I think, and a fellow came to the back door, asking if they could spare anything, anything that he could feed his family. Her mother and father talked about it for a moment, and then packed up their entire dinner, and he drove the man back to where he was staying. The fellow was stunned and grateful, and Mom’s family ate canned fish that night.

“In school she was very active in many extra curricular activities, often walking to school at a very early hour. One morning was almost kidnaped by a young man who was apprehended a few days later. Did her family coddle her? No, they bought her a sap, and she kept walking to school. She was a worthy advisor in Rainbow, planned dances, negotiated with orchestras. I think she really loved this time. She would often say that we have no idea how good things were back then, and how good people tended to be.

“In high school she met my Dad, Channing. They had a formal engagement of reasonable duration, and she got into her only trouble ever in high school… at lunch one day, one fellow made a joke about perhaps having to get married, and she dumped her cup of hot chocolate all over him. She did things by the book.

“When she was 19, World War II came. Dad entered the Navy and was selected for training as a radar operator. Shortly before he was to ship out to the Pacific, he was tapped to stay in the States as a radar instructor.

“In the fall of 1944 she had her first child, a son. I can’t recall what name had been agreed for him, but when she saw him she named him Channing, Jr., instead.

“After the war, my Dad used the G.I. Bill to get a bachelor’s degree in electronics. To help support the family, he worked long hours every summer painting tractors at the J.I. Case factory. The smell of paint and J.I. Case red color were a fixture in those times. Mom planned another child, and in 1949 my sister Nancy was born.

“Family and home were very important to Margo, so it was difficult on her when Dad’s career took him to an aerospace job in Detroit, working on the first Sparrow missile. Generally speaking, throughout her life she followed where he wanted to go, but there was one notable exception. At the end of the Sparrow project they were to go to Point Mugu air station in California for its testing program. She drew the line. The engineer who did take the assignment lost his life in an aviation accident during the project.

“Mom had some of the attributes we sometimes refer to as a ‘Proverbs 31′ woman. She took great pleasure in finding a bit of land for her family’s first home, for working with the builder and banker, and finding a way to stretch the finances to pay off the mortgage in just a few years.

“Marjorie had planned to have four children, but severe whiplash following a car accident got in the way. I arrived ten years after my sister, and I was the last.

“It’s difficult to paint a snapshot of a personality, of a life. At times Mom had a delicious sense of humor and fun… and to her chagrin but my delight she was very, very ticklish. (Sorry, Mom.) She took great care to ensure the education of her children and always helped them in any way she could.

“Of course, there were difficulties and sadness, too. She lost my brother while he was flying F4′s for the Navy in 1969. She took care of her mother after her dad died. And we lost my Dad just a little over four years ago, after nearly seventy years of marriage.

“She experienced a profound touch from God in the 1970s. She was experiencing a difficult medical problem that left her weak and at risk, and the doctors could not figure out why, so they recommended major surgery to remove the affected tissue and organs. There were so many pressures on her at that time, and she was frustrated and tempted to call the doctor and cancel, to just give up. As she would tell the story, she went back to her bathroom, calling out to God in some way, and suddenly she couldn’t move, and was surrounded by the brightest light she had ever seen. Slowly, warmth like a thick oil began to flow down from the top of her head, and she heard or sensed two words: “It’s alright.”

“From that moment on, she was cheerful. Her attitude worried her brother, and her doctors thought that she either had given up or didn’t understand the risk; they we’re only giving her a 50/50 chance of coming through the operation. She insisted that my Dad and I not wait at the hospital; “Stay home where it is comfortable, I’ll make sure someone calls you right away.” I don’t recall how long the surgery took, quite a while and longer than expected. Sometimes afterwards the surgeon, Dr. Playford Boyle at Sarasota Memorial, was in her room to do the first change of bandages, and as he removed them, he turned white. “Doctor, what’s wrong?”, she asked. He excused himself, and came back with two nurses to witness what he was seeing. There was barely a mark, she was fully healed. He said, “I’ve seen miracles in my practice, but nothing like this.” And she was home at the end of the week, not three weeks later as originally planned.

“She loved to tell that story and others, but with the onset of atrial fibrillation, she lost so much energy and vitality. Her memory began to get a bit foggy around the edges, and it became harder for her to deal with the world and its speed. Her lifelong stories began to drift in the retelling. And this was so difficult for her, because she loved to talk with people more than anything else. Family, friends, doctors, our company’s customers, delivery drivers … she just loved to talk with people, and usually tried to leave them uplifted and encouraged.

“But it was getting difficult for her. She would sometimes ask, “Why can’t I just go home?” So many of her loved ones had gone before her, there were so many people she wanted to see again. And she had absolute faith in Jesus and in the life to come. She would sometimes say to me, “You don’t really believe yet. You don’t know what I know, but you will, and it’s so good.”

“It would be her greatest wish that each of us would come to have this same faith and confidence.

“She and my dad had helped me start a business twenty three years ago, and for most of that time she answered the phones, opened the mail, wrote out the checks, and so forth. She loved the company, and knew many of our customers and their families by name. After her collapse and hospitalization in March, she was thrilled to come back to the company in April, and she was there on May 24, just hours before she passed on.

“She lived a life full of wonderful opportunity. She touched many people. She gave generously. She was no more perfect than you or I, but she did the best she could to do what she thought was right. I will always cherish the encouragement and love that both she and my Dad gave, the talking and listening, the planning and problem solving, the jokes shared and the storms weathered.

“I mentioned earlier that Mom left specific instructions that there not be a memorial service, but I hope that she would secretly be pleased to know that so many people remember her fondly.

“She was all about talking with people, and this really isn’t so much a service as it is friends sitting around and sharing. And so now I invite you to share your thoughts, stories, and memories of Margo. It doesn’t have to be anything profound or lofty. It can be something as simple, like how often she brought an extra biscuit from McDonald’s to give to Brent at work, because she knew he would be running late and have skipped breakfast.

“So, what do you remember about Margo?”

Reply ↓
Jeff Miller on July 11, 2013 at 2:14 am said:

Kevin, I didn’t know your mom except for phone conversations, but from your eulogy she seemed to be a very special lady. You were lucky to have her for such a long time. I am sorry for your loss and may her soul rest in peace.

Reply ↓

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