LILLIAN CAROL
ZACHRISSON PEASE, 1930-2014
WORDguy writes: I believe this is a first for The WORD. We have observed, honored and
otherwise celebrated a number of dying heroes on this site over the years, but
I think this is the first actual obit The WORD has ever run. A friend observed
yesterday that obituaries are staples of journalism, and so why not? He’s got a
point. Many of us who do journalism start with the usual dry and stale
recitations that appear on the funeral pages of newspapers. I must have written
a hundred. But I don’t think they have to be so bone-brittle. Especially in the
case of this woman, I prefer to celebrate her with a little more verve. She’d
like it, I think. TP
As it happens, The
Beatles were singing, “I get by with a little help from my friends” as I write this to celebrate
the life and legacy of Lillian Carol Zacrhrisson Pease, my mother.
Lillian was born in
Boston in 1930. March 7, in case anyone wants to celebrate that day. She died
rather quickly and efficiently on Saturday in Brunswick, Maine, 84 years later,
after falling and busting her hip just a few days before.
She was always
efficient, our Mom. She got things done. And, when the end came for her, she
didn't mess around.
Lillian was a wordsmith, and she—and dad—have given that oddity to us. “Oddity” is a word that she would enjoy. A few months ago, when she told me on the phone, in despair, that she was “losing my words,” So I started calling with words that she had given me—like “fewmet.” She laughed.
Her loving and talented parents were Carroll and Lillian Zachrisson, second-generation Swedish immigrants who lived in Stoughton, Mass., where Lillian (Jr.) grew up. Carroll was a professional photographer. His wife worked in a bank. My mom attended the prestigious Boston Girls Latin School, and then went to the daunting women’s college, Wellesley, whence (she’d like that, too) she graduated in 1951.
Lillian was a wordsmith, and she—and dad—have given that oddity to us. “Oddity” is a word that she would enjoy. A few months ago, when she told me on the phone, in despair, that she was “losing my words,” So I started calling with words that she had given me—like “fewmet.” She laughed.
Her loving and talented parents were Carroll and Lillian Zachrisson, second-generation Swedish immigrants who lived in Stoughton, Mass., where Lillian (Jr.) grew up. Carroll was a professional photographer. His wife worked in a bank. My mom attended the prestigious Boston Girls Latin School, and then went to the daunting women’s college, Wellesley, whence (she’d like that, too) she graduated in 1951.
Although her
professors were pushing her toward medical school, she inexplicably enrolled in
The Union Theological Seminary in New York City. There she met Frederic A.
Pease, Jr., whom (she’d like that, too) she married June 20, 1953.
Fred got an assignment
to minister to a bunch of New Hampshire heathens in two little towns, New Ipswich and Jaffrey,
N.H. Eventually, a bundle of kids ensued: Ted (1955) and David (1956) were born
in New Hampshire, Ruth (1959) and Rebecca (1961) in Andover, Mass., where Fred became chaplain at Phillips Academy in 1958.
In 1956, Lillian and
Fred went with friends to vacation on the coast of Maine.
Inexplicably—again!—the two couples boarded a slow boat from Mount Desert out
to Swans Island, where both families purchased homes, pretty much on the spot. Over
the years, the families and their kids grew up every summer (and a few frigid
Decembers) on Swans Island, and the kids and the next generations continue to
do so.
Lillian went back to
college in 1969. She enrolled at the Simmons School of Social Work in Boston,
and earned a master’s degree. She used that training to become director of
Fidelity House, a residential home for mentally disabled adults, and later
teenagers, in Lawrence, Mass. She grew the enterprise from a single home for
about six people to a series of residential facilities that served hundreds by
the time she retired to Maine in 1990.
Lillian was a fabulous
cook, a formidable Scrabble player and an enthusiastic singer and pianist. She
sang Gilbert & Sullivan in the kitchen. What she liked best about being a
minister’s wife was not just the shared social commitment, but the community
and choir that come with church. She and Fred always got by with a lot of help
from her friends.
She and Fred moved to
Brunswick, Maine, in January 2014. Until her death, she was an active
member of the First Congregational Church of Wiscasset, Maine, and the Maine
Women’s Lobby in Augusta.
A memorial service and
celebration of her wonderful life will be at the First Congregational
Church of Wiscasset, Maine, on Monday, May 5. Come prepared to sing. She’d like
that.
PeezPix. ted.pease@gmail.com
TODAY'S WORD ON JOURNALISM is a free “service” sent to the 1,800 or so misguided subscribers around the planet. If you have recovered from whatever led you to subscribe and don’t want it anymore, send “unsubscribe” to ted.pease@gmail.com. Or if you want to afflict someone else, send me the email address and watch the fun begin. (Disclaimer: I just quote ’em, I don’t necessarily endorse ’em. But all contain at least a kernel of insight. Don’t shoot the messenger.)
Ted Pease, Professor of Interesting Stuff, Utah State University, Logan, Utah. ted.pease@gmail.com. (Be)Friend Dr. Ted, Professor of Interesting Stuff
“Words are sacred. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones, in the right order, you can nudge the world a little.” —Tom Stoppard
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