Remembering Mary

 

Margie Carroll & Mary Virginia Banks

Mary is called by many names – Mary, Mary Virginia, Mary Banks, Mary Nichols, Mrs. Nichols, Mary B. Nichols, Omah Mary, and Cuge (pronounced KEW-gie, a corruption of Cute Granny).

For most of my life it was always Mary Virginia because Mary was just three days older than my mother and the pair grew up like sisters.  My mother had one brother and four boy cousins who lived in the house next door.  My mom was thrilled to have a sister, best friend, and partner-in-crime in Mary Virginia.  It helped that Mary’s mother Adah and my mom’s mother, Anna, were great friends.

Mary’s parents, Adah and Grove lived in a house across the street from my mom’s family home when Mary was born.  Soon after they moved into the house along Dawson Street, and Mary’s father ran a filling station at the bottom of the hill.

There were quite a few kids who grew up together in those days.  Cousins and classmates and when Mary’s sister Ruth Ellen came along, she was part of the mix too.  And their brother Grove Lee a few years later.

Mary Virginia was a regular visitor at my grandparents’ home when she was growing up.  She had a knack of showing up just around dinner time.  She also told me that she always arrived thirsty and asked for a drink of water.  Because, if my grandmother had baked a cake, it would be in the same cupboard where the glasses were kept.  That way, Mary could see if there was a cake, if she was invited to stay to dinner.

Mary Virginia and my mother were in the same grade until my mother became ill with rheumatic fever.  That kept my mother out of school for four years.  But Mary Virginia was a faithful friend and visited most days.  She was welcome break from the boredom of a sickroom. 

After my mother recovered, they were back to running around like any teenagers.  School, swimming at the state park, getting milkshakes at Coughlin’s drugstore, going on dates, and going to dances.

They grew up in the depression and nobody had much, but they made do and made good friends.  In addition to the filling station next to the house, Mary’s parents also ran Scott’s Store, a grocery store that Adah’s parents had.  Often Mary would drive between the two on errands for her parents.

Mary would tell the story that when it was time for her to take her driving test to get her license, the secretary at the State Police office sent her across the street to the movie theater where the police officer was.  Mary nervously walked in and cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me.  I’m supposed to ask you to give me the driving test.”  She said the police officer looked her up and down and said, “I’ve been watching you drive up and down Martinsburg Road for years.  You’ve passed your test already,” and he signed the card.

Mary finished high school in 1943 and her sister and my mother graduated two years later.  Mary went off to West Virginia University and majored in Home Economics.  As she described it once – She got her BS (Bachelor of Science) and then married Bob Nichols and got her MRS.  She lost her MRS, but she kept her BS.

Then Mary’s years of traveling and raising a family began.  No matter where Mary traveled, she was always the girl from Berkeley Springs.  She lived life with gusto and kept a sense of herself, rooted in the family and friends.

Mary was the Matron of Honor when my mother got married and a five years later when I was born, my mother asked if Mary and Bob would be my godparents.  Mary converted to Catholicism when she married Bob Nichols.

When I was born, my mother wrote to Mary who was living in the Azores at the time and asked if she and Bob would be my godparents.  My mother saved the letter that Mary sent in response.  In the letter, Mary mentions that she is herself having some labor pains and was hoping she’d go to the hospital that night.  Mary's daughter Sarah was born two days later.

Like Mary, I grew up in Berkeley Springs, WV and I attended grade school in the building next door to her home.  Over the years Bob and Mary would visit and I learned to look for the green and white Volkswagen bus in the driveway.  If we visited while the family was at the family home it was usually an asylum with my five godsisters running about and playing, adults talking and telling stories and my sister and two brothers in the mix.

I remember visiting their home on King Street in Alexandria, Virginia.  The house made an impression on me.  It was beautiful, with nice furniture.  I remember the three older girls shared a bedroom and the ceiling was wallpapered with a map of the world.  The house had a big kitchen and a classroom set up in the basement.  I recall there being a pet monkey at one point – but I’ll let others explain that.

When you’re a kid, it’s easy to expect presents from some people, especially from your godparents.  But I never thought about the fact they had 5 daughters to provide for.  Over the years I got some very cool gifts, many of which I still have.  There was a wooden Madonna from Italy and wooden sandals, and a puzzle bank from Japan to list a few.

I remember my mom and Mary visiting at our house and having a beer – or two.  Mary was telling my mom about a song she had heard on the radio about going back to West Virginia.  For some reason the explanation required Mary to stand up and act out driving home to West Virginia.  They were both laughing about it all.  The song was John Denver’s Country Roads.

Years later I was an adult working in Washington, DC, Mary came to my rescue when I asked her if I could rent a room with her.  Mary was living on Pryor Street then and both Sarah and Nora were away in college.  We sorted out the house rules and I lived there for about nine months.

At that time, I was working at Arena Stage and Mary decided that my job didn’t have much of a future and she steered me toward a career in the federal government.  That set me on a path to what became an interesting and satisfying career.  I have always been grateful to Mary for that gentle nudge.  Well, it was more like a kick in the pants.

After raising her children and retiring from her federal career, Mary returned to Berkeley Spring and her childhood home.  She had fun playing house, as she called it.  But she wisely ran a business to keep her occupied and enabled her to continue to meet interesting people and make new friends.

She jumped back into life in a small town and renewed old friendships and made new friends.  She enjoyed a certain amount of anonymity as a lot of people didn’t know that she knew so many people and picked up on some of the local gossip as well.

She became an avid bridge player, learning from my dad’s mother who was an excellent player.  Mary would also visit her to share a meal and play Scrabble.

Mary had the best sense of humor.  Years ago, my mother told me that Mary had called and asked her what time my mom woke up each day.  One of Mary’s daughters had suggested that Mary have a check-in call with someone nearby in case she wasn’t feeling well.  Mary said, “I think they’re just worried I’ll die and stink up the place.”

Shortly before my mother died, she was in the hospital.  Mary got her sister Ruth Ellen and they drove to the hospital to see her.  The hospital was only allowing family to visit her, and Mary said, “We’re her sisters.”  Who could argue with that?

I’d always drop in to visit Mary when I visited Berkeley Springs.  She was a link to my mother, but Mary and I had developed a great relationship over the years.  She was a wonderful friend and role model and mentor.  I sort of had Auntie Mame for a godmother and no godson had it so good.