Patricia Quigley Turner

Julie and family, so sorry for your loss. Prayers for you and your family.
Tom and Mary Pitcherello

Grandma Kit, as we called her, was the hub of our extended family. She kept a sharp grandmotherly eye on all her grandchildren, including Pat, or Patsy as we called her then. Patsy was in her 20’s.

My mother, Betty, my sister Jeanne, and my brother Tom and I were sitting on our Grandmother Kit’s sofa one evening. It was the 1950’s, my preteen years. We had just finished eating dinner and washing the dishes. Grandma lived in D.C. A summer breeze blew through the front white curtains, and we could hear the roar of a truck now and then.

Bill Quigley, my Dad, who Patsy fondly called “Uncle Billy,” stood on the other side of the room looking into the dining room at Grandma Kit.

“What do you think about that Elvis Presley, Ma?” Bill said. “What is that song you go crazy over?” His chin in the air, he began to croon, “Love Me Tender…Love Me Sweet…Never Let Me Go.”

“Yeah, Grandma, what about that?” we all chimed in.

“Ah, go on with ya, Billy” Grandma said, dropping her chin down slightly and waving her muscular arm. He’s a nice-lookin’ fella,” she said.

She ran over to the door and pulled back the curtain and scurried back to the living room, emptying an ashtray. “I wonder where Patsy is. You know she might be bringing her boyfriend over,” she said, dashing to the tall buffet in the dining room and opening the drawer.

Grandma slid a rectangular cotton doily onto the caramel dining table. Then she sat down on a high-backed chair and crossed her legs.

“Ray told me about Patsy and this new fella’, can’t think of his name,” she said.

She paused a moment and leaned forward. “I think it’s getting awfully serious. Why, I’ll tell ya…he said they can’t keep their hands off each other!” she said in a shocked tone. Her eyes were bright with fascination.

I leaned forward. Things were getting more interesting.

There was a knock on the door. My brother Tom ran up to the door with Grandma close behind.

Patsy walked in first. She had on a deep navy blue and white dress and her raven hair was striking against her fair skin. Following behind her was a handsome man with dark hair and a winning smile. She told us this was Rosy. It was short for Roosevelt. Grandma looked shyly at his back as she closed the door.

We all said hello as they stood around and Patsy introduced us. As Patsy put her hand on Rosy’s elbow, her cheeks flushed pink. Rosy stood smiling, shaking hands, and saying hello in a soft, mellow voice. There was a flash of red on his dark-skinned cheekbone. They stood close, their shoulders touching.

“How about a cup o’ tea?” Grandma said. “A piece o’ lemon meringue pie?”

“That would be nice,” Rosy said with a smile. He had a smooth accent that had a hint of the south.

Pat and Rosy sat down in the dining room on the high-backed chairs and turned them to the side so that they half faced all of us. Grandma set down teacups, plates, and forks. They turned to face each other. It was as if they were two magnets, their hands slowly inching towards each other on the table.

They were caught in a swirling force field.

I leaned forward, my eyes popping out. They laid their arms across the table, down on the edge of the white cotton doily, and clutched hands as if someone had tried to pry them apart. They caressed each other’s fingers and wrists and stared into each other’s eyes. It was as if they were two spirits without bodies. Then their knees touched. They moved in closer. Rosy took his hand and moved it up near Patsy’s elbow and held her eyes. Their fingers twirled around each other.

“So, Patsy how is everything?” Betty asked. “How’s Dorothy?”

“Mom’s fine, Aunt Betty,” Pat said. She flashed only a quick eye towards Betty while the other eye held fast on Rosy.

No cards tonight. No TV. This was the best show of all.

After an hour went by, Patsy said they had to leave. We all stood up saying our goodbyes. When the blinds on the door clattered shut behind them, it was as if all the magic had left the room.

I looked back to see the teacups. They were still full, and the slices of lemon pie barely touched. Grandma bent down and picked up the china.

She paused, turned her head and peeked up at us, nodding. “He’s a nice-lookin’ fella,” she said. Rosy had come through with flying colors. Patsy would be happy.

I held on to the vision of Patsy and Rosy sitting at Grandma Kit’s table holding hands, spellbound.

So this was love.

Linda (Quigley) Moran

I’m very grateful for the time I was able to spend with Mrs. Turner as we encountered each other during her constitutionals back here in Vienna while I was out doing yard work or walking our family dog. I found out at the very beginning that Mrs. Turner knew my dog quite well, and the dog was totally at peace with Mrs. Turner. This was because my dog spent weekdays with a retired neighbor, and the neighbor and Mrs. Turner knew each other well, spending time chatting away when all came across each other as they were out walking around during the day. Another neighbor I know spends time tending her property so I called her when I saw Mrs. Turner’s obituary to see if she knew Mrs. Turner from Mrs. Turner’s walking in the neighborhood days. I found out my neighbor knew Mrs. Turner from when their respective children were in school together, that my neighbor had attended the service for Mrs. Turner’s son, and one of my neighbor’s children occasionally saw Mrs. Turner out and about when those two lived in Gainesville. It was special for me to hear that out in Gainesville Mrs. Turner was still out and in the world.
Best wishes for all of you going forward.