Marguerite A. "Muggsie" Thompson, R.I.P.

The strangest thing: I found out about Muggsie's death by reading my own SiteMeter referrals.

A wonderful, kind, generous lady has died. I knew Muggsie through her husband, my religion professor, Jerry Thompson. Every year, after the Ripon College Easter sunrise service [held at the pond in the park], we would go over to Jerry and Muggs' for Easter brunch. She had the best darn food every year, all home-made, including these stupendous cinnamon yeast rolls and egg casseroles. She would feed the marauding hordes of college kids who got up early [or just stayed up late from their Unholy Saturday revelry] without an RSVP or even a nosecount prior to it. She was a joyful, bubbly personality who effervesced with love of life, love of family, love of learning. It was so obvious to me that she had a passionate love for her husband, Jerry. I couldn't quite explain it, because as a balding, older, bespectacled man, he had warmth [and nice stocky legs], but not one ounce of sex appeal to my teenaged eyes. I often thought, however, that theirs was such a fine example of Christian marriage. She was a doting grandma and a patient soul who watched endless tennis matches while her husband played. She was kind to everyone and I can never recall an unkind word or deed attributed to her.

According to her obituary, she lived a good long life. May she be accompanied by angels to her final reward. I bet there'll be a banquet in her honor.

Robert P. Ashley, R.I.P.

A beloved college professor of mine died in November, 2006. Today, at Ripon College, they held a memorial service in his honor. I knew him well, having him as a professor and then as a landlord for a summer and my final semester of college. His daughter asked me to deliver a tribute to him. Because of travel and family obligations, I declined to be there in person, but I wrote the following tribute to Dr. Ashley which my sister Peggy delivered.

Dr. Ashley's reputation preceded him when I entered Ripon College in the fall of 1981. I'm the fourth of four children, all of whom attended Ripon College. All three of the Gero girls graduated from this esteemed institution; brother Paul enjoyed three years here and figured out that his degree would be in journalism from Marquette. My sister Mary had freshman English with Dr. Ashley just one year prior, in 1980, and that was the year that he became a widower. She spoke of him with respect and she spoke of Mrs. Ashley's passing in hushed tones. I believe that was the year that Dr. Ashley became Emeritus. And it was the year he began taking in roomers. Oh, not the whispered tales, but the students who would live at his home rent-free. The price of their keep was to clean his Watson Street home each week.

I knew of Dr. Ashley but only had the privilege of being his student once. I took his English novel course as a sophomore. For my money, that was the best bargain in all the curriculum----one night a week for three hours, earning 4 credits. My science friends would lament their several hours in lab for a measly credit and I knew we had it sweet. In that course, we learned of Dr. Ashley's love of the written word and also film. He was the authority on the novelist Wilkie Collins. As a consequence, I don't miss those Collins questions on Jeopardy.

I loved Ripon so much I stayed here year round. The library crew hired a few of us to work full-time during the summer, and if you could find a cheap place to stay, you could maximize the profit. My first summer, I lived in what was then called Hughes House. The next summer, I stayed with Dr. Ashley. You can learn a lot about a man by cleaning his house. Treasures of all kinds are hanging on the walls, or needing dusting on the shelves, or chilling in his freezer, or wagging their happy golden retriever tails. That was the summer that Dr. Ashley became known to me as "Da",the name his children called him. I once asked its origin and it was a shortening of "Dad." As I already had a father whom I loved, in my mind, "Da" became an acronym--D A--Dr. Ashley. I, too, took on a nickname with Da that summer. After taking a phone message for him and signing it with my initials---R A G-- from thenceforward, I was to him "Rag"....or my full official title: "Rag, the charwoman."

That summer I met most of his family as they visited and learned that he bestowed nicknames on darn near everyone from the Romans [Junie's bunch], to Arpy and Squish [Robert P. the Third and Jacqueline]. He would spend many an evening in that front study, reading books he'd read dozens of times before or enjoying new crime fiction and filling the home with the heavenly aroma of his pipe tobacco, petting Katie-dog and possibly plunking out a note or two on his ancient typewriter. He usually had a stash of ice cream in his freezer and I learned that he loved Sealtest Heavenly Hash ice cream. He never even offered to share that and in fact made sure my fridge was in the basement so I wouldn't be tempted.

He would stroll to the cinema once a week and often I would accompany him. He played tennis year round and made it a point to play mixed doubles with the best [and prettiest] young woman on the college team. He and Jerry Thompson played doubles and were dubbed "The Sexigenerians." Da turned 70 in April of '85 and I knew he hated losing that clever moniker. For his birthday present, I had a t-shirt made for him which read "Septuagenarian" on the front, and "But Still Sexy" on the back. I continued rooming at 504 Watson my senior year. He took on me as well as my mostly English major pals. We called ourselves his harem and he took us all out to dinner at graduation. I got to shovel show and walk the dog and paint my room. More than the free rent, however, I got to spend time with this wonderful man. He was a scholar who was always reading. He was the well educated Easterner who was no snob around us unassuming Midwesterners. He was the widower who loved his family. He was wry and funny and always had an opinion. You had to ask for it, but he always had it. He was, to me, the joy of wisdom and maturity.

I found my replacement and trained her as I went off to law school in Madison. Da used to tease me that Dianna got into and did much better at a tougher law school. He consoled me, however, with the observation that no one could clean his toilets like me. One summer, I clerked in Appleton and he was an "Attic Angel" at their theatre. He came for a visit and we had dinner and a show. There were several times he took me out to dinner in Madison, including one Valentine's Day when "the professor I lived with" was the better prospect to anything the law school had to offer. And he joined my family and dearest friends at my graduation party.

When I went off and joined the Army and met my husband, I felt it was important for my southern gentleman to see my haunts and lurks. Da was no stranger to the military, having been a colonel in the reserves and having taught at West Point. So he and my Citadel man got on famously---mostly making jokes at my expense. My life moved South and my visits with Da grew rare. But every Tax Day triggers a memory of his birthday. Most Christmases brought a letter and card from him. My mother often sent a package of fudge his way. My memories of Ripon are inextricably tied to Dr. Ashley. He was the rarest of adults. He could listen without judgment. He could disagree with great civility. He laughed often. He never stopped learning. He will be remembered fondly and sorely missed.

I learned of his passing near Christmas. To console myself, I found one of his books online and bought it, ostensibly for my young son to read in a few years. It's a juvenile novel all about a Civil War train caper and based on an actual event. It was even made into a Walt Disney movie. When the out-of-print treasure arrived from the used bookseller in the northeast, its yellowing pages crackled with a familiar smell. The dedication was simply "To Arpy." I held in my hands the tangible proof of his life well-lived--a book he wrote and dedicated to his only son.

Thank you, Da. Thanks for everything.

I am very grateful to Peggy for giving the tribute. Mom called on Peg's cell phone from the audience and I could hear that they laughed at all the right places. She did a great job and it was a fitting final time to recall a wonderful man.

The Apprentice with a Ripon College Twist

Previously I mentioned that my brother might have been photographing the Apprentice when another Ripon alumnus appeared. Indeed, my supposition was correct. My brother emailed me the following report:

"yep...that night of boardroom happened to be my first night covering The Apprentice. The executives were in the room, The Donald, standing off stage, came in. The one executive, a tall, youngish, brown-haired guy was seated to Mr. Trump's right and replacing George for the week. He looked strangely familiar. "Is that Ashley Cooper???" I kept thinking in between photographs of the various apprentice cast as they faced The Donald.. "Naw...what the hell would he be doing here?" Somehow I had missed the notices about his connection to the Trump Organization. As the grilling of the apprentices continued and the younger executive talked, I thought to myself: "Gees, that sounds just like Ashley..." Sure enough, Carolyn called him Ashley and I knew that it had to be him. After the wannabe Apprentice (Audrey) was booted and taping finished, I quickly scooted out behind the door and said hello to "Mr. Cooper." He stopped, asked me if i needed anything and then I said.. 'Hey Ashley, it's me, Paul Gero, you might remember me from Ripon College?" He was just as shocked as me to be on in the board room, on one of the highest rated reality shows in history, in the middle of Mannhattan shaking hands with another fellow smalltown cheesehead who happened to be from a small liberal arts college 30 years ago...Dean Harris would've been proud. Small world."

Small world, indeed. Now I must ask him about The Donald's gravity-defying hair.