“This place where my heart is, where I raised my children …. could there be a more beautiful place?”
So wrote Ruth Anne Reagan in the forward to her book of poems. By her words and actions, Marcellus was an all-encompassing, a living entity that stimulated a Renaissance woman to create in art, music and words.
I first actually “met” Ruth in the early 1970s, when she was taking a series of DIY lessons about fixing simple home disasters. She explained that, with eight children at home, something was always breaking and if she didn’t learn how to fix these things, they would never get fixed. I qualified this interaction with Ruth because it is possible to know someone but never have spoken with them. Ruth, Bernie and their children were there at church every Sunday. Her name was in the local paper, as a volunteer, a leader, a presence. And if, for those reasons, I knew her. But, there were other reasons as well.
The flow of life brings you to know people on a more intimate level. Somewhere in 1983, we had bid on and won a portrait donated by Ruth Anne. For us, having a portrait done was intimidating, especially when it was being done by someone with so much local cachet. This was something only other people did. You have to understand that, at that time, even taking a photo was something special. You could have a roll of film in your camera for a whole year without using it up. A portrait, done by an artist’s hand, was more than special. The subject of the portrait was to be our youngest, Emily, who was four at the time.
We appeared at Ruth’s house dressed for a sitting. Em wore a straw wide brimmed hat, a red dress with black patent leather Mary Janes, accessorized with a face full of the remnants of chicken pox. I’m sure that Ruth could tell that we were ill at ease and so, before the “sitting” began, we sat and chatted, reviewing the Regan family history with childhood diseases. She guaranteed that the portrait would not contain reference to the “spots.” The resulting portrait, which hangs in our home today, captured the joy that was my little girl and the memory of the kindness that Ruth showed the nervous mother.
How many have portraits done by Ruth in their homes? Must be hundreds.
Ruth played the organ at St. Francis Xavior church and when I became a cantor (song leader,) we worked together…or as she put it, we shared a “gig.”
While Ruth was a professional musician, I was most certainly not. The ability to read the notes and translate them into music was a stretch for me. Counting time was not one of my strengths. I apologized, telling her that I would probably not be able to follow the meter on the page of music. I would be either behind or ahead of the music … maybe both.
She replied by telling me that it was her job to follow me. It was amazing. That said a lot about the woman and a lot about her philosophy.
Ruth played the organ at that same little girl’s wedding, accompanying one of my daughter’s classmates, Dinyar Vania, a local boy and an accomplished opera singer. Dinyar was flying in from out of town and would not be able to rehearse. I shared my concern with Ruth.
I remember her putting her hand on mine and smiling, “ Not to worry. We’re both professionals.” The music was spectacular.
It was last year that I received a handwritten note from Ruth telling me how much she liked reading my columns in the Eagle Press.
“I write every day, long hand, since I don’t have access to my computer any more,” she wrote. I was beyond flattered. Here was an accomplished artist, musician, a published author and the mother of eight phenomenal children, and she liked my work.
There is a temptation to list all of the ways in which Ruth Anne Reagan contributed to the world. The list would be impressively long.
But Ruth’s story is encapsulated in the opening lines, the quote from her poetry. Anything more is simply proof of the who, the why, the how and finally the where.
Ruth designed her life, set it in the village of Marcellus, weaving a tapestry of energy, kindness, friendship, generosity and responsibility, embellishing it with talent and creativity that will never be recognized on larger stages, but I do think that she was happy in this village where she could create beauty in this time and place with the delight that her life meant to all of us who knew, respected and loved her.
