On Friday, July 16, 1920, Margaret (also known as Peggy or Peg) Lord O'Connor was born at the La Jolla Sanitarium in San Diego, California, to 22-year-old Edward Aloysius O'Connor from Jersey City, New Jersey, and 19-year-old Temperance Lulu Lord from Coeur d' Alene, Idaho. She was the first of three children in this O'Connor family.
In a story written by Lu, I learned that Peggy's parents had a tough time getting together the $100 required by the hospital in La Jolla for their first child's birth. I also found out that a retired nurse, named Margaret, lived next door to them and would come over every few days to check on Lu during her pregnancy, which made her feel so protected. I speculated recently in a previous post that perhaps Peggy was named Margaret after her father's deceased little sister, Anna Margaret O'Connor. Could it be that she was really named after the wonderful neighbor, Margaret? Peggy was described by her mother as a dark-haired beauty, all 7 pounds, 8 ounces, of her. According to Lu, Edward could not get enough of holding her in his arms. One nurse at the hospital even said she was the prettiest newborn baby she had ever seen.
Shortly after Peggy's birth, Edward's job at Camp Kearney came to an end and he got another job at the Campo General Store, 50 miles in the mountains east of San Diego. So this small family of three, moved from La Jolla to Campo, to a living room, a kitchen and a one bedroom house set against the hills, a short distance from the store where Edward worked. There Peggy grew like a weed, jabbered her baby talk, smiled her sweet smile. She started crawling, not forward but backward. Sometimes she would go back under a table and then cry because she couldn't get out. Apparently after a few times, she finally decided to try going forward and that worked. From then it progressed to walking and talking.
Her first words were not what most would imagine though. Lu wrote of Peggy speaking her first words: "I was ill one morning, couldn't get out of bed and get Edward's breakfast. He boiled his own eggs. I asked him to put the prunes which were in a paper sack in the kitchen, into a kettle and cover them with water. Some way, he spilled them all over the kitchen floor. He put his hands on his hips and said, very forcefully, "Damn those prunes." Peggy rose to her feet, put her tiny hands on her hips, and said, quite clearly, "Damn those prunes." They were her first words she had ever said. Edward was astounded. "Aren't you going to spank her? She swore." "She only said what you did. I can't spank her for that." A few minutes later, she was singing, "Damn those prunes. Damn those prunes." She gave the song a nice tune as she played on the kitchen floor with a kettle and a spoon."
During her teen years, Peggy attended Sweetwater Union High School but graduated from Calexico High School in 1938 after her father was assigned to the El Centro Customs Office. She married George Whertley in 1940, and they had one son together in 1942, Edward Hardy, also known as Skeets.
After her first marriage ended, Peggy met Clarence Milo Stewart from Rochester, Minnesota, while working at Consolidated Aircraft in San Diego during WWII. They married in 1944 and had three children: Patrick Michael (1949), Susan Lynne (1951), and Shirley Inez (1953). Peggy and Clarence eventually divorced in 1967.
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| Lakeside Post Office @1960 |
Peggy was hired by the Lakeside Post Office in December of 1959 and retired in July of 1982 after nearly 23 years of service. Soon after retirement, she moved to Stayton, Oregon, to be near her mother, Lu, and sister, Connie. After moving into her newly purchased home in Turner, Oregon, Peggy began to settle into her new life. In time, she became active in the Eva Rebekah Lodge #92 in Stayton in the late 1980s. She was even elected Grand Noble for the organization in 1989.
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| Ireland @ 2003 |
Peggy moved back to San Diego County in the mid-1990s to be near her two daughters, Susan and Shirley, and their children. She briefly relocated to Santa Rosa in the summer of 2009 to live near her youngest son, Patrick, and then moved back to Lakeside that same year. Despite relocating so many times, Peggy really enjoyed traveling. Some of her international trips took her as far away as Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, England, Ireland, Greece, and Spain.
Peg
gy loved volunteer positions to keep her busy even while working full time and certainly in her retirement years. In April of 1972, while still employed with the Post Office, she was among the first group of women to graduate from the San Diego County Sheriff's Reserve, after completing a required 188 hours of instruction at Miramar College. In addition, Peggy served many other local organizations, including the Lakeside and Alpine libraries, The Braille Society as a transcriber, Silver Falls State Park, the Lakeside Historical Society, and Friends of the Santee Library. She also attended many art classes as she took up drawing and painting. Peggy was prolific in needlepoint as well, leaving her family with many examples of her work.
Peggy was burdened with diabetes, dementia, and breast cancer in her later years and passed away while under sedation on September 7, 2013, at the age of 93. Her memorial service was held at the Barona Mission in Lakeside, California, on a very warm September day. It was attended by several family members and friends from the various organizations she served. Her ashes were scattered a year later at her favorite place in Oregon, Silver Falls State Park, by her four children, Edward, Patrick, Susan, and Shirley.
To complete this story about Mom, I asked my three siblings to contribute their thoughts and memories for a personal look into the woman our mother was.
►►►►►►►►►► From her eldest son, Skeets:
Mom — I met her some 78 years ago come next month, August 2020. Just 9 months following the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese Imperial Navy. Her name was Margaret Lord O'Connor. She and my father, George Washington Whertley, had been previously living in Bremerton, WA, where he was based in the U.S. Navy, but was subsequently reassigned to the East Coast before I was born and gone from our lives. She relocated back to San Diego just before I met her at Mercy Hospital. The day we met is in dispute. Hospital and official county records say August 22, 1942. But a date-stamped, sent and received, Western Union telegram from Lukes to Edward was made on August 21, 1942 announcing our meeting. She made one final attempt to reconcile during my first year by traveling cross country by train to confront my father. It was on this trip to the East Coast that she also attended a graduation ceremony of (her father) Edward from Officer Candidate School in New York.
This characteristic of Mom and her generation played out in many ways throughout her life from a voluntary member of the San Diego County Sheriff's Office Auxiliary, Lakeside Historical Society, Silver Creek Falls State Park Bookstore, Odd Fellows and Rebekahs, and many others. I remember this character quality so well from my early days. On one occasion, I made a comment about how I appreciated my Lakeside Little League coach, Javier Smith, for his willingness to spend his time with our team. Her reply was, "Remember that when you grow up and you have the opportunity to serve others," or words to that effect. I suspect that this same character quality has played out over the years and subsequent Lord-O'Connor generations as I see how others in this clan have exhibited it, volunteering here, serving there. We need more of this quality in our society, serving others and putting their needs above selfish wants.
I am sure that if Mom were asked about a list of regrets it would extend beyond my present memory. The one that I have always carried with me has to do with a very nice electric clock that sat on a table between 2 sitting chairs at Jessica Lane (circa 1961-1962). It was all glass, see-through, mounted in a gold round frame. Mom, sitting in one chair and I throwing a tennis ball like I was pitching baseball into the cushion of the other. She asked me to stop before I hit the glass clock. I didn't, and sure enough, the ball glanced off the chair hitting and breaking the glass. She wept. I felt terrible. Over the decades I looked for a replacement. Judy and I found one, and I gave it to Mom, recalling the incident to her and telling her how sorry I was. Her response was that she didn't remember the event. I never knew if it was graceful tact or dementia setting in.
On this centennial birthdate, July 16, 2020, of Mom, I give thanks to her, her community spirit, and her contributions to my life and to so many others. Happy Birthday, Mom! -Skeets
►►►►►►►►►► From her other son, Patrick:
Sprinklers and Trains in the Night — Mom decided to retire to Oregon, not sure why. Maybe to get away from a lifetime of kids, maybe because Gran and Connie lived there, but probably because it was just part of her nature to be alone. In any event, Oregon was the place.
Mom ventured up there on her own before her last day as a letter carrier and bought a house on a small plot of land that sided a small creek in between farmland near Turner. The house was probably the first one she looked at with a realtor. And it just so happened, the realtor owned the property and would sell it for a fair price; heck, he even would carry the paper to make the transaction work. What he didn't mention to Mom, and I doubt she would have asked, was the train track across the road.
The land fit Mom's idea of country living; a small place isolated somewhere on a quiet road with a stream gurgling along the edge of the house, adjacent fields that fenced in llamas and cultivated fields, and the smallish town of Stayton a short drive away for life's necessities. The deal was signed and Mom came home to finish the last months of her career as a future homeowner in Oregon.
Retirement day was followed by packing for the move. I volunteered to drive her car packed to the roof with stuff she couldn't part with. We left San Diego late one morning and headed north. Somewhere around Sacramento, I suggested we get a hotel for the night and start fresh the next morning. But Mom had her mind firmly set on her new home, so we continued on. Somewhere around Red Bluff my eyes closed while driving and nearly ran off the road as we passed a Rest Area Ahead sign. I told Mom I needed a short nap and pulled off.
It was the middle of summer and, with the windows up to keep out the hungry mosquitos, I was a sweaty mess in no time in the driver's seat. It was no cooler with the windows down and a sheet over me to keep off the mosquitos. In front of us was a concrete picnic table, so I left the car and lay down on the cool concrete covered by the sheet. I offered Mom an adjacent table, but she wanted to stay in the car so no one would steal her car or her stuff.
As I nodded off, I heard the choosh, choosh, choosh of sprinklers starting up and thought they might cool the still air. That thought didn't last when I was rudely awakened as sprinklers around the table started their cycle watering the grass and me.
I got back in the car, turned on the AC, and continued on to Oregon. We arrived at the new house before noon, unloaded the car, and found a place to nap. Later, we cleaned up the house, put away what we brought, and went for dinner.
Around eight, we walked the road in front of the house and I climbed up to the tracks the realtor forgot to mention on a raised bed thirty feet off the road. Mom thought they didn't work because no trains passed while she was there before. "How neat!", I thought. "It will be fun to watch trains go by tomorrow if it's active."
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| Mom’s Little Slice of Quiet Country Living |
Around nine o'clock, with daylight still glowing, I went to bed to enjoy a long night's sleep without sprinklers or mosquitos. And I did until about ten when the chug, chug, chug of a train and its whistle rose in the distance and became louder as it closed in on the house. The whistle sounded at every road crossing as it pounded its way up the grade to the house. From my window, I watched three engines rumble by pulling eighty plus freight cars behind.
Yes, indeedy, the track was active. Three or four additional freight trains interrupted my sleep that night and for the next couple of nights. By the last night I was so tired I slept through most of them. So much for quiet country living. Mom did say later she hardly noticed the midnight trains after a month or so.
The Separation Shuffle — Mom and Dad separated the first day of my senior year of high school. It was inevitable; the growing distance, the lack of intimacy, had brewed for a long time. The attentions of another man sealed the fate of the marriage. And, even though they divorced, the acrimony and distance continued for many years.
Mom's feelings were comically epitomized at Clayton's and Tanya's wedding during the family portraits. When it came time to photograph the newly combined families of the bride and groom, Mom and Dad were directed to their places. But, Mom kept her social distancing from Dad, so much so that the photographer asked her to move closer to her husband.
"He is NOT my husband."
"Well, I need you to move in closer anyway."
Mom shuffled her feet like she was obliging, but the
distance between them did not get shorter.
"A little closer, please."
More shuffling was just for show. The photographer, recognizing his stubborn subject was not going to move, took the photo with Mom still separated by her comfort zone.
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| Clayton & Tanya's wedding, 10/8/94. Mom & Dad on the left. |
Postcards to Gran: A Fierce Wallflower December 2016 – San Francisco.
Gran – Your daughter, Margaret Lord Stewart,
has passed, but you probably already knew that. Ninety-three years, breast cancer,
and a bit of old age dementia pulled her down. She was living with Susan while
hospice eased her last months. One day in late August Susan called to say
hospice felt a visit sooner rather than later was a good idea. Heeding their
advice, I came home to Mom one last time. Miss you. Patrick
For a week Mom and
I spent time together doing simple things that reflected our relationship;
playing Kings on a Corner, finishing a jigsaw puzzle on my sister Susan’s
patio, cooking her meals. There was no talk of death, of fear, or what’s behind
the curtain. Looking back, the five days together felt like a microcosm of our
relationship; steady, uneventful, constant. My visit was a series of small
pleasures in the time and the space between us. After I left on Monday morning,
Mom told Susan she enjoyed visiting with her favorite brother; Mom passed that
Friday night.
To her children, Mom was a private person, not only socially, but
in her personal interactions as well. The only break in this persona was a
letter written explaining her actions that lead to our parent’s divorce. But,
there was another Mom, an enigma because of what she did when we weren’t
around.
Once her kids had married or moved out, Mom bought a camper to see the
western US, much like her mother did. She traveled alone to New Zealand,
Australia, the Intracoastal Waterway, and Mt. McKinley, as it was known then.
Shortly after her retirement, I moved her to a farmhouse she bought near Turner, OR. It seemed typical of her to choose a home far enough away from people to discourage visitors. It was also typical of her not to ask about the train tracks 100 feet from the front door. The freight trains ran at night and you could hear their whistles miles away as they climbed the long grade towards the house. I assume that’s why the property was so cheap.
We were introduced to the park as kids
when Dad brought us there. He was a cook at the Civilian Conservation Corps
camp during the Great Depression. Built by the young men of the CCC, Silver
Falls is now called the Jewel of the Oregon Park System. Ironic that the park
Mom volunteered at so many years after their divorce was one our dad helped
build.
Mom remained independent until her early eighties when she became
confused by a traffic officer’s prompts. He directed her to appear at the DMV
with someone who could drive her home, just in case. That was the last time her
foot hit the gas pedal, ending her most prized possession of independence.
But
it didn’t end her ability to navigate a car. When I visited, we’d go for
backcountry drives or wander up the coast. Sooner or later, I would be directed
to a back road she traveled years before, maybe to a destination I’d never been
to. She was usually right about the route.
Mom held onto her waning
independence by living alone after she was grounded by the DMV. But that began
to erode as age related dementia slowly crept into her life. As a compromise,
we ordered her a Life Alert necklace to wear in case of an emergency. But her
independent streak kept the Alert on the nightstand by her bed instead around
her neck. Mom’s last vestige of independence insisted that is where it was most
useful.
After she fell in the kitchen and couldn’t get to the night stand, her
days of independent living ended. She shared time between my sisters Susan and
Shirley. To give them a break, Mom moved to a senior facility in Santa Rosa to
be near us. But after several months, she returned to San Diego because there
were too many old people where she lived (she was 90 at the time) and she
didn’t know the back roads when we went for a drive.
As I write about the last
days with Mom, I realize how strong she was. People may have considered her a
wallflower, but she was a fierce wallflower. To take on the adventures in her
senior years, by herself, requires a courage most don’t have. As the specter of
finality approached, her courage stayed true. I hope I’m as courageous.
►►►►►►►►►► From Susan
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| Susan with Mom in Alaska @1995 |
Words to describe my mother — Solitary traveler. Mom never seemed happier than when she was alone exploring, or working, or just being home. Other words that come to mind are: independent, dependable, and very shy, but always ready to volunteer time and services to the Braille Society, Sheriff's Department, Silver Creek Falls, and the Lakeside Historical Society.
Shirley and I got a lot of mileage out of her comments, which we heard quite often during her last years. "Where are we going, or don't you know?" "Did I order that?" (often with a quizzical look on her face). "Are you going to eat all that?" Another expression I use a lot with my grandkids — "What's my name? Puddin'tain. Ask me again and I will tell you the same"
I think she embraced the "free-range" philosophy of child-raising. She encouraged me to sew my own clothes at a fairly early age, and my junior high home economics teacher, Mrs. Dial, did not believe me when I said I already knew how to sew. She also footed the bill for my horse after we moved La Reina to our house on Jessica Lane and only mentioned the expense once when I asked about an allowance. She allowed me the freedom to ride where ever I wanted and never said no, even when I rode to the hills on the other side of Santee and was gone all day.
When all was said and done, she was not your typical warm and fuzzy mama. But she raised some fine, resourceful, and strong-minded children for which I am very grateful.
►►►►►►►►►► My final thoughts:
When 
I
told my husband, Beaver, that my next family blog post would
commemorate Mom's 100th birthday, we realized that it would be the same
for his dad, as Charley and Mom were born just two days apart
in 1920. After talking about her for a short while, I mentioned that if
Mom were still alive today, I don't think she would be a good citizen
with all the current mandates to wear masks, stay home, and no social
gatherings...although, she would be just fine with keeping six feet
apart from everyone. She'd definitely be one of those people who could
not stand to have a mask on her face. My thoughts turned to everything
she did live through, so I did a little research. In her lifespan, there
were 17 different U.S. Presidents, 5 wars (one in which her brother, Mickey, was killed), 8 new amendments to the
Constitution, the Great Depression, Civil Rights, the first man walking
on the moon, and so many other great national accomplishments and
disasters. They must have affected her life in ways we will never know.
A few years before her passing, as Dementia really started invading her mind, I realized that I had missed my window of opportunity to sit down and interview her. I wasn't into genealogy too much at that point, but I had done an extensive interview with Dad and always thought I needed to get Mom's life on record as well. Sadly, as life got in the way, I did not do that. I imagine she would have probably downplayed what her life was like as she was not one to boast or bring attention to herself.
I often felt that Mom was a different person around us than she was around others. I remember a cousin once saying how fun Aunt Peggy was to have around when she lived in Oregon. My sister, Susan, and I just quizzically looked at each other, silently thinking the same thing, "Is she talking about our mom?" It wasn't that Mom was a Joan Crawford-type parent, I just don't remember her cracking jokes or doing silly things.
Mom definitely inherited the "wanderlust" trait from the Lord side of her family. Her mom (my Grandma O'Connor, aka Lukes) also loved to get out and see the world, and even wrote about how her father, Richard Ela Lord, always had an "itchy foot." Mom loved to go places, any place. When we picked her up to go shopping or for a meal, or just out and about for the day, she would always ask, "Where are we going, or don't you know?" That is still a running joke between Susan and me because we both heard that question from her so many times.
Mom
always kept busy by reading every book she could carry away from a
library or second-hand book store, learning new skills or helping with
local organizations. I guess she didn't like idle
time. She and Dad even got into square dancing at one point, probably
in the early 60s. I still have that silver belt she wore with her
vibrant turquoise square dance dress with silver rick-rack sewn around
the full skirt, much like the dress pictured to the right.
Those
two characteristics, love of travel and the desire to learn new things,
are instilled in me and I should probably have thanked her for that.
After all, she helped make me what I am today.
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| Margaret Lord O'Connor Stewart 7/16/1920-9/7/2013 |
