Mother-in-law was quite remarkable

Editor’s note: This column is being reprinted from April 16, 2003. Jack had a love of travel, community service, art and family. Based on the stories he tells here, he definitely hit the jackpot in the mother-in-law lottery.



Everyone knows that true good fortune is finding the right mate for life.

But the real jackpot is having the right mother-in-law.

And by that standard, I’m one of the luckiest guys on earth.

Dorothy Frank died last month after 88 full years and a long illness that had her ready to say good-bye to mortal flesh.

In the weeks since, a number of people have come up to me to say that while they never knew her, they could tell from reading her obituary that she was a remarkable woman.

How remarkable?

Let me share three snapshots and one story from last summer.

The first snapshot is framed in our living room. In it, Dorothy, at age 78, holds a crying African baby. She had traveled to Mali, in western Africa, with Connie’s sister, an art historian who has done extensive field research there.

While in Mali, Dorothy insisted on tracking down a child she had been assisting through an international charity. She knew the child’s name and the village where the child lived. And even at 78, she wasn’t about to be talked out of a trip into the bush to find the village, find the family, and hold the child in her arms.

The second snapshot is in an album now, but for a long time it was held to the refrigerator with a magnet.

It shows Connie’s mother wearing a huge grin, sitting astride a horse. She was 85 when the photo was taken.

I’ll always consider horseback riding at 85 to be the benchmark when it comes to aging in style.

The third photo is in our bedroom and shows Dorothy with her cousin Dick. They’re at the cabin in New Hampshire after a rousing family dinner. And they are howling with laughter. It’s impossible to look at the picture without smiling back.

The anecdote comes from last summer.

Dorothy knew she was in decline, and she was convinced that it would be her last summer at the cabin in the Monadnock region of New Hampshire. All of her children and grandchildren made a point of spending time with her during the summer, and every effort was made to get together with other members of the family.

When distant cousins invited us all over for a cookout, she readily agreed.

Someone suggested that we take the hostess a bottle of wine or perhaps a bouquet of flowers.

Dorothy had other plans. That afternoon, while the rest of us went to the lake, she arranged a display of flowers on the dining table, got out her watercolors, and painted a still-life as a gift.

Now that’s remarkable.