Betty and Beverly's 90th Birthday Celebration


Cathie Peck


Cathie Peck’s Eulogy


January 24, 2025



We thought over who should welcome you and thank you for coming. You honor us with your presence, but best, you honor Mom. Since I have risen a little closer to the top of the family tree, I was a pretty strong candidate. Another plus was my realization that I have known her almost the longest of those gathered here today. Her much-loved twin sister, Beverly, is with us, she has known her back nine months before birth, so definitely the longest, 95+ years! Dad’s brother, Jim, comes in second, I think about six when he met her, so 79 years. And I, at 72, am a very close third. So, with those qualifications, I welcome you, many from afar: Vermont, Texas, New Mexico, San Francisco, San Carlos, Sacramento, Stockton, and Mom’s favorite home town, Modesto. You are here because you are family, in the best possible way, and you knew Mom, even if just a little.


With Mom’s death, I found myself diving into a life that had been very much considered, but maybe not at quite the same caliber now that she is no longer with us. As I looked through her things, and some of my own, squirreled for when one can take the time, I came across a booklet put together by my cousin, Ann, upon the death of Mom’s mother, Reetha, in 1995 at age 92. As I read this very sweet and tender collection of memories, I was struck by the continuum we are all on within our families.


Characteristics of my mom popped up throughout the pages, those passed on from her mother and father and surely, greats and great-greats. Her mother and father met at McPherson college in Kansas where Reetha’s dad was president. (Coincidentally, Bill’s dad also went to school there!) She thought, in her words, “Paul was just the ticket, a dashing football star and outstanding scholar.” They were quickly an item. Paul once rigged a phone between their dormitory rooms with two tin cans and a cord, allowing long conversations into the evening.


Reetha’s father was transferred to the presidency of LaVerne College in 1923, and the family moved to the small southern California town. Paul followed Reetha. They both completed college and he went on to get his master’s degree at USC. They were married in 1925.


I was taken by their seemingly passionate and immediate courtship, knowing each was ‘the one’ and how similar to Mom and Dad, though high school, not college. From the time they began dating, he a senior and she a sophomore, they were an item, and what followed kept them connected till marrying in 1948.


Though both of Mom’s parents hailed from the fundamentalist Church of the Brethren, Paul displayed his streak of independence early. Though he followed his mother’s wishes to study at a church college, the attempt to stay within the church conflicted with his passion for science and ultimately could not be reconciled with the fundamentalism of the church. Early in his marriage, when he taught Sunday School, he explained that the seven days of the creation were analogous to the eras of Earth’s evolution. This did not amuse the elders and he was removed as a Sunday School teacher. This essentially ended any formal connection with organized religion.


Reetha’s independence was displayed when she bobbed her long hair at the age of 20, much to her father’s dismay. She used to sneak out to the movies and play cards, all being raised during a time when even wearing jewelry of any kind was pretentious, and Reetha’s mother did not have a wedding ring until a few years before she died.


This independence was strong in Mom. She was clear in her beliefs, a strong and early believer in women’s rights. She was not overly vocal, though firm in her convictions. As I earlier said, I looked at all of this with new eyes. Who knew that when she raised three daughters during the rebellious Sixties, when we thought we were forging new territory, it was all old-hat in many ways!


She was the strongest person I knew. She cared and loved Dad with loyalty and respect. She never complained never played the ‘Mommy needs a nap card” or used the excuse of being too tired to cook a meal or complete a chore. Until his dying day, when I stopped by, they would be deep in conversation. It amazed me how they continued to have so much to talk about! They set the standard for what’s possible in a relationship.


Growing up in the depression lent to Mom’s very practical, no-nonsense side. Dinners were spare by our standards. A common meal was a baked apple and a baked potato. All vegetables were canned. When the war started, coupons were offered and one was for meat. They began including more meat in their diet due to rationing, a good example of how public policy can improve lives.


Mom loved to swim and it was a source of pride, and rite of passage when we could swim with her to the logs, now buoys, at Pinecrest Lake, and swim across Twain Harte Lake to the big rock. She set many wonderful examples to challenge ourselves and continually encouraged and fanned our interests. I can’t even estimate how many miles she must have driven, taking me out in the country for riding lessons, later renting a horse trailer and driving to shows.


She played bridge and tennis regularly, then added in art lessons. She was an impressive drawer and had saved incredible horse drawings kept high in a closet in my bedroom. I was very young, but remember still how in awe I was of these on the rare occasion she took them down. They reminded me of the beautiful horses in one of my favorite books, Black Beauty. She also made the best paper dolls that entertained me for hours.


Her artistic side blossomed as you will see in many of her works when we convene at her house. Another of her passions was gardening. From the time we were very young, she would be hard at work planting beautiful gardens. With the Pacific Grove house and mountain cabin the first thing she did was design and plant, add-to and create colorful, bright yards. This was not by phone call. She lugged the soil, fetched the plants, and dug in.


Mom’s glass was half full. She started the day with a smile on her face. Even in her last couple years, during the long good-bye, she was cheerful and truly grateful and appreciative of where she was, the friends around her and those who cared for her.


When she said her knee hurt and wondered why, I’d say, “Well, Mom, you are 95!” And she’d say “95!!!” “Now, when did that happen?!” Well, it happened while she lived, really lived, a life to be proud of, an inspiration to those of us in her shadow, where she left us with gifts we will be unwrapping in these times and generations to come.

Peggy Drach


Peggy Drach’s Eulogy


January 24, 2025



My earliest memories of Mom were her being an ever steady, reliable presence. a skirt to hide behind, a hand to hold, her gentle voice, and her big smile.


I was painfully shy, and I think somewhat exasperating to Mom, but she rarely scolded, or got very angry. 


I always felt loved and comforted.


Perhaps by her quiet patience, and steady manner, she allowed me to find my own way, in my own time.

Mom believed in independence and self-reliance at a very young age, having grown up that way herself.  She passed on to us, the importance of being able to take care of ourselves.


When I was starting school at Enslen, Mom and I walked the route from our Trinity home, across College, down Princeton, to the school. About a mile walk.


To cross College, Mom taught me to wait for car drivers to acknowledge me, make eye contact, stop to allow me to cross in the crosswalk.


At that tender age of five or six, I was now expected to walk that route to school.


Mom was confident in me, and I am sure I must have been too. I don’t remember being scared, or thinking I couldn’t do it.


Modesto was not that big then.


College Avenue did not have the traffic that it has now, but it was a main thoroughfare.


I have a memory of standing on the corner of College and Princeton, at the crosswalk, waiting for the occasional car to show up, so the driver could acknowledge me, stop and let me cross.


One after another, none stopped.


I started to tear up.


I am not sure how long I stood there before an older gentleman finally took pity on this, by now, sobbing child.


He stopped his car, looked me in the eye, smiled, and waved me across.


I took a big breath, crossed over, and was relieved and happy at my success.


When I arrived home, I told Mom of my dilemma, and Mom, in hearing of my problem, assured me it was ok to walk across when it was clear of cars, look both ways, and I had time to safely walk across. I did not have to wait.


No hugs, or words of comfort.


But, in her way, she solved the problem and she fully believed I could do it!


So, I believed in myself too.


That was my introduction to being an always attentive pedestrian, and I can say, I have been safely crossing streets from that day forward.


And I still, always, wait and watch for eye contact with the driver, before crossing in front of any cars.

It may have been the times we lived, having the freedom to simply go out and play in our neighborhood, with, what I remember, very little adult supervision.  We were expected to entertain ourselves, and find something to do. We went exploring the neighborhood on bikes, or on foot.


We walked to the Bienvenu’s house, only a few short blocks away.


We Played outside games; jump rope, hopscotch, hula hoop, climbed trees, and whatever else without too many bad decisions. Card games and playing with our dolls, and stuffed animals filled our days.


Mom was reliably and without question, at home on our return.


We could count on her being there.


Home meant Mom.

Mom was the one I would seek out in case of any emergency or injury.


She always knew what to do.


She was the calm in the moment.

Our dog, Tina Bell, was hit by a car on Tully, while following us (as she often did) to the little corner Bi-Rite grocery store to buy our 25-cent candies.


I watched, horrified, as she limped off to hide under some bushes. I rushed home for Mom, who I knew, would know what to do.


I ran in the door, yelling for her to come quick, Tina Bell had been hit.


Mom grabbed a towel, followed me to Tina’s hiding place, knelt down, gently and carefully wrapped her up.


As I expected, Mom knew what to do.


Tina Bell went on to live many more years, and she too learned how to be a little safer when crossing those Modesto streets.

When we were sick with colds, or stomach bugs, Mom was such a steady comfort. there was nothing that some Vicks VapoRub, a cool compress on our forehead, some Hawaiian Punch, Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup, or a spoonful of cherry cough syrup couldn’t fix!


Even when we didn’t feel well, she always made us feel better under her reassuring and capable hands.


I had the croup, when I was maybe four or five.


During attacks of chest tightness, she calmly carried me into the shower room, turned on the hot water to fill the room with steam. She would sit and hold me on her lap until my labored breathing subsided.


I was home alone with Dad once, when I started to have an episode. Dad did not know the shower routine, but I led and instructed him in what to do. I knew what to do, because Mom taught me.


Was it any wonder that being a nurse would be in my future?


I had the best teacher.

The one lapse in her otherwise sound care, was never anticipating my severe motion sickness on any car ride. Poor Dad and I spent many a harrowing trip up the windy mountain roads, he trying to find a safe place to pull over, while I tried to keep the inevitable from happening.


Mom told me, later, she thought I would outgrow it.


Well, she was wrong. I never did.

Mom’s capable caregiving continued, for many devoted years with Dad. She was always so capable and so strong.

I never doubted her abilities.


She always knew what to do.

As an adult, Mom came to be the person with whom I enjoyed spending time.


She was often who I would seek out for wise advice, reassurance, and understanding.


Just hearing her voice on the other end of the phone made everything better, and I usually came away with her words guiding me still.


We had heartfelt talks that I treasure. Fun times with great conversations, laughter, and genuinely just enjoying her company.

I have missed, and will always miss my mom, but am so thankful for a lifetime of sweet memories, and for her always knowing what to do.


Thank you, Mom. I love you.

Christine Beard

 

Christine Beard’s Memories of Betty

 

January 24, 2024

 

 

My contribution is the sharing of a memory that to me exemplifies the woman who our mother was. It’s the memory of what I think of as the Wonderful/Terrible year; the year I was 15, then 16, and making a valiant attempt at becoming a professional dancer.

 

Cathie mentioned the drives for her horse activities. I remember that well. It was one of the reasons I chose ballet over horses. Mom didn’t remember it later. But at the time I knew, as children do, that she didn’t want another child (ten years later!) needing that kind of car time. Little did she know …

 

In 1978, Lisa Austin and I began taking regular lessons in Walnut Creek. And so, driving began. When Lisa went to San Francisco Ballet School that summer, it was just my mom and me. Those days in Walnut Creek have remained for me the most precious.

 

Then came the San Francisco Ballet School. The drives were shared with the Austin family, but Mom did her fair share. From my now old perspective I try to imagine what it was like for her, to wake in the morning with that schedule looming. She never complained. She took care of her-our beautiful home, her beautiful garden. She took care of herself, maintained her friendships. She took care of Dad, and she took care of Peggy and Cathie in their young adult lives. And she drove … Picking me up from school, she drove to Scenic and Rose, 90 miles to San Francisco, waited for class/rehearsal/performance. Then repeat; for a whole year. She did it with a spirit of adventure, joy, and pride. I never felt like a burden. What better gift for a child?

 

So that was our mother: strong, loving, generous, family-focused, giving of herself with grace.

 

Thank you, Mom. Your example lives on in us all.

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