Dodie and her sisters

Betty, Ann, Dodie, Carol at a wedding in 1991.

Betty, Carol, Dodie, Ann, together in Dayton in the 1990s.

whoo are you??

Sifting through yet another box of Mom's papers, I came upon two documents that need to be shared. I recall seeing them before and vaguely recall the story. Here's the best I can do with the evidence and my memory:

A baby was born to David and Stella Pickrel on May 24, 1915, in their home at 1612 Grand Avenue, Dayton.

According to this copy of the original birth certificate, this girl child was named Janet May Pickrel.

Hmmmm . . .

We've always known her as Dorothy Joan, or Dodie.

At 33 years, Stella Mary Young Pickrel had already birthed seven babies before this new arrival.

One baby girl had not lived long. As I recall, she had been named Janet. (Not sure about the middle name, but the month is right anyway.)

Probably it was exhaustion that resulted in the error, but we may never know. The new baby wasn't called Janet. She was Dorothy right away and Dorothy she remained.

Only in 1972, and it's not clear why then and not earlier, did the record get set straight. With her older sister, Ruth, born May 5, 1905, Dorothy had the record set straight in court. An affidavit was filed on July 31, 1972, to change the baby's name from Janet May to Dorothy Joan.

And while they were at it, the sisters corrected their father's middle initial from R. to L.

Pburg part 1

Above is a rare early photo of our Perrysburg home. (No doubt Dorothy took the shot as she's the only one missing.) Her parents, Stella and David Pickrel, were visiting from Dayton. Ed, left, is holding Marilyn's hand. Stella also has a grip on Marilyn and Ted (love those suspenders), and Sally is peeking between her Nanny and Boppy. Dodie's parents usually stayed at the Commodore Perry Hotel, Toledo's best address for visitors. A visit to their downtown rooms was a real treat.

When the Gravetts moved to Perrysburg, a historic village on the western banks of the Maumee River, the population was just about 5,000.

City limits in 1953 were clear: East, South, and West Boundary streets, with housing within and farm fields just across the road.

P-burg was just completing its first modern elementary school -- Elm Street School as it was known then; Frank J. Toth as it is called today.

The school was on the next block from 123 East Seventh, the brand new house that Ed and Dodie and their contractors had built.

Not only was it the newest house on the block, it was the biggest, with three bedrooms, 1.5 baths, a sunporch off the back bedroom, and an attached garage with a paved driveway.

Seventh Street was the unofficial but obvious edge of the central part of Perrysburg, part of a grid of blocks marked by numbered streets running parallel to the river and tree-inspired streets crossing at right angles -- Elm, Locust, Maple, Hickory on the east side of the main drag, Louisiana Avenue, and Walnut, Cherry, Pine, and Mulberry on the west side.

Seventh Street wasn't a tony address like Front Street with the big, historical mansions, or even Second Street, but it was still a cut above streets developed later on, or so the family believed.

Wide streets, smooth sidewalks, generous setbacks from the road, and mature trees gave the neighborhood of mostly tiny to small bungalows and cottages a shady and settled aspect.

You could walk almost anywhere you needed to be in the Wood County town.

A few blocks away was Sullivan's Market, on Louisiana across from the original Perrysburg school building (now deceased). Cross Indiana Avenue just past Sullivan's and you encountered the massive Romanesque-style Way Public Library, with its steep stone steps and soaring arches marking the entrance.

Another block up, the B&O railroad tracks ran parallel to the river and Indiana Avenue. Coal-fired engines were beginning to give way to sleek diesels pulling freight and passenger trains on a regular if infrequent schedule.

Mainstay shops in what was usually called "Uptown" included Broske's Pizza, Miller's Hardware, a 5 and 10-cent store, Harriet's dress shop, Kazmaier's Market, and Houck's drugstore.

Looking back down Louisiana from his promontory perch across Front Street was the town's namesake, Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry, who had prevailed against the British fleet in Lake Erie during a decisive battle in the War of 1812.

Just west of West Boundary Street, past the graveyard, was Fort Meigs, another key site in the war which really opened up the west for settlement and marked the death knell for Native Americans in the region.

Fort Meigs was the picnic spot with remnants of earthworks from the fort for playing games, steep hills running down to the Maumee River for winter sledding, and shelter houses and tree-shaded picnic tables scattered around its many acres.

Ed and Dodie, Sally, Ted, and Marilyn moved into their home in the spring of 1953.

Dorothy set about getting her family established in the new home; enrolling Sally in school, joining a new church -- First Methodist of Perrysburg -- and obtaining library cards, among many other tasks. She began to meet the neighbors, many of whom were older and had lived in their homes for a long time.

There were Margaret and Charlie Williams, both Scots with a delightful brogue. Charlie was a gardener at one of the big River Road estates and Margaret fussed over Charlie. Next door to the Williams was Mrs. Korn, a sweet older lady who kept busy baking, sewing, quilting, and gardening. Ralph and Betty Barnes lived in the red farmhouse right next door and raised their family right along with Ed and Dodie. There were lots of kids in the neighborhood.

Each morning Ed left in his Ford for either his downtown office or a trip into the hinterlands to encourage more businesses to sign up for the Savings Bond program. Dorothy could push Marilyn, not yet 1, in her stroller, and keep a hand on Ted, 4, to Sullivan's for shopping and, if Teddy was very good, a treat at the adjacent Perry Dairy Bar.

Always a dedicated and creative seamstress, Dorothy used quiet moments to stitch up curtains for the windows of her new house, as well as to make dresses and other outfits for herself and the kids. Dinner was a family event most nights, after Ed came home. Dorothy tried to emulate her mother's model of feeding her family balanced meals with meat, veggies, salads, and simple desserts. Both Dodie and Ed smoked but in those days, no one thought of it as unhealthy. It was simply part of being an adult, like drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.

Perrysburg was the most permanent home for the Gravetts, the only home Ted, Marilyn, and Joan would really remember. Dodie and Ed and their kids lived at 123 East Seventh St. for nearly 30 years.

More to come. . . .

miss info

Sisters can be SUCH a bother!

Why does my sister (MHG) think it's so important to correct her birth year and make her one year younger?

Big deal!

Well, you know, she's a high-falutin' medical writer, so I guess she just can't turn off that Virgo-ian quest for fact over convenient fiction.

I'll forgive her and make the correction.

Okay, okay, Marilyn, now everyone knows: You were born on Sept. 11, 1952.

And that makes another date in that last historical posting off by a year. We moved to Perrysburg in 1953, not 1952.

Marilyn, I just hope this makes your day. It sure made mine. Well, at least I don't have to look at colored pictures of occluded veins and arteries. There is some justice after all.

sgv

this and that

Dodie is more playful than she lets on.

She loves to tease and banter. But maintaining a proper image has always been high on her must-do list.

So how the folks at Oakleaf Village talked her into this get-up is anyone's guess. Had to be one of their activities directors -- maybe Fran, who has since retired, or Allison, whose energy is unflagging.

Even though Mom will tsk-tsk at PDAs, even among octogenarians, someone charmed her into tarting up for this photo. It's one of my all-time faves and deserves a place of honor in this account.
From the bottle-blonde wig and smeared lipstick to the feather boa and red rose, Dodie stepped way out of character and loved it. This shot was on her frig at Oakleaf until we moved her out last month.

It's way more fun than the shot below, an Olan Mills special Dode must have had taken when she lived in Dayton, among the rest of her highly proper family.

You really see the resemblance to her younger sister, Anne, and some of her brothers in this shot.
Note the matching beads and earrings.

In her later years, Mom really got into ornamentation. No outfit was complete without multiple strands of beads, at least one brooch, and a scarf.
Her red walker also was trimmed with a bright lei from some theme party. Kiki, her greatgrandaughter, had first draped it over the front and there it stayed. Later, new decor joined the lei. It was a point of pride for Mom.

Spending time with an aging parent is at best bitter-sweet. There are all those lingering quirks and preferences which drove you crazy 40 years ago and they're STILL THERE!

But into the mix goes the slowly creeping dementia. It must be a comfort to Mom, as it allows her to ignore so much going on around her and yet remain steadfast about what makes her feel herself and who she is.

Only recently, since her rapid decline late in January and subsequent move to Ebeid Center, have we come to realize how hard Mom was working to maintain an appearance of normalcy, how important it was to cling to that prized propriety. These days she seems much more relaxed. In fact, she says, "I feel safe here."

Much of the paranoia that came naturally to her had blossomed in recent years at Oakleaf, as Dorothy struggled to tell the difference between what was real and what only seemed real. After all those decades battling the very real depredations of paranoid schizophrenia (more about that in posts to come), Mom had been able to somehow compound an inner world view only barely tethered to reality, yet comfortable to her.
Much of the fear that accompanies the delusions and strange sensory prompts for those with PS seemed to have been resolved. That's been a blessing.

And now her memories seem to swirl around her like butterflies, the real and the imagined dancing together. It doesn't look all that bad from my perspective.

Of course, I think Dode no longer recalls her days of glory in 2004, when residents at Oakleaf voted her in as their queen, Miss Oakleaf Village. Her election there was her entree into a much larger arena: the My Fair Lady contest held each July during the Lucas County Fair.
Women of a certain age (plus 20-40 more years) all gathered in their best polyester on a sunny summer day inside one of the airplane hangar-like buildings at the Lucas County Fairgrounds.
Most had family, friends, and fellow residents to support them. A busload had come from Oakleaf to cheer Dodie on.
With a local entertainer, Eddie Boggs, as MC, the contestants were put through their paces. There was, thankfully, no swimsuit competition, but there was sashaying, strutting, and waving. (Mom had practiced her royal wave and it was perfection.) Instead of a talent component, contestants were asked for advice to be shared with the younger generations.
"Always be honest and kind," Mom said. She was the favorite early on, but another contestant, Ruth Davis, who had founded an eponymous business college decades ago, won by virtue of her age: 101. Mom became a runner up and was she proud.
It was a wonderful moment for this lifelong striver.

north to toledo

Such a lovely family!

There's Ed in his natty glen plaid suit and sheer socks -- worn in those days with garters -- his blonde hair neatly combed including a little spit curl. Those intellectual horn rim glasses hinted at the writer's fire that burned beneath his daily work as a G-man: a U.S Treasury Dept. employee who was Savings Bond Representative for Northwest Ohio's 17 counties.
Already he was turning his scriptwriting gift and love of theater into memorable TV spots advertising the bonds. He hung out with bankers and corporate execs.

There's Dodie with her warm smile, her lovely dark hair carefully coifed to make the most of her natural curl. If she looks a little tired, well, there was the latest family member, Marilyn Hill, born Sept. 11, 1951, plus lively Ted, a darling boy here wearing a handmade-by-Mommy short suit and not doubt wondering how he could get his hands on the photographer's equipment.

And of course there was Sally, looking focused, red hair in pigtails, plaid school dress, and those darned orthopedic shoes -- brown oxfords -- which her mother made her wear because she had inherited her Dad's flat feet.

The sofa barely visible was a three-cushion number covered in brown chintz with golden apples and green leaves. At the time of this show, we all lived in Kenwood Gardens, a new apartment complex in Old Orchard, where the Gravetts resided while they planned and had built their new home in Perrysburg. I can still recall the new-cement smell of the hallways.

Sally walked to Old Orchard School. We all walked to Sanger Branch Library. The family attended St. Paul's Methodist Church downtown. And Ed drove downtown in a Ford -- always a Ford -- to a wonderful Romanesque-style building that had been the post office before it was converted to offices. It sat, as I recall, at the corner of Madison Avenue and St. Clair Street, today the site of Levis Square Park.

Throughout her long life, Dodie maintained a trim and shapely body, seemingly without effort. She worked hard to prepare healthy meals with lots of veggies and fruits, made the usual 50s meals -- pot roasts and stews, chicken, some fish. A big treat was Rike's Fudge Cake, an unbelievably dense cake loaded with chopped walnuts. Rike's was the big department store in downtown Dayton where Mom and her family loved to shop.

We kept in touch with the huge clan of Pickrels and Gravetts, still mostly based in Dayton, by spending holidays there. The Pickrels had a truly legendary family Christmas party to which children under 18 were not welcome. Stories about the annual event blossomed. We played with our cousins -- at one time there were over 50 -- in their homes. By virtue of age, I was most social, spending time with Julie and Janet Ward, Jackie Pickrel, Gay Pickrel, and dear Aunt Betty and Uncle Bud Stickel and their kids, Susie and Tommie. I had a crush on Dickie Pickrel.
Summers we still made the long drive in the car down to Fort Lauderdale, cramming into the family Ford and listening to Dad grumble about lines of trucks in the mountains on the two-lane road and hearing Mom gasp as Dad gunned the engine to pass some of the behemoths. It took three days to get there. We only stopped for necessities. I remember the thrill of finally spotting the Atlantic Ocean as we drove along Highway 1 south of Jacksonville.

All through these years, the tension of Dad's drinking and Mom's anger and fear related to it became a deep and sustained note in the family dynamic. Dad was a mean drunk who turned on the woman who tried hardest to please him when he was in his cups. I began to be aware of angry words behind closed doors late on Saturday night and red eyes on Sunday morning.
But such tensions were not befitting a successful middle class family preparing to move to a high class suburb, so they were dutifully ignored by those in charge.

Meanwhile, the house at 123 East Seventh Street was beginning to take shape on a tidy lot. Dodie and Ed agreed on what they called a Colonial style -- not sure why it was called that -- but it was to be two-story with a used-brick front facade on the first floor and wide clapboard everywhere else.

There were squabbles about arrangements of inside space -- where would the fireplace go? Would the dining room and living room be separate spaces or the new L-shape flowing into each other?
Usually Ed won these, by hook or by crook. The fireplace went midway down the long west wall, forcing the layout into the L-shape he preferred. French doors at the end of the dining wing opened onto a screened in porch.

We all moved into the new house in Spring, 1952.

family life

They were the picture of postwar contentment: Dodie, Ed, and Sally in front of their first home, a cozy bungalow on North Selby Boulevard in Worthington, Ohio.
One of the hastily built developments for returning WWII veterans, this new subdivision boasted a park, a school, nearby shopping, garages for those first cars, sidewalks, community activities, and lots more.
Here they settled, set up housekeeping, and began to enlarge their family..
It took awhile, that last project. Poor Dodie carried a child, a sister for Sally, full-term, but in the last weeks knew the baby had died.
It would take years to get over that sad, sad stillbirth.
Another pregnancy ended in miscarriage.
But then, Hallelujah!, Ed and Dorothy welcomed Edmund Johnson Gravett, Jr., "Ted" into the family.
At first Teddy was fragile, couldn't keep his meals down, fussed all the time. But Dodie was not about to listen to the pessimism of others, even her mother, and she dug in, giving up breastfeeding to try one formula after another until her son started to gain weight.
Teddy was a gorgeous child with amber curls, a cupid's bow mouth, and big blue eyes.
Sally, six at his birth, was fascinated and tried to help Mommy take care of Teddy.
Life was mostly sweet.
There was the new wringer-washer for all those diapers and other clothes and a long clothesline in the deep backyard where the clean wet laundry could blow dry.
Out behind the clothesline was the vegetable garden where plump juicy tomatoes bloomed in the summers
There were hollyhocks with hummingbirds inside the picket-fenced front yard.
There were neighbors -- Dottie Zimmerman across the street with her kids. Linnea and Sally were best pals.
There were "events:" fireworks just off Indianola on holidays. The families could bring lawn chairs down to the street and watch.
There were neighborly parties and blackberry picking in the nearby ravine. School was within walking distance; the park with its big memorial cannon was even closer. The first television moved into the living room shortly after Ted arrived.
Like all good post-war wives, Dorothy worked hard to keep house, feed her family, sew dresses for herself and Sally, and care for little Teddy.
Ed washed his car, mowed the lawn, and built a scooter for Sally from an orange crate and roller skates.
Every few years the family made the lo-o-ong drive to Florida to visit Ed's family in Fort Lauderdale.
But some problems were already showing their scary faces. Ed liked his liquor more than he could tolerate it. Sometimes he would take out frustration on his wife. And Dodie worried about "what the neighbors would think" when family members didn't behave as she expected.
The Gravetts of North Selby expected to raise their family in their little home, but in the 1950s, Ed's career took an upward tick and the family knew it had to move north.

go west, young woman

Dodie in Dayton before westward journey.

Top left: Ed at work in the U.S. Army. Top right: Playtime at home in Carmel.

Commuting time for Ed in Carmel, California, and Dodie in Dayton, Ohio, was prohibitive. With little Sally in tow, Dorothy boarded a westbound train and headed for Califor-ny-ay. Days and nights blurred as the iron machine click-clacked on its way, loaded with soldiers in uniform and their families.

Reunion was in the air.

Closing the familial gap in times before air travel was practical meant instant camaraderie, sharing, making do, and compromise.

Her smile at the ready, Dodie became a popular sight along the bouncing cars as she tended to the little girl with the headful of red curls and a taste for bacon.

Enlisted men hungry for home found some satisfaction watching the toddler's chubby legs pump up and down behind the lithe, dark-haired beauty.

Offers of all sorts of help abounded.

It made the trip go by more smoothly in those pre-Pamper days and nights.

Then, finally, the Pacific Ocean appeared and the long journey ended with Ed in a tiny railroad flat on a bluff overlooking the sea in Carmel, not far from Fort Ord where the PFC was posted.

More adventures. While Daddy was busy on the base, Mommy tended to a lively 2-year-old who loved to wander and, yes, ignore directions. There was the famous moment when Sally disappeared in one of those West Coast fogs, with a high cliff not far away.

There were breathtaking rides in the old beater downhill to shop and go to church. In order to get that all important dose of religion, Dodie volunteered to watch the toddler class at the closest Episcopal Church, the one with a front-door view of the Pacific.

California, so different, so full of potential, sang its song to the young Gravetts. They wanted to stay, once VDay had been celebrated and Ed had been honorably discharged.

But Midwestern roots won out over youthful ambition and Ed and Dodie rumbled their way east, crossing the country in a second-hand car their only passenger, Sally, called the Bee-wick.

It was home to Dayton and new possibilities in a familiar setting.

To this day, Dodie has remembered that dramatically beautiful California coast with longing and a desire to return.

"I want my ashes sprinkled over the Pacific Ocean," she says, not laughing for once.

Wartime

Ed and Dodie were not married yet when President FD Roosevelt signed into law the first U.S. draft: The Selective Training and Service Act, Sept. 16, 1940.

The newlyweds started life in upstate western New York and moved several times, winding up back in Dayton by 1942. As a pharmaceutical detail man, Ed represented Petrolager Laboratories based in Chicago. Among the new products he introduced to physicians was baby formula. He received several letters of praise from Petrolager.

As the U.S. involvement in World War II escalated from 1941 on, the couple returned to Dayton and rented a house on Catalpa Drive.

Two significant things happened in 1943: Ed was drafted into the U.S. Army. And Dorothy became pregnant with their first child.

Ed shipped out for California and active duty in August that year. He was stationed at Camp Callan, near San Diego, for both basic and advanced training. Fallen arches made him ineligible for combat, so Ed first became a clerk and then turned his writing ability and salesmanship to duties orienting newer recruits and reporting for the regimental weekly newspaper.

He later was transfered to Fort Ord, near Carmel, California.

The picture above left shows PFC Edmund "Puffy" Gravett in California.

Dorothy, working on her Victory Garden and managing ration cards, awaited the arrival of their daughter, Sarah Anne (forever known as Sally to the consternation of bank clerks) who was born early in November in Good Samaritan Hospital.

A detailed account of Mother and baby's first days -- first children always get the most attention; sorry Hannah -- shows a regulated schedule of feeding and sleep. Although bottle-feeding was gaining momentum in the 1940s, Dorothy believed in the more natural breastfeeding. One note from the diary in Dode's crisp Gregg handwriting:

"Baby didn't cry. Had to waken baby for feedings."

Dorothy was a devoted and delighted mother. She loved the daily routines involved with raising a child and keeping a house.

Ed came home on leave when Sally was six months old. The picture on the right captured that moment, and the happiness of the new mother.

Fact-checker finds: Ed's father was incorrectly identified in an earlier post. His name was William Allen Gravett.

Dodie then and now

Vivacious, fun-loving, always on the go, Dorothy spent her late teens and twenties working, living at home, and stepping out with pals.

Sometime in the late 1930s, someone fixed her up with a real character: Ed Gravett. Also a Dayton native, Ed was the second son of Dr. Robert Gravett, DO, and his second wife, Maud Stanley Patty.

Doc as his dad was called, was one of the early osteopaths in Dayton; his brother, Hugh Gravett, also was a DO but lived and worked in Piqua, Ohio, about 30 miles away. Doc had a good reputation as a practitioner and helped start the first osteopathic hospital in the city. At one time, he assisted the psychic healer Edgar Cayce (The Sleeping Prophet) by administering the treatments Cayce would recount while in a trance.

Ed, whose nickname was Puffy because he resembled a celebrity of the time with that name, was a romantic and talented man who dreamed of a career in journalism. For a time, he had worked for the Dayton papers. He carried his Argus camera around and took artful shots of still lifes, people, and especially Dorothy Pickrel.

They were friends first, of course, and then things got romantic until Ed proposed and Dodie accepted. Above his her formal wedding portrait. The willowy figure is mature but compare that lovely face with the 7-year old a few posts back and you see that her expression had remained pretty much the same over all those years.

They were married on Oct. 20, 1940. It was a quiet wedding but did get some press because of the families' social standing. Ed, born Oct. 25, 1912, was 28 and had gone into sales, working for pharmaceutical companies; Dodie was 25. After their wedding, they moved to Syracuse, N.Y., where Dodie took on her new housewife role and Ed went on the road with his samples.

Now, flash forward, oh, about 70 years:

Dodie is now pretty much bed-bound, unable to walk or navigate on her own, and mentally very weak. Her personality is still apparent in flashes -- the big toothy smile, and welcoming words -- but you don't want to listen to carefully because her talk is full of non sequiturs.

She is reasonably comfortable with the fact that she's at the end of her life. "I pray I'll die in my sleep," she told me a few weeks ago.

But the drop-off in her abilities has been steep.

Three weeks ago, she was still navigating her apartment and Oakleaf Village, with or without her walker. She still worked the big main living room and teased Jan and Bethany at the front desk. She was still highly resistant to her devoted caregivers -- Becky, Shirley, and other nurses. She still got herself down to the inhouse salon for hair care.

Our theory is that coming to Ebeid has been a big relief for Dorothy. She can finally quit striving and trying to pull the wool over the eyes of the staff and residents by seeming to be more aware than she actually was. She's been able to drop that veneer of independence and relax into the excellent care she receives at this lovely residence.

She's already won the hearts of caregivers there, especially Holly, the aide who I believe actually runs the entire Ebeid Center. Holly is really the go-to person there.

The very top picture is one of the most recent shots of Mom, taken last November at Ted's 60th birthday party in Oakleaf.

growing up

Life in the Pickrel household in the Roaring 20s was a madhouse of activity. Imagine having 11 children under one roof, from Mary, the oldest, just about ready to move out into the world, to baby Howard, just learning to walk and talk.

Fortunately, Pickrel Plumbing Supply was thriving so there was enough money to feed and dress everyone and give them dance or music lessons and go to church on Sunday all decked out.

Dorothy attended Steele High School in Dayton, pictured above, along with her sister Betty, 11 months older, and Carol, who was about 4 years younger. Few women expected to go on to college after high school, although Mary, a talented musician and artist, did get some post-secondary education.

After she graduated, Dodie took classes at Miami-Jacob Business College, learning shorthand and typing and other office skills. The training came in handy when the Great Depression undermined their life of comfort. David L. Gravett refused to file bankruptcy when the plumbing firm got into financial trouble.

"He eventually paid back all of his debts," said his daughter, Dorothy, with justifiable pride. She got an office job and was one of the children who pitched in, some living at home and most turning in earnings from jobs to help sustain the family through those difficult years. Dodie recalled that period as one of great family unity and supportiveness, fueled by the lively Pickrel humor.

DL went to work as a plumber but later was able to get the supply business up and running. It survives today as Pickrel Brothers Plumbing.

middle child

Not only was Dorothy -- or Dodie, or Dottie -- the middle child in a family of strong, tall characters, she was the shortest one of all. Certainly she had to learn to look out for herself early on, to be able to handle those big brothers who loved to tease and bother her.

But she also realized that doing things for others built solid social capital. As long as she has lived, she has never let go of the habit of reaching out to friends and strangers alike with a warm, genuine smile and a quick comment.

Not surprisingly, Dodie also loved the spotlight and found ways to focus it on her whenever she could, although she always felt a little less able than those around her. In truth, there was nothing at all wrong with her intellect. She was perceptive, very intuitive, and hard to fool, with a steel trap memory.

I love this photo, taken when she was seven. That direct gaze, the humor playing around her mouth, her lustrous dark hair, and sturdy little body make me think of a doll with a grown-up face. She more resembled her mother's side of the family, the Youngs, of German heritage.

We used this beautiful, hand-tinted portrait for her 90th birthday invitation. Dodie loved it.

that was then

Mixed in with Mom's stacks of papers I found this print from the Blade's microfiche files. I must have done it while I worked there, but I sure can't recall doing so.

The date is May 24, 1915.

Reading just those few headlines, you realize what a period she was born into, as eventful as our own, certainly, even though it took news a lot longer to get around.

The Great War was under way in Europe. How innocent it was to call it the Great War, as if there is any such a thing.

As far as I know, no one in her immediate family served in WWI. By the time Dorothy appeared in the family, her father, David, was building the family plumbing supply business. I recall Mom saying that her dad was very, very good at estimating jobs. And everyone needed indoor plumbing.

Pickrel Plumbing Supply prospered during the Roaring 20s, and the huge family moved into this palatial home on Yale Avenue in Dayton's tony North End. When it went on tour for a charity event, I drove to Dayton and Mom and I visited the home.

My was she proud! And full of stories set there. She recalled brothers following her dad around the house as he shut it up for the night, lagging a little bit so they could unlock a window or two for a sib who was out past curfew.

I believe it was in this home that the family had many fancy trappings: a tennis court, a pony, lots of room for games. And Mom also mentioned the batty granny in the attic. Not sure who that was, but little Dodie, shortest in the family, helped Stella, her mom, care for the older lady.

Introducing Dodie

Dorothy Joan Pickrel Gravett will turn 95 on May 24, 2010.

Whether or not she is able to blow out all those candles, while she's waiting for the next turn of her life in the Ebeid Hospice Residence at Flower Hospital, this little blog can help introduce her and recount a life of struggle, challenge, and personal triumph.

The seventh child of Stella Mary Young Pickrel and David Leach Pickrel, she was born at the family residence, as were all of her 12 siblings. Dayton, Ohio, was their hometown.

Called Dodie, she and 10 siblings -- Mary Lofton, David Pickrel, Ruth Ward, Jack Pickrel, Betty Stickel, Jim Pickrel, Carol Gould, David Pickrel, Howard Pickrel, and Anne Beatty survived into old age.

Now, only Dodie and her youngest sister, Anne, are still with us. But there are over 100 offspring in this family now, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-greats, scattered all over the country.

As Dodie grew up, the country entered and left the Roaring 20s, but even when the Great Depression gave the Pickrel family an economic smackdown, some of that flapper glee remained. A party girl she is and always will be Don't let the fun stop, Dodie says with a smile.

By the way, the name of this post is hers, too.

MOM: "You have to write a book called 'Leopards at 30.' "

ME: "What's the book about?"

MOM: "Oh, just make something up."