BY Yvonne Merrill, Special to The Insider
Marion (Kruger) Stiehl, a newcomer to Seven Lakes West, skirted a milestone: on Jan. 22, she turned 99. This self-effacing nonagenarian-plus does not consider herself noteworthy, but if managing to live long, remain healthy and be of sound mind is a meaningful achievement, Marion is all of that.
Marion desired to remain on her own as long as possible, living alone, driving a stick-shift, mowing the lawn, taking care of her house and doing her thing when an ankle injury sidelined her independence and started to cramp her style. An oft-repeated offer to come live with her daughter became a viable consideration, even more so upon the death of her beloved dog, spurring her to accept the proposition, and as it turns out, just in time.
The move was quick. She sold the 1937 house and the 1991 Volkswagen Golf, packed a few things, enlisted the help of her son to haul stuff and, on March 15, 2020, she and her daughter, Diana, with son in tow, journeyed to Seven Lakes. The relocation occurred just as coronavirus lockdowns were beginning, and the family barely slipped out of Connecticut before the imposition of isolation mandates.
In her hometown of Essex, she was in touch with all the little people, proudly having friends in low places, including county truck drivers and mail carriers who spent lunchtime at her table. She had a robust connection to her church — parishioners called her Church Mom — where she lovingly tended the gardens with friends for many years.
It was hard to leave, to end a way of life she had known for so long. But her tech-savvy granddaughter, Kate, set up streaming enabling her to view her home church services on her TV and maintain that tie.
Marion was supposed to be called Robert, after a deceased uncle, but instead took the name of the doctor’s wife. Her parents already had a daughter and hoped for a son this time, and somehow, in a convoluted way, the masculine spelling of Marion was retained.
As a child, she took to animals. The seven-year age difference separating her and her sister did not make for compatible playmates, and Marion turned to pets for companionship. It began a lifelong affinity for animals and is expressed with photos on her bookshelves awash with many pet dogs. Marion readily shares a tale of a favored yellow lab, who escaped at an advanced age, went adventuring, and ended up in the First Selectman’s office.
In high school, Marion entered a commercial program and studied shorthand and typing. Classroom study was augmented a couple of days a week by volunteering at the Board of Education and rewarded by being hired full-time upon graduation. During WWII, the adult education section was busy with immigrants wanting to become citizens, and she helped fill out their papers.
A while into her new job, the director approached her one day to take a letter. A cigarette dangling from his lips, a confusing Maine accent coupled with his swift speech left her little hope of transcribing the letter accurately, but, despite the challenge, the letter was solid, and Marion became his secretary. The director was a proponent of vocational training and advocated that public high schools could do as good a job preparing students for positions as the secretarial schools. He proved his point with Marion as his example.
Long hours at the Board of Education became unsustainable, and she needed a new job. A family acquaintance advised most jobs were in the big city. So, she took the train into New York City, went to the 58th floor of the Chrysler Building in Manhattan, and applied for a job. Once more, being asked to transcribe a letter led to a position at Pan American Airways, where she worked until she married and became pregnant. From that time onward she was a wife and a mother.
Marion met her future husband at a Lutheran Church Camp in the Pocono Mountains, where she traditionally spent summer vacation. But he was engaged to another, and Marion, as a friend, received an invitation to the wedding. Arriving at the church with her girlfriend, the day of the wedding, they discovered it had been canceled the night before.
The war put things on hold, and the would-be groom flew small planes for the Naval Air Corp. Two years later, at the same Pocono camp, the couple reconnected, dated and married. Marion’s new husband, amusingly, ended up working in the family business of his former fiancee. The Kruger Stiehl union led to a family of six, including a set of twins; a legacy of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren scattered across the continental United States.
At 99, a bit of armchair philosophy leaks into Marion’s exchanges; minimalism, a less-is-more attitude; none of that highfalutin’ stuff, cake with friends at home is better than a fancy restaurant, simple plain food, plain talk, sitting in the sunshine, health is better than wealth, and decorum; civility, comity, kindness, and respect are always in order, it is okay to disagree agreeably. Other things on her Value List include letter writing, a skill she practices, and those who are mindful enough to write thank you notes.
Her convictions have stood her test of time, and at 99, she should know.
