Bruce Newell, May 16, 2008
Larry phoned last week while I was out in the hills behind the house, walking with my friend Jon and his 22-month-old daughter Anika. Anika paused frequently to do that little-kid-squat-thing; her face dimpling at the profusion of wildflowers and pinecones.
Larry had called to ask if I'd like to say something at Members' Council about Vickey, words to remember her and celebrate her well-lived life. I said, "Thanks, sure, be glad to," and went home to think, sitting in my Grandfather's painted wood rocking chair and staring north out across the valley.
It snowed hard for a couple of hours at our place in Montana last Monday. But by mid-week in the garden, blue Squills poked out of the ground, matching a bright blue sky. Ruby-red Tulips and yellow Crocus give us hope that springtime may finally come to town as well as the mountains.
It's a mixed-up world. Spring has been in the hills for several weeks and yesterday it was winter in the valley. And our friend Vickey has died. What sense is there in a world where death robs us of those we love?
It is incalculably sad that we have lost Vickey, who quietly coped with her long illness with grit and humor. And while I mourn her passing I can't help but note that she was quite a gal. She lived well, and in this there is great comfort. Samuel Butler wrote: Life is like playing a violin in public and learning the instrument as one goes on. This may be true for most of us, but Vickey was special: I never heard her hit a wrong note; from her I heard nothing but arias.
Vickey was very alive and was always fully engaged in whatever was going on. She worked hard and was always willing to take on difficult assignments. Vickey treasured rubbing elbows with her colleagues in Members' Council and the Board. She sparkled around us, and we responded by sparkling around her. She was fun and game for anything. Together, during breaks at Members' Council, she and I routinely took a little exercise tromping through some scary places: woods, brooks, pawpaw patches, and that epitome of horror, the Tuttle Crossing Mall! Always with our walking came good, honest conversation about stuff that mattered to us both.
Vickey showed us a lot of wisdom and humor. She understood, rather, she lived OCLC's "essence"; that of librarians working together, unselfishly, for the common good. Vickey was the quintessential progressive librarian, fearlessly welcoming change, while at the same time sensibly appraising change's value as well as its cost.
She was a role model and, for me, literally a mentor. Freshman Board members are paired with experienced Trustees to help us come up to speed quickly and not tumble into the soup. During my first year on the Board, Vickey served formally and very ably as my mentor. This was nothing new; I had been learning from her for years.
Vickey was a delightful person, unfailingly generous with her affection with family and friends. From our conversations over the years, I know that she unreservedly loved her husband David and her family. She was a good friend to many of us here today. Vickey lived well. We will all miss her. None of us will forget her.
Submitted by Bruce Newell
bnewell@mt.net
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