Marion Rose Balog

A Talent for Friendship
By Marion Balog’s son, David

In my mother’s world of Yonkers, New York, roots ran as deep as the magnificent Hudson River, from which she drew inspiration and a sense of belonging for her entire life. A child of the Great Depression, she persevered through the War, raised a family with Pop in the ‘50s and ‘60s, saw her children off to school and work, and then retired – only to help organize her friends – Mary H., Mary B., May, and Flo – to participate in the Senior Club at Seton College. She never talked of retirement, never thought of herself as not active. Her family, her friends, her community needed her and she needed them.

Mom had a remarkable gift for friendship, sparked by a ready smile, a keen mind, a curiosity about the world and others. Smart, caring, concerned, interested, and aware, Mom was the most contemporary of women.

In the last few months of a difficult battle with complications from diabetes, Mom continued to make friends among the staff at the hospital, St. John’s in Yonkers, overlooking the Hudson. Nurses in fact competed with each other to get her assigned to their floor, not because she was a compliant patient, but because she genuinely cared about them, took interest in their lives, and knew the value of friendship. It was in the arms of one such nurse that Mom passed away, rather unexpectedly, that cold March morning, while receiving kidney dialysis. Only recently did I find out that Mom, from her background in banking and business, had been helping that nurse with some legal matters. That nurse’s name was, fittingly, Mercy.

During her final illness, Mom was surrounded by her family and her friends, some of more than 75 years dating back to grade school on the “Hill” in Yonkers. In the last three weeks, Josephine and Winnie, two exceptional caregivers, were at Mom’s side at home and in the hospital. Both remarked that they had never met such a positive, caring, grateful patient – one who was fully aware of her terminal condition. Because of the many medications she was taking, Mom could not sleep at night and both Josephine and Winnie spent many hours in deep, private conversation and in prayer. These two wonderful caregivers both said it was the most memorable experience in their years of work. They knew her only three weeks, yet felt deeply connected to her.

Mom’s wake, at Whalen’s, was held in the part of Yonkers where she grew up, just a few blocks away from the first apartment she shared with her dear husband, Andy, as they began to raise a family. The funeral mass, at her Church of St. Anthony, was filled with relatives and friends, new and old – a remarkable sight and an honor for a woman who cherished her friends and nurtured these relationships. A bagpiper, perched on a hill above the gravesite, played “Going Home” and “Amazing Grace.”

Images of my mother are many:

-- as a young girl playing at the farmhouse with her beloved grandmother, who would warm her bed with a brick from the oven on cold nights when Mom visited.

-- as a schoolchild playfully telling her mates that yes, she did live with her Mom and Pop on that beautiful estate overlooking the Hudson –and waiting until the coast was clear before going home to the carriage house where they lived.

-- as a young bride, meeting her beloved husband Andy at Penn Station, back from the war and needing a haircut, a shave, and a steak dinner.

-- at her desk at the bank, making friends and money for her employer with her courtesy and smile.

-- working all day long on at the polls on Election Days, a bank holiday, to earn some extra money to pay the bills.

-- as a civic-minded, concerned, proud Democrat, who kept informed of all issues and held to her opinions when they were not popular, even among her friends.

-- attending the formal dinners at the Plaza in New York, held by my employer, and conversing easily and comfortably with CEOs, millionaires, and celebrities. David Mahoney, the CEO of the Dana Foundation (my employer) sought her out at each of the dinners for a chat, a remarkable fact when considering there were 400 of the rich and famous waiting for a word with him.

Is this an account of a perfect life? No. Mom made many mistakes and endured many difficulties. But she learned to overcome them and to learn from them. On her remarkable recoveries in her final illness, she would always say, “Don’t pin any medals on me.”

Some months before Mom’s last illness, I brought her to the memorial service for her new friend, David Mahoney. Ironically it was held in the Church of St. Jean Baptiste, in New York City, which served as the site of her mother’s baptism. One of the published tributes to this accomplished philanthropist and leader was a passage from the dedication of Tennyson’s great poem, “Idylls of the King.” These lines talk of a “darkened world because of this loss.” But it also says that we see the king...

…through all tract of years,
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life
Before a thousand peering littlenesses.

Another written tribute offers the best description of friendship I know. It was written by Lord Byron to one of his close companions, and applies to Mom’s inherent capacity for friendship. His friend, Byron said, was

One whom I have known long, and accompanied far, whom I
Have found wakeful over my sickness and kind in my sorrow,
Glad in my prosperity and firm in my adversity, true in counsel
And trusty in peril—a friend often tried and never found wanting.