Joseph and Marilyn Pelline

In Memory of Joseph and Marilyn Pelline
A lifelong friend
By Jeff Pelline
Joseph Emmett Pelline, my "pal forever," died last week in Grass Valley. He was 81.
Among other things, my dad inspired me to become a journalist. Dad had a bachelor's degree in naval technology and master's in geology, but he taught me self confidence and encouraged me to be independent in choosing a career - more than any child could wish for.
Of course, he asked me to take a year's worth of engineering calculus and chemistry in college, because most journalists were lame at math and science.
Needless to say, my dad was extremely perceptive, another admirable quality.
Dad was born in Sebastopol, Ca., in western Sonoma County, a bucolic upbringing that he longed to revisit later in life. His father, also named Joseph, came to the area from the Ticino region of Switzerland, among the immigrants who helped establish the Italian Swiss Colony winery.
His dad and his mom, who survived the 1906 earthquake, bought some Gravenstein apple orchards. Along with my dad's brother, they lived in a big, brown house on Main Street. His mom owned the local coffee shop.
The family later moved to Santa Monica, and my dad was drafted into the Navy out of high school. He served as Lt. JG on the U.S.S. Little Rock (a light cruiser with the 6th Fleet in 1946) that crossed the Arctic Circle, among other places. My father earned his bachelor's degree from the University of Minnesota and his master's degree from UCLA. Dad went to work as an oil exploration geologist for the Humble Oil and Refining Co. in downtown Los Angeles, where he met my mom. My dad worked at Exxon, Humble Oil's successor, as well as British Petroleum and the Stanford Research Institute, holding numerous management positions throughout his career.
He was a dedicated father. Dad joined me in many activities: YMCA Indian Guides, Boy Scouts and Little League. He was a coach on all my Little League teams. In Y-Indian Guides, a father-son program started in the '20s, the slogan is "pals forever." Nothing more aptly described my relationship with my father.
While growing up, we lived in the suburbs of Los Angeles, Denver and San Jose. We moved to Denver when I was in high school, a difficult age to be uprooted from friends. But Dad wasted no time helping me to adjust. He and my mom signed me up for the "Eskimo Ski Club," where I learned to ski. Dad would gleefully wake me up before dawn on Saturday and shovel out the driveway, so we could drive to the Denver railroad depot for the train ride to Winter Park. "And now reveille!" he would shout, rousting me from bed.
Dad encouraged my journalism career. In Denver, my high-school English teacher drafted me for the school newspaper and asked me to write a column. Dad helped me choose the topic: Too many people are over-educated; we also need ditch diggers. He edited this one and the others that followed. It helped build my self confidence and establish new friendships.
My father helped me with my homework throughout my childhood and youth. We would get together after dinner, and he would check my algebra, help me with the math "story problems" and let me use his slide rule for math. (This was before calculators). It always was a collaborative effort. For years, my dad and I fished together throughout Northern California. My favorite memory is landing a 25-inch steelhead trout at the mouth of the Smith River near Crescent City when I was a teenager. I was so shocked that I hooked the fish, I asked him to wade out into the river to help me land it. After that experience, I joked that he was "my personal valet."
My dad also was a dedicated husband and grandfather. Not long after my mom and dad retired in Bodega Bay, Dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. This slowed him down but did not deter him.
When we moved to Nevada County from the Bay Area more than two years ago, we brought my parents with us. The past few years of Mom's life were difficult because of her declining health. But Dad did a fabulous job of keeping Mom comfortable and well fed, cooking many of her favorite recipes. My wife and I greatly admired his efforts. My dad and my five-year-old son shared many memories. He was an avid stamp and coin collector, and the two of them relished looking at the coins together. Last Christmas, my dad bought my son a metal piggy bank like the one he had as a child: it was an elephant, whose trunk propelled the coin into his body. The two of them also liked watching cartoons together, most notably "Lazytown."
My dad loved my wife. He cried at our wedding, and he was so proud of her. He greatly admired her sailing prowess on Lake Tahoe and her strong sense of motherhood. He was forever grateful to her for helping out her in-laws as she did.
We moved my parents into our Nevada City home shortly before my dad died. A major stroke had further diminished my dad's health. We attempted to rehabilitate him at the Golden Empire Convalescent Hospital and return him home, but he had a relapse. Dad got pneumonia and died peacefully on May 21 with my wife and I at his side, holding his hands. "We're all going to miss grandpa," my son said when we told him. I already miss him terribly.
Joseph is survived by Jeff Pelline, his son; Shannon, Jeff's spouse; and Mitchell, their son, all of Nevada City. A private memorial service for Joe and Marilyn Pelline will be held this summer in Sebastopol, Ca., near their home for many years. In lieu of flowers, tax-deductible donations can be made to their grandson's favorite charity, the Nevada County Narrow Gauge Railroad Museum to help build a real "Little Engine that Could.": NCNGRR Museum - Locomotive Fund; PO Box 2392, Nevada City, CA 95959. Call 530-470-0902 or go to www.ncngrrmuseum.org for information. Jeff Pelline is the Editor of The Union in Grass Valley, Ca.

A super mom
By Jeff Pelline
Marilyn Jane Pelline, an extraordinary wife, mother and grandmother, passed away last week in Nevada City. She was 79.
Mom died the same week as my dad, a situation you hear about but figure will never happen in your family. Both of them died of complications from strokes. They were married 53 years.
My mom grew up in Los Angeles in the '30s and '40s, when it was a relatively small city. She and some of her friends and a girl named Shirley Temple belonged to the "Meglin Kiddies," a group for aspiring young actresses. My mom always was quick to point out that she was the "bunny rabbit" and Shirley was the "fairy princess" in the kids' plays.
She watched the ceremonies of the 1932 Olympic Games from the front porch of her aunt's home near the L.A. Coliseum. Mom spent her summers with her parents, her sister Zoe Ann and her cousins on the Balboa Peninsula of Newport Beach, and she skied with her friends in the winter in the San Gabriel Mountains and at Lake Tahoe.
My mom met my dad, Joseph, in 1951. Both native Californians attended UCLA. My parents spent their honeymoon at the Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite, arriving from L.A. in wintertime in a new red covertible.
Mom said she was delighted when she woke up the next day, and the clerk handed her a clipping of their wedding announcement from the L.A. Times. "Simple charm marked the wedding of Miss Marilyn Jane Mitchell and Joseph Emmett Pelline," said the article dated January 22, 1954. My mom's personality perfectly complimented my dad's: she was full of energy, friendly and fun loving. He was more reserved and serious. She could make friends with anybody. One year, I remember going to the Bing Crosby Pro-Am in Pebble Beach with my parents. We were walking together past the ninth hole, well before any tee time, and she spotted Bing walking on the green. The two wound up visiting for about 15 minutes, while my dad and I stood on the edge of the fairway, shaking our heads.
My mom was the most dedicated mother any son could wish for. She was a P.T.A. president and volunteered at many school and church events. Together we liked to belt out a 1920s Episcopalian hymn written for children, "I sing a song of the saints of God." It was meant to show that saints can be encountered even now, in daily life. My childhood was memorable, thanks to mom. One year for my birthday, she took me and my friends to see "Chitty, Chitty Bang Bang" at Grauman's Chinese Theater in Hollywood, and we stopped at Schwab's Pharmacy for hot fudge sundaes. It was a lasting memory. While I was growing up, mom taught me two of my favorite activities: swimming and cooking. Our family spent most of our vacations in Northern California -- at Tahoe, Tioga Pass near Yosemite and my uncle's mining claim near Downieville.
Mom was a determined fisherman. One summer, I remember waiting for half an hour with her at Tioga Creek while she persisted at catching a 13-inch trout that kept getting away. When I cleaned the trout, its belly was full of Pautzke's "balls of fire" salmon eggs. She had named the trout "Herman" during her pursuit of him.
Mom loved pets. When I was growing up, we had a Norwegian Elkhound named Elosie. She named the dog after Eloise, the precocious girl from the Plaza Hotel. She and Eloise would spend the day playing together, while my dad was at work and I was at school. She joked that Eloise was "most precious," my dad was "precious," and I was "least precious."
Mom also was an expert needlepointer, making dozens of pillows, including one that listed all my memories from childhood: Indian Guides, Church of Our Savior, swimming, Little League and so on.
My wife, Shannon, was the daughter that my mom never had but always wanted. We were close to my parents and often spent Christmas with them at their home in Bodega Bay. My mom would buy fresh Dungeness crab and whip up a remoulade sauce, one of Shannon's favorite meals.
My wife's birthday is only five days after Christmas, running the risk of being forgotten. But mom would always go out of her way to buy Shannon a special birthday present. Mom always remembered the birthdays of her friends, as well as her friends' children. She kept an ample supply of greeting cards in her desk drawer.
Our son's birth five years ago was one of the biggest thrills of my mom's life. We named our son Mitchell, which is her maiden name. Mitchell and Grandma were best friends: she would read books from my childhood to him ("Winnie the Pooh," "Old Black Witch" or the "The Little Engine that Could") as well as eat macaroni and cheese with him. He would recount stories about his day at preschool - in excruciating detail. The wall of my mom's bedroom was filled with my son's artwork.
The past few years of mom's life were difficult because of her declining health, including a major stroke and extreme arthritis. We moved my parents close to us and later into our home, so we could help out. "Thank you," were one of mom's last words before she died on May 25.
We will deeply miss my mother, but she has left an indelible impression on many people, most notably her grandson who is named after her.
Marilyn is survived by Jeff Pelline, her son; Shannon, Jeff's spouse; and Mitchell, their son, all of Nevada City. A private memorial service for Joe and Marilyn Pelline will be held this summer in Sebastopol, Ca., near their home for many years. In lieu of flowers, tax-deductible donations can be made to their grandson's favorite charity, the Nevada County Narrow Gauge Railroad Museum to help build a real "Little Engine that Could.": NCNGRR Museum - Locomotive Fund; PO Box 2392, Nevada City, CA 95959. Call 530-470-0902 or go to www.ncngrrmuseum.org for information.