Virginia Poulson Hopper

Hopper, Virginia Poulson

Ithaca: At age 100, Virginia Hopper died at the Ithaca HospiceCare Residence on 2 March 2013. She had been diagnosed with liver cancer, and was suffering from emphysema. She celebrated her centenary at ZaZa's Cugina with many out-of-state family members and friends from Ithaca in late January. Already fragile, she yet managed the event with her usual panache, telling one guest that she would make it through her birthday - Groundhog's Day - then die: Life for her was too fast forward to be endured on the slow track. Virginia lived with her son Jack in Fall Creek in her last years, holding court at occasional lunches and dinners, and remaining physically and mentally active until the last few weeks of her life. While reviling the dullness of Ithaca winters, she yet enjoyed the marvels of the area and was, for some time, a good walker, using her wheel chair for support. She could still play piano with ease, and by ear, whether hot "Sweet Georgia Brown" or cool Chopin. She had a ready wit and was a fine raconteur who could recall incidents from her long life with accuracy and verve. Virginia Poulson was born on 2 February 1913 in Philadelphia, the daughter of William C. Poulson and Sarah (nee Ward). Her father was a concert violinist who early recognized and encouraged a musical talent in his daughter. When he asked her if she wanted to go to college, and why, she replied "To dance, to have fun." End of college. She grew up in Hatboro, P A, where she met and married her husband John Hopper. They danced and had fun, eventually moving to Philadelphia where they raised two children, John, Jr. ("Jack") and Helen. Virginia lost her husband to leukemia in 1973 (he was 63) and recovered, with difficulty, from this major loss. Still very attractive at 60, she never remarried. In her last years, she shared her time with visits to her daughter Helen and son Jack. Besides these two, she is survived by seven grandchildren (including Kimberly Hunt from Trumansburg), and nine great-grandchildren. "They are not long, the days of wine and roses: / Out of a misty dream / Our path emerges for a while, then closes / Within a dream" (Ernest Dawson).