Chesapeake Style Online

20
In Memory
In the early hours the morning of
February 12, 2013 Jean C. Keating
was greeted by her proud, playful,
pack of Papillons at the Rainbow
Bridge. They crossed the Bridge and
are running and playing pain free.
By
I
Ellen Dugan
did not know Jean Keating
nearly as well or as long as I
would have liked. She was a
bright light that should still
be shining, a one-of-a-kind
shooting star that amed out much
too soon. Left behind is her memory,
alive and vivid in its uniqueness.
During Jean’s later years through
our association as writers, I was
lucky enough to have fallen within
her orbit—or should I say whirlwind,
for her energy was legend and
she lived her life to the max.
As writers we shared the joys
and agonies of the blank page and
the endless search for words to
For many several years
I was Jean's neighbor.
My memories of her
go back to when my
youngest daughter was
a toddler who liked to explore the
neighborhood. Markley, knocked
on Jean's door one afternoon and
asked if she could come in and visit.
When Jean asked the toddler how
old she replied that she was three.
Jean said she should come back
when she was four years old, she was
too young to be out visiting alone.
Markley remembered Jean's promise
We were friends
for years going
to lunch and
shopping like
friends do before
I
have known Jean for
several years through the
Metropolitan Area Papillon
Club of Washington, DC
Inc. (MAP) as we have both
been members and love Papillons.
We were both at a show a few
years ago and I had my little Papillon,
satisfy the lling of it. Our job was
to lure the best ones from their
hiding places and capture them
as quickly as possible. We tried to
make sense of them as best we could
and strived to place our words in
some kind of reasonable order.
Once this was accomplished, we
could begin the process of polishing
and re-arranging those that had
survived the cut according to the
dictates of our imagination and
the perceived requirements of our
readers. Often this was done under
threat of a looming deadline and a
growing tendency to be distracted
by anything, including frequent
coee breaks, trips to the refrigerator
or pauses to pet an animal. All
valid reasons for delay. Jean would
swear to it if she were still alive and
sitting at her computer today.
In Jean’s case much of her writing
was inspired by her deep love of
and went back
a year later
to ask if she
could come in
and visit. Jean
was a gracious
hostess and
Markley, who
now lives with
her family in
Connecticut,
often recalls
with a smile the
day she went
to visit Jean.
I knew how smart she was. She truly
treated me like an equal even though
I only went as far as the 8th grade.
She was the one that pushed me into
submitting my story to one of the
Bridgit, with me when I stopped
to say Hi to Jean. Bridgit was lying
on her back on my arm, her usual
position as she is very spoiled and
really doesn't care to walk unless
she has to, and Jean was petting her.
I told Jean, “Bridgit is very spoiled.”
Jean continued to pet her and inhale
animals, her ability to empathize
with her readers, and a writing style
that was much like her personality,
direct and informed, yet playful,
a dicult achievement for sure.
In Monumental Courage, the
opening story about twelve gallant
police dogs in her nal book, “Animal
Heroes and Friends,” there is a
wonderful quote that illustrates how
much Jean loved and respected the
creatures she wrote about. Selected
from a keynote address that had been
delivered by the Attorney General
of the Commonwealth of Virginia
at a service that honored the slain
canine heroes, Jean tells us: “When
the public is in trouble, they call the
police. When the police need help,
they call S.W.A.T. And when S.W.A.T.
needs help, they call the K-9’s.”
Sadly, there were no canines—no
Baron, Bandit, Lobo, Zak, Sgt. Boris,
Bodi, Iron, Colt, Faro, Ingo, Gunner
She came home with a seashell—a
present from Jean. My special gift
from Jean came with the publication
of her last book, Animal Heroes
and Friends. She asked me if she
could borrow a picture of Harry a
black and white mongrel I adopted
from the Heritage Humane Society
Shelter in Williamsburg. Jean
captured Harry's spirit in her story
Autumn He had been abandoned
and spent a long time at the Shelter.
My friend Pam Johnson who works
to nd homes for shelter pets with
advertisements in the local paper
contest parties we have. I won rst
prize that was shared with our own
CIA writer and for the rst time in
my life I was speechless. She gave me
priceless hints on writing and told me
deeply
then
said, “she
smells
just
ne—
she's
not spoiled she's just indulged.” We
Spring 2013
or Carsens—who could rescue Jean
when she needed help escaping
the deadly pronouncements of
cancer. Had they been able to, I am
certain all twelve of them would
have scaled fences and jumped
through hoops to get to her.
Like our unnished friendship,
my memory of Jean, now voiced and
visible in the medium we shared,
is an inner work in progress. I will
surely think of something more to
add, something I had forgotten and
should have mentioned earlier, like
our discussions of fact-checking
Civil War lore or my astonishment
at learning of her rocket-scientist
past. en I will smile inwardly and
perhaps take her small lavender
book from the shelf and visit with
her once more in a place where she
is still very much alive and well.
suggested I come out and look at
Harry then known as Hairy. I nally
gave in to her pleas and went to the
shelter telling her I was not sure we
would be a good t. Harry and I spent
ten wonderful years together. He
became a therapy dog and enjoyed
his visits to patients at Eastern State
Hospital and students in area
elementary schools. What a
wonderful friend to share her
talent in such a beautiful way.
Barbara Ball shared a photo of
Jean at a neighborhood yard sale.
just to write like I talk. I could write
countless words praising our friend,
but mostly I just simply loved her.
Love Lives On, Many
hugs, Kitty Moore
both laughed and I made a note
to refer to Bridget as indulged not
spoiled in the future. Looking back
on this lovely and happy encounter,
it reminds me of Jean’s beautiful
spirit, love of words and sense of
humor. All of us in MAP will miss
her terribly. Rebecca Flanagan