March 22, 2012 - The Gabber

Farewell, Old Friend:
The Three Lessons
of Judy Ryerson
Oh, Judy.
One of the things I dislike like about
my job is writing obituaries about
someone I truly like and respect.
Judy Ryerson. I knew the call would
come. I knew she was in Hospice,
heavily sedated, in the final throes of
lung cancer. I knew this day would
come four years ago, the day she and
I sat in her corner condo, looked at
her doll furniture, and she told me
she could beat the cancer.
I won’t lie to you and tell you she
and I were best buddies, but I loved
Judy, probably because part of me
wanted to be Judy.
Some of you may think of her as the
former Ward One councilwoman, but
that was the least of her achievements.
Judy epitomized so much of what
makes Gulfport, Gulfport.
Judy is – was – one of the few
Gulfport people I knew B.G. (Before
I worked for the Gabber). The first
three months I lived in Gulfport,
I didn’t know anyone but my
downstairs neighbor, Jeannie. One
day Jeannie – likely tired of worrying
she had a crazy hermit living upstairs
– shoved a Gabber under my nose and
suggested I look through it. I did, and
noticed that the Gulfport Community
Players needed volunteers. I started
helping the Players work on a show
called Marry Me, and I met Judy and
The Girls, the backstage ladies. Judy
was not only one of these wonderful
ladies: she, along with a few of
the other ladies, helped start the
community theatre.
Judy and The Girls – that’s not a
formal name, it’s just how I thought
of them – had all retired, and every
one of them looked every bit the part
of the sweet-faced grandmother,
always ready with a smile and a
cookie. I initially dismissed them as
frail ladies who probably didn’t know
much. Well, OK, I didn’t think of
Judy as frail, but I did, at first, chalk
her up to a retired grandma who
probably pinned hems on costumes
and brought the cast cookies.
Judy and The Girls taught me a
lot. None of it was about cookies.
They had all married, some more
than three times, and many had also
divorced. I asked one of the ladies – a
five-time marriage veteran – why she
had married so often.
“Well, sweetie,” she said, “I just
thought every time I slept with a
man, I had to marry him.”
Judy Ryerson Lesson One: Never
judge a book by its cover.
I had no idea women could act like
these ladies. The Medicare crowd
I knew did not move set pieces.
They did not stay out drinking after
rehearsal.
They did not pose naked for
calendars.
When the Gulfport Community
Players created the Backstage Babes
calendar – which is precisely what it
sounds like – Judy was right there,
baring it all to help one of her favorite
groups.
By this time I worked at the Gabber,
and when my editor sent me to write
about the calendar, I asked Judy if we
could use a photo of her posing. She
hesitated for just a moment before
laughing and telling me, “What the
hell. You only go around once.”
Judy Ryerson Lesson Two: Laugh.
Nothing matters that much.
While still new in town, I commented
one night how Gulfport seemed
completely non-traditional.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Judy said,
lighting one of her cigarettes and
taking a deep drag. “We manage to
fill the churches every weekend.”
I don’t know which church Judy
attended, if any, but I know what she
believed in: Gulfport’s history and her
future. She had a hand in everything
from Scout Hall to city trucks. I know
Judy didn’t always live in Gulfport,
but I know that once she moved here,
this city – and her family – became
her entire life.
Judy understood the delicate
balance between the old guard and
the new arrivals. She believed in
both groups, and she believed in her
city. I came to very much respect
how much she believed that Gulfport
could move forward while holding on
to its history.
Judy Ryerson Lesson Three: Put
your whole heart into what you
believe in.
In April, 2008, I learned that this
woman whom I so admired – now a
council member – had lung cancer.
My editor charged me with the
horrible task of writing about this.
“I’m fighting cancer that is winnable,”
she told me. I wanted so much for
that to be true. She showed me the
latest additions to her doll furniture.
She smiled. We laughed. But inside
I died a little, because people rarely
beat lung cancer.
I didn’t cry that day, but I cried the
entire time I wrote her obituary, and
I cried as I wrote this. Knowing her
all those years ago changed my life,
because she showed me a different
way to look at life. I feel her absence
keenly, not just because I will miss
seeing her, but because so many
Gulfportians will never know her.
Next week or next year a new recruit
will join the Players, and they will
know nothing of Judy. That seems
wrong.
My pain is nothing compared to
what her family and close friends
feel, and my loss means little in
the face of what Gulfport lost: a
diplomat who spoke her mind, loved
her city, and poured her kind, gruff,
compassionate self into making it a
better place for all of us, whether she
agreed with us or not.
Farewell, old friend. And thank you.
We will miss you more than you can
possibly imagine.
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Contact Cathy Salustri at
CathySalustri@theGabber.com.
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Gabber March 22 - March 28, 2012 53