Marge. Glen Ridge was a relatively small town with a population of just over 3000 townspeople. There was a two lane road that divided the town, north to south, and smaller roads to the east and west. The neighborhoods were lined with your quintessential suburban homes, with perfectly manicured lawns, lovely flowerbeds and backyards for competitive games of wiffle ball, hide and seek, and tag. In those days, the 1960’s and 1970’s, Glen Ridge supported three elementary schools, one middle school and one high school. A library, town hall, country club, bank, and three or so churches drew families from their homes to take part in the weekly rituals of raising families. Marjorie’s family, her dad, mom and younger brother, Scott, lived in a lovely, and quaint home on Astor Place. Next door lived one of her dearest friends, Ann, and her family. While their side- by- side driveways physically separated their homes, their lives, as families and friends, were inextricably intertwined. Conversations took place when cups of sugar were returned or plans for the afternoon car pools were confirmed. There was gentleness, a kindred spirit, a mutual respect as each family nurtured their personal values and traditions. Marjorie’s father, John, her mother, Marge, and her younger brother, Scott were fixtures in Glen Ridge. Her dad was a well-respected English teacher at the high school, her mom the ‘keeper of the family’ and her brother, Scott, three years younger, adored and admired his older sister. While private in their interactions there was never any question of their devotion and love towards one another. The close relationships that families enjoyed while living in Glen Ridge helped to cultivate support and embrace friendships among the young people. This was so very evident as I recall our own group of friends that traveled and traversed Ridgewood Avenue each day, We inevitably landed at one of our homes for an afternoon, evening or weekend gathering. We studied together, played sports on the same teams, marched as members of the school band, got gussied up for the holiday gala, the Candy Cane Ball, attended events at the high school, women’s club, country club and perhaps, more than anything else, spent hours upon hours nurturing friendships that have lasted for over fifty years. Marjorie was an observer. She was true north. An intellectual who thrived on knowledge. Her kindness, laughter, and sense of purpose resonated with each moment, each interaction. While her peers, our friends were keen on dating, talking long into the night on our rotary phones, and attending unsupervised parties on the weekend, Marjorie skirted outside the ‘social norms’ and followed the beat of her own instrument. She did this with comfort and conviction never placing any judgment on the rest of us. So many, through their heartfelt tributes, have written about Marjorie’s professionalism, her ability to bring joy into every setting, her love of her family, and her gift as an amazingly kind and caring women. Those of us who walked alongside Marge on sidewalks, school hallways and through the doorways of our mutual homes will always remember her personality, her warmth, and those beautiful eyes that welcomed each of us into her arms. Godspeed, dear Marge. Anne E. Swayze January 14, 2019