Oh, Neato!

The Life and Times of Mar­i­on E. Sevigny

March 12, 1922-May 29, 2009
By Sharon Lakey
“Sev and I were in Flori­da, retired in a nice, clean devel­op­ment. Every morn­ing, we would sit at our break­fast table and watch the ambu­lance go by–in for some­one and out with some­one. We looked at each oth­er and knew this wasn’t for us. That’s when we decid­ed to come back to Danville and give the time we had left to our own community.”
That’s how I remem­ber Marion’s sto­ry about how she and her hus­band Paul–who she often referred to as “Sev”–felt about retire­ment. We were on our way back from a library meet­ing in Mont­pe­lier, chat­ting in the car. She was dressed in her usu­al attire—a skirt­ed dark suit, white blouse and heels. Not a hair out of place. When I dropped her at the library, she took her pow­der blue file box from the back seat, and we said goodbye.
That’s the most inti­mate con­ver­sa­tion I ever had with Mar­i­on. Her veneer could be intim­i­dat­ing, but under that impec­ca­ble sur­face lived a thinker and a doer, and that con­ver­sa­tion helped me under­stand why this woman and her hus­band were at the epi­cen­ter of all things Danville.
Mar­i­on was the first of five chil­dren born to Howard and Alice Calkins: Mar­i­on, Roy (Deke), Paul, Leland (Gus), Car­men and Zana. “Mar­i­on was A+, you know,” points out her broth­er Deke, “I was down the alpha­bet some.” He also went on to explain that while Mar­i­on was hit­ting the books, he was doing the chores, some­thing he says he didn’t mind doing.
Her pen­chant for neat­ness prob­a­bly came from her moth­er, Alice. The fam­i­ly still tells of their mother’s mem­o­rable trip to school to fetch daugh­ter Zana, who had failed to make her bed! Car­men laughs, telling a sto­ry about her sis­ter Marion’s neat­ness. “She was watch­ing me as a baby, and I dirt­ied a dia­per. Hor­ri­fied, she plunked me into a pil­low­case to avoid the mess but wait­ed for my broth­er Paul to come home and change me.”
True to her stu­dious nature, Mar­i­on was named the Salu­ta­to­ri­an of her class in 1940. Class­mates and staff were already in awe of her orga­ni­za­tion and abil­i­ty to keep books. From the year­book Danville Hi-Ways class­mate Nathan Mor­rill wrote in the class gifts: “To Mar­i­on Calkins I present this law book, hop­ing it will give her the exact points she can prove her argu­ments by.” Class­mate Frances Roberts wrote in the class will: “To the next School Comp­trol­ler, we will Mar­i­on Calkins’ abil­i­ty to keep books—alone!” Prin­ci­pal Man­ning added: “All class trea­sur­ers will please meet Mar­i­on Calkins after school so she can check up on your bank books.”
And in class epitaphs:
“Mar­i­on Calkins,
Here we see,
Passed away,
When she got a D.”
Class­mate Don­ald Douse, in the same year­book, wrote an inter­est­ing essay that ques­tioned our country’s abil­i­ty to remain neu­tral in the Euro­pean war. Just over a year lat­er, after Mar­i­on grad­u­at­ed from Cham­plain Col­lege, it was no longer a ques­tion, and her life would take a new direction.
Her boyfriend at the time, Paul Sevi­gny, had joined the Air Force and was deter­mined to fly. In his mem­oir, he writes, “In May, 1943, I wound up back at Shep­pard Field, Texas, to learn how to assem­ble the new glid­ers we would get over­seas in five crates. While there, my girl­friend from high school days asked her par­ents if she could come to Texas to see me. Her dad said, ‘Sure, go ahead, but don’t mar­ry that lit­tle French­man. He will nev­er amount to a tinker’s damn.’ Well, she came down and we got mar­ried the day she arrived.”
That was the begin­ning of Marion’s life as a mil­i­tary spouse, who trav­eled the world with Paul through­out his 24-year career. Sis­ter Zana explains, “She was an involved mil­i­tary wife. While Paul was away, she nev­er com­plained, and she always worked.” That life had its high points, espe­cial­ly in the 50’s when Paul got into race­car driving.
From Paul’s mem­oir, he writes of the couple’s trip to Los Ange­les, “We [he and Mar­i­on] went to the sales place and saw this beau­ti­ful XK-120 M Jaguar, bright red, and it had been clocked at 142 miles per hour at a tri­al in Bel­gium. Well, we…drove out with this Jaguar. When we got to the race …we end­ed up in the pit area where all the race dri­vers were…We had a ball there with many peo­ple look­ing over our new Jaguar. One movie star, Paul New­man, who was rac­ing said, “Hey, take it around a few laps!”
Two of Marion’s sib­lings cred­it the glo­be­trot­ting cou­ple as instru­men­tal in their own careers. Zana, the youngest said, “They were my men­tors. One trip back home, they took my friend and me to Boston to see the Ice Fol­lies. It was my first trip to Boston. And as I neared grad­u­a­tion, they con­vinced my par­ents that I need­ed to go to col­lege. After col­lege, they con­vinced them I need­ed my mas­ters.” She did both, with an under­grad­u­ate degree from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ver­mont and a grad­u­ate degree from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Michi­gan in the field of spe­cial edu­ca­tion. Car­men cred­its Paul and Mar­i­on with encour­ag­ing her to join the US Air Force, where she worked as a nurse.
Paul and Mar­i­on were think­ing about a future in Danville when Paul wrote: “In 1954, I was pro­mot­ed to cap­tain and my wife and I had a chance to pur­chase Dia­mond Hill Cab­ins in our home­town of Danville, Ver­mont. [We] drove the Jaguar back to Ver­mont and pur­chased the 14 acres and 12 cab­ins. It was a sum­mer busi­ness, so we planned on Mar­i­on run­ning the busi­ness in the sum­mer and join me in the winter.”
The cou­ple con­tin­ued to man­age the cab­ins for a few years after Paul’s mil­i­tary retire­ment. He left the Air Force with a rank of major. After their short attempt at full retire­ment in Flori­da, they returned to Danville with their new­found goal of “com­mu­ni­ty” before them. Mar­i­on went to work for Bruce Cor­rette at his account­ing firm, where she remained for 40 years. Dur­ing off-hours, Mar­i­on joined Paul in their ded­i­ca­tion to com­mu­ni­ty. As her good friend and co-work­er Irene Trud­holme said, “I nev­er saw Mar­i­on and Paul social­ly, because they were so civic-mind­ed. I think that defined their life together.”
One cohort in her activ­i­ties was Steve Cobb, who owns and runs the Danville Restau­rant and Inn. He called his rela­tion­ship them as a “close friend­ship,” one they devel­oped over 30 years. Paul and Mar­i­on became two of his best cus­tomers. Sto­ries of their self­less gift­ing abound, and Steve shares this one. As chair of the build­ing com­mit­tee for the Danville Methodist Church, she would ask him year­ly to be think­ing about some­thing the Church real­ly need­ed. “When we were work­ing on our hand­i­capped acces­si­bil­i­ty remod­el, Mar­i­on ordered a dozen donuts from me. When Paul came to pick up the donuts, he hand­ed me a check for $2,000, writ­ten to the Church. They did things like that,” said Steve.
Mar­i­on offered him advice, too, in his own role as com­mu­ni­ty vol­un­teer. When he was Pres­i­dent of the Pope Library, she told him, “’Always choose your helpers by what they can offer either phys­i­cal­ly or finan­cial­ly.’ It’s a piece of advice I’ve often thought about.”
The “neat thing” nev­er left her, either. Steve remem­bers Mar­i­on show­ing up on a Sun­day for a library clean­ing in a blue blaz­er, match­ing pants, white-col­lared shirt, heels, and yel­low rub­ber gloves. For­mer Town Clerk, Gin­ny Morse, remem­bers going on a ceme­tery clean up with her in a sim­i­lar out­fit, and Car­men and her daugh­ter, Chelle, still laugh about Mar­i­on gar­den­ing in panty­hose and pumps.
This joy of tidi­ness is best described in Marion’s own words. Car­men shared the sto­ry of how Mar­i­on react­ed when she showed her old­er sis­ter how she had fixed up a base­ment room for her young daugh­ter. When she beheld Carmen’s hand­i­work, Mar­i­on stopped mid-stair and exclaimed, ‘Oh, Neato!’”
“Neat­ness was one of her buga­boos, alright,” said Gin­ny. “She would order a dozen donuts and pound of cof­fee from Steve for the town garage crew every once in a while. It gave her an excuse to down there to see if every­thing was in order. She didn’t like to see a lot of spare parts lying around. Mar­i­on took a lot of pride in the Town and want­ed it to be shipshape.”
As a Town Select­man for 18 years (Select­man being the des­ig­na­tion she pre­ferred) Gin­ny said, “She was a peace­keep­er, but very firm. If she had an issue, she held to her posi­tion– very calm, very deter­mined and very steely. She was one of the most delight­ful peo­ple I’ve ever met. Danville is going to miss her in so many ways.”
In 1993, Mar­i­on and Paul cel­e­brat­ed their 50th wed­ding anniver­sary at the Danville Restau­rant and Inn. It was a joy­ous occa­sion for the cou­ple, and Paul lived anoth­er sev­en years before pass­ing away in 2000. After his death, Mar­i­on con­tin­ued in her ser­vice to the com­mu­ni­ty and her job. Accord­ing to fam­i­ly mem­bers, she and Paul had decid­ed that upon their deaths their lega­cy of com­mu­ni­ty ser­vice would con­tin­ue. Always well pre­pared, Mar­i­on made plans that the estate would be divid­ed up and giv­en to com­mu­ni­ty orga­ni­za­tions in per­cent­ages that she and Paul had pre­vi­ous­ly identified.
Over the last sev­er­al years, Marion’s health began to dete­ri­o­rate, though she was able to work through it. Her eye­sight was dif­fi­cult and there was a cir­cu­la­tion prob­lem in one of her legs. A stint, put in to improve cir­cu­la­tion, brought on a staph infec­tion that com­pli­cat­ed her recov­ery. Her doc­tors told her an ampu­ta­tion was a necessity.
Though she had fought long, she made a deci­sion at that time that “enough was enough,” said Zana, who was hon­ored to spend the last week by her side. “She nev­er wavered in her deci­sion. Dart­mouth Hitch­cock was out­stand­ing in meet­ing her request to be kept as com­fort­able as pos­si­ble. There was no fear of death on her part, no delu­sions. She and Sev had talked this over. She said it was her time to go, and she was ready to rejoin him. When­ev­er Mar­i­on set a goal, she went for it.” She died with dig­ni­ty on May 29, 2009.
Marion’s eulo­gy was read by her niece, Mar­i­on E. McHugh, Zana’s daugh­ter from Raleigh, NC:
“Being her name­sake has come with respon­si­bil­i­ty, and I am hon­ored to rise to the occa­sion. My prayer is that the lega­cy of Mar­i­on E. Sevi­gny tran­scends time. Here is what I believe MARION stands for:
M is for Mighty in spir­it and work—no one can deny that Mar­i­on was a hard worker.
A is for Always gen­er­ous and kind—with her pos­ses­sions and time.
R is for Right choices—doing the right thing. The things we learned when we were young still apply when we are old.
I is for Integri­ty and accountability.
O is for Oath—she was a woman of her word.
N is for Nego­tia­tor of peace—Jesus said on a hill long ago…blessed are the peace­mak­ers for they will be called the sons and daugh­ters of God (Matthew 5:9).
On this day, we have the peace of God that pass­es all under­stand­ing. We love you Mar­i­on E. Sevigny!”
This arti­cle first pub­lished in the North Star Mon­thy, July, 2009
To view the accom­pa­ny­ing pho­to album, click here:
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