Marilyn’s mother, Helen, was the homemaker, and she raised the family through the tough times of the Great Depression and World War II. During rationing, her dad had a secret supply of Hershey bars from Mr. Habig at Habig’s drug store. They would divide a bar up eight ways – two pieces for mom and dad, four for the kids, and two for the dog, Trixie. They had a victory garden on the empty lot next door, and her dad was the air raid warden for the neighborhood.
Marilyn and the little girl down the street, who was a few months older, walked to school together, beginning in first grade. That was her friend Dorothy, or “Dot.” They would stay friends for over ninety years and later become sisters-in-law.
After grade school, Marilyn attended Mother of Mercy High School, graduating in June 1945, just a few weeks after Victory in Europe; she turned eighteen in August, just a few weeks before Victory in the Pacific over the Japanese. I wonder what these times were like for a young woman. After high school, she got a job working downtown, as a secretary. When not working, she had a rambunctious group of friends--she always liked to have fun.
She met Charles, and they married on June 16th, 1951, just eight days after he graduated as an electrical engineer. The night before she got married, her dad told her she was on her own, but if she ever needed help, he was there for her.
Marilyn and Charlie were fortunate to be able to immediately buy their first house in North College Hill. Her mom and dad moved the furniture into their new house while they were gone on their honeymoon. The house was less than a five-minute walk to Charles’s brother Lou and wife Lottie, and to his sister MaryAnne and husband Mike. It was easy to hang out together at each other’s houses in the evenings, have dinner with their young families, or go to the North College Hill pool.
It took a few years to start a family, but then they came pretty quickly: Jim in 1954, Janet in 1955, Pat in 1957, Karen in 1960, and my father Dan, forever “her baby,” in 1963.
Her dad died suddenly and tragically in a car crash, in October 1955. It was a shock to her and the rest of the family. Marilyn was 28, and her daughter Janet just a few weeks old. Marilyn forever would remember exactly where she was sitting in the living room when Charlie got the phone call.
After seven years in North College Hill, with the family getting bigger, Marilyn and Charlie moved to the house on Lauderdale in 1958. Here they raised the five kids, who attended Saint James School, and the family attended Saint James Church, where she would be a parishioner for almost seventy years. She did mom duties, shuttling kids in the station wagon, clipping coupons to stretch a dollar, volunteering in the cafeteria and library and the PTA and so forth. Later in life, she would knit hats for babies in the NICU and organize the Yarn & Cards outreach here at St. James.
Marilyn and Charlie had a big group of friends who liked to play cards, party, and travel to Florida together: the Luipolds, the Grievenkamps, the Hudepohls, the Rolls, and so forth. She and Charlie liked their martinis. They would sit outside together every night in the warm months from 11:30 to 12:15 or so, and share one or two and just talk, and look out at the night.
She used to say to her husband, “Charlie you should put a porch on the roof.” An interesting vision, but it never happened. She would also say, “Charlie, you should put a skylight in the kitchen.”Also never happened. But then, “Charlie, you should cut a big hole in the back of the house and put in doors and a deck.” She got that one.
The kids got older, graduated high school, and all graduated college. She and Charlie survived a late career lay-off, and then enjoyed a long retirement with travel to far parts of the U.S., Canada, Mexico, and Europe. She had several bouts with cancer. Challenges like this were invariably met with a little grumpiness and depression, followed in a few hours by embracing the reality of the situation, and just dealing with it, and doing her best. Persevering.
The grandkids started coming in the 1980s, eventually reaching sixteen. She was always interested in what I had to say, though most of the time, she would laugh and say, “You’re such a character.” Then the great-grandkids, currently at twenty-two. If there’s a way I will always remember my grandmother, it’s on the annual Thanksgiving trip. This began in 1973, and lasted through almost all of the next fifty-three years. Unable to cook a traditional Thanksgiving turkey in a tiny state park cabin kitchen, Marilyn opted to cook Cincinnati chili instead. What began with seven attendees now includes Marilyn’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren, running as many as fifty people. Because this began in West Virginia, every year at the Friday night cookout, the Mollmanns would belt out John Denver’s “Country Roads”—what the Mollmanns lack in musical talent, they make up for in enthusiasm. This song became a staple of Mollmann family weddings, and Marilyn would tear up when she heard it.
Charlie passed in 2013, after a few years of difficult health. She was in charge now, and within a few hours or days, got a new dishwasher, soon followed by repainting, updating the bathrooms, new doors, new driveway, new front porch, new garage door, new garage floor, new furniture, and so forth. She loved the house, and loved taking care of it, properly, cleanly, and neatly. She was able to stay there until the day she died.
Marilyn was a woman of tradition and habit. Every year, we would have Christmas Eve in her basement, every year we would do the same things in the same order, from the customary all-children photo, to Grandma’s punch. Every day, it was the rosary at 9:30, channel 9 noon news with lunch precisely at twelve; Divine Mercy chaplet at 3:00. Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy! at 7:00. Certain days of the week had certain breakfast items.
Marilyn was always there to listen. She talked on the phone regularly to her kids, and visited for dinner quite often. She was born in a different age, with different rules, but she was open to listening to new ideas and new norms. She adapted and grew.
She was a great daughter, sister, wife, mother, aunt, grandmother, great grandmother, and friend. An inspiration. A lovely person. A devout Catholic, attending church and praying the rosary for comfort, a member of the St. Mary’s Ladies Society, member of a weekly prayer group, and she and Charlie volunteered at Church, counting the collections.
She was always positive, open to a new adventure, and full of energy. At age eighty, the first time she got on the waverunner with her son Dan, and he asked what she wanted to do, she said, “go fast.”
We want to thank Janet, Pat, and Karen for taking such good care of her in her final days.
She will be remembered and missed by her family and friends.
I cowrote the above with my dad, and read it at my grandmother's funeral earlier this week. She died on July 4th, just over a month shy of what would have been her 99th birthday. (Most people call this a eulogy, but in Catholicism it's technically "Words of Remembrance.") I'll probably have more to say about this later, but I just wanted to post the text for now.





















