This past Friday night, minutes after we had put the Saturday morning edition to bed, I got a notification from the Associated Press.
I immediately sent word to my sisters on our group text, knowing they would understand the significance. “Beverly Cleary died. She was 104,” I said.
My younger sister answered: “Wow. I feel like I just lost an old friend.” My older sister replied: “Me too.’
Did we even know Beverly Cleary was still alive? Had we even thought about the author in years? No, on both counts. But I knew when I sent the text, these were the two people in my life who wouldn’t answer, “Who?”
We were a trio of readers. We went to the library as children and I dare say there are parts of my life still affected by Beezus and Ramona, Ellen Tebbits, Otis Spofford, Henry Huggins and his dog, Ribsy, and a few other children who lived in Oregon, far away from the south side of Chicago. These imaginary children were our childhood friends, the way characters in a book come to life and you become invested in how things turn out for them.
And, they also become a part of your adult life. There isn’t a time after all these decades that I don’t bite into a crisp apple and think of Ramona biting into a full basket of apples, but just once in each, reasoning to her exasperated sister, Beezus,”The first bite always tastes best.”
I didn’t take ballet until I was an adult, when I could afford to take adult dance classes for pleasure and no expectations (or discernible talent). But I remember Ellen Tebbits always wanted to be a ballerina and practiced the five ballet positions every night and took classes at Mrs. Spofford’s dance studio. Her teacher was the mother of Ellen’s obnoxious classmate, Otis. While my days of formal ballet classes are long over, I still think of Ellen when I place my feet in first position for my modern dance classes. I never realized these children from long ago were part of my everyday psyche until the woman I hadn’t thought about for 50 years died.
When my daughter was younger, I had hoped to share my childhood friends with her, hoping she would also embrace my love of losing myself in books. But the closest she ever got to Beverly Cleary was the 2010 movie of Ramona and Beezus, starring Selena Gomez. She remembers the movie as not being very good.
Our millennials and Gen Zers have their own childhood memories. Maybe their first memories of Britney Spears were when she was a Mouseketeer and they have no idea that there was an original cast back in the days of black and white television and only three networks. Maybe they loved Hannah Montana or That’s So Raven! on television and their favorite book series was A Series of Unfortunate Events. Maybe one day, far in the future, they will be texting someone close to them to grieve about their favorite author from long ago in their childhood.
Obviously, I never met the librarian whose books brought me and thousands of others so much joy, and pleasure, or upset when Otis cut Ellen’s hair as a prank gone too far, and couldn’t tell her how terrible and guilty he felt. Ms. Cleary didn’t know that when our first dog disappeared for 10 days, we were hopeful of her return partly because Henry’s dog, Ribsy, found his way back.
When they are written well, books for children open their world to imagination, empathy, love of language, curiosity, and all the possibilities the universe has to offer. They can help form who we are and who we want to be.
Beverly Cleary’s stories will live on in all of us who still remember those childhood worries, fears and anxieties. But we also remember that things turn out all right, when you have a big sister who defends you for misunderstanding the words “dawn’s early light” in the national anthem after your parents laughed at you, or you have a soon-to-be-best friend who steps in when an obnoxious boy is mimicking you in ballet class.
We lost an old friend we never met. She left us the gift of her stories that will carry us through the rest of our lives.
Ms. Cleary, thank you.
