Pat Clark Stetson died April 1, 1998

To Pat’s True Friends in Warren,

Thank you for letting me be a part of your service for Pat today. My name is Pat too--I remember as a young child her assigning me to be “Patti” the first time we were in the same room together to eliminate confusion. That stuck even up to our last phone conversation. I am a cousin of hers.

My Mom tells the story of the arranging for me to go on my first trip alone to New York City to stay two weeks with my Cousin Pat. I think that she took an interest in me in those days because I was shy, an introvert--she was 29 years my senior. Anyway, though I was apprehensive, all the adults thought it a good idea, so there I went on that train ride, assured that she would be right there to meet me as I got off the train. And like any good adventure story, when I got down to the platform--she wasn’t there.

I remember thinking, “I knew that this wasn’t going to be a very good idea” and as I started gathering the bags (a touch scared I might add)--there she came flying into view, totally vivacious, out of breath, happy as a lark--my uninhibited, unpredictable cousin from ‘The City’, telling me some story about the traffic, almost missing me, “Don’t ever tell your Mom that I was late”, and “Never mind, we are going to have a GREAT time together.”

And we did.

When I was in her apartment, I understood the unusual Christmas presents that she had always sent each year--her place was unique--the wooden monkeys, the African accent, the tapestries, the pottery (she taught classes), the knickknacks from all over the world, and her kitchen had every imaginable tool for creating--I didn’t know anyone like her. Her dog, Maggie, helped to break the ice.

Pat took me to Fire Island--Dale and she had a place there. She took me on my first sail boat ride--a wooden craft that her Mom, (my Aunt Betty) had given to her. I was too busy paying attention to the thousands of jellyfish instead of listening to her instructions--the jib, the jib sheet, and the mainsail--and when the command came to turn, I botched it and that was the only time of my every remembering Pat to lambaste me.

Boy, did I learn quickly from that point on and it was wonderful--that boat leaning on its side, cutting the water, and the turns, now that I had the right idea. And she taught me the responsibility involving the extensive maintenance for such a boat--stripping, varnishing, and all. A terrific learning experience--the whole trip. I grew-up a lot that summer.

There would be another visit to that island--this time with my brother, Rob and Mom. Pat loved to have others be exposed to the unusual--for them at least and she got a kick out of how people reacted to things. Pat definitely warned Mom before a ‘gay’ dinner at the home of another couple living on the island--something new to Mom’s realm. Rob, around 14 or so had the greatest time running into his first nude beautiful blond strolling on the beach that night--he likes telling that story.

There would be other sporadic family events as we all grew older and lived our own lives. Princeton football would bring us together. Pat came to Binghamton at least twice, once for Aunt Kay’s funeral and then to her Uncle Woody’s 75^th birthday party. In reverse, there were trips to Vermont. The last time that Mom and I visited Pat, she came up with another surprise and without telling the destination, she lead us through the back roads to a deserted field. There I had my first glider flight. If you haven’t seen your valley from that perspective and you have a strong stomach--try it. Those adventures, Pat gave to me.

As I was making the phone calls letting the others in Binghamton know of her death, everyone had their own stories to tell. Her cousin, Shirley Wilson Keller, and her husband, Chan had gone on a trip to New York to see the United Nations, and Pat and she both had a laugh that it took an out of town relative to finally get her to see something that she had always intended to do--don’t we all do that when something is so close by. Anyway, the four of them got together and had a great time--who was showing whom the sights? Anyone of you hearing this story doesn’t need further description--each of us knows how Pat and Dale enjoyed a party whether they were the hosts or a spontaneous get-together.

Everyone remembered the gable house, Pat’s dining room feasts, the cocktails, the late night discussions (always lively--a truce made the next day if needed), and Dale’s early morning breakfasts.

On the serious side, we all have had the hard times in life too. Pat had many right from the beginning. One of the calls that I made was to a woman, Frances, who had been Pat’s closest friend in her childhood days. When Pat had to deal with home issues growing up, she and Frances would escape into their imaginations together. There is an old picture of the two of them dress up in make-believe.

From listening to Frances’ description, neither of those two girls were a Pollyanna when they got together. As a means of expressing defiance, the two would, after a movie, buy a pack of cigarettes and lit up on Wall St. right in downtown Binghamton. Maybe not too bright--they got caught and were punished. Years later, Pat tried to set Frances up on a blind date with her cousin, John Clark. Punitively, Frances stated, “Let him speak for himself.” He evidently took notice of Pat’s girlfriend’s strong-will and later married her. So, Pat was a match-maker too.

One final friend of Pat’s from the Binghamton Era who continued to be lifelong friend to her was her cousin, Jo Wilson Shields. She had a stroke this past year, so even though she has a hard time expressing words, her feelings and reaction to Pat’s death were shared to her sister, Shirley.

As I heard more from your own neighbor and friend, Karin Ware, it became quite obvious how you all as a community took on the responsibility to help take care of one of your own. Pat did want to stay in your hometown--which had become her hometown--instead of returning to Binghamton to live. You all did what was needed to be done. And as you share your own stories with one another at Pat’s home later today--you will be as spontaneous and have fun just as Pat and Dale had always done. It is fitting that you do it in their home--that makes them still the hosts in spirit.

The Best To You and our belief--Peace To Pat,

Affectionately,

Pat(ti) Niles