Memorial for Aunt Nancy
I’m Dan Kusner, Nancy’s nephew from Texas.
The past few days, I’ve been sifting through memories. Trying to figure out what made Nancy so ... Nancy.
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| Nancy, left, and Mom. |
On Christmas, I was at my parents’ home in Flossmoor.
During dinner, I sat next to Howie Fagan. I asked Howie about his eight trips to Ireland.
After fixing herself a plate, Nancy sat beside me.
With singsong, cartoon-like inflection, she pursed her lips and said, “Ahh ... Dandy-Dan? I understand you are seeing someone new in Austin. Do you have — ahem — a photo? Because I would like to see.”
We engaged in a brief stare-down.
I was like a farmer, and Nancy was an undocumented trespasser trying to cut across my ranch.
She sensed that I was about to refuse her request.
But when it came to getting her way, Nancy was like a graduate of a vaudevillian clown academy.
She always had a limitless arsenal of charming gestures.
At Christmas dinner, she deployed one of my favorite routines.
She swiveled her head from side to side and — like a typist — impatiently drummed her fingers against the table while purring, “Hmm-ha-ha-hmm. Hmm-ha-ha-hmm.”
This Austin friendship of mine is barely in development.
Before I indulged her, I warned Nancy: “Do not” — as the kids say — “put me on blast.”
From my front pocket, I dug out my iPhone. I scrolled through my library, settled on an image and discreetly passed my phone to her under the table.
“Holy cow!” she coughed.
And like Jim Carey — if his bottom lip was numb with novocaine — Nancy started quaking, “Hum-una-hum-una-hum-una-hum-una.”
Nancy had a million tiny slapstick reactions that flew by in a blur.
She crossed her eyes. Imitated a missile-drop whistle. Then she lowered her shoulders.
And with a deep voice, spoke from the corner of her mouth like Paulie Walnuts from “The Sopranos” and said, “I think it’s safe to say you like ’em big and handsome, huh?”
She winked at me and clicked her tongue.
Then, deliberately ignoring my request to keep things on the down-low, Nancy handed over my phone to Sean’s girlfriend, Tina, and said, “Hey, check out Danny’s new boyfriend.”
•••
It’s absurd to now reference Nancy in the past tense.
She’s such a dynamo.
•••
Coming to Chicago means camping at my parent’s house.
Every morning, Nancy was the first one to call.
Recognizing my voice, she’d squeak, “Aww. Hello, lovey.”
Over the phone, Nancy was like a legendary radio personality.
During those morning calls, she’d chitchat in the gentlest, whispery tones.
Softer than a pigeon’s murmur.
With candid intimacy, she engaged me with questions: “Tell me, what do you like about your new job? How is so-and-so?”
It was as if we were playing hooky together and trying not to get caught.
•••
The Fagan household was always dramatically different than the one in which I was raised.
Nancy was such an elegant tastemaker.
Matt Fagan is only three years younger than me. So my Mom and Aunt Nancy frequently scheduled me to hang out at the Fagan’s spacious digs.
Nancy and Howie’s homes are always fresh, classic and inviting.
She knew how to put things together.
Long before the dawn of home-renovation TV, Nancy dramatically transformed the Kusner living room, which then resembled a communist trailer-park.
Working with a next-to-nothing budget, she convinced my mom to purchase a large-frame painting and a few lampshades.
The success of her decorating metamorphosis largely depended Nancy’s knack for manipulating space.
With a design-curator’s eye, she strolled through our house and just rearranged the elements.
And somehow she made everything look exponentially better. Warmer. Nicer.
•••
Nancy widened my perspective.
I was about 11 years old and had yet to fly on a plane.
Nancy, Matt, Sean and I drove from Chicago to Milwaukee.
Along the way, we stopped at O’Hare. Not to catch a flight.
Instead, Nancy wanted to attend the Catholic mass inside the airport chapel.
To this day, that experience — wandering through the busy terminals and riding the moving sidewalk — was so extraordinarily jet-set. But also peacefully contemplative.
Nancy helped me appreciate how O’Hare was its own tiny city, only with a roof.
•••
Nancy Fagan was the cool mom.
During one preteen weekend spent in Milwaukee, Nancy, Howie, Matt, Sean and I went on the Miller Brewery Tour, where Nancy allowed the docent to serve me an entire glass of Lowenbrau.
I remember Aunt Nancy once took my oldest sisters on a shopping excursion.
They came home with pierced ears.
•••
But Aunt Nancy would also tell you off for your own good.
One wintery afternoon, Nancy visited my mom, who was processing some profound stress.
It was my duty to walk our dog, who was standing on three legs, begging to go out.
I was not quick on my feet.
Aunt Nancy grabbed her coat and took over.
A few minutes later, I put on my shoes and followed.
With the force of a tsunami, she lit into me about my appalling inconsideration.
Her fury toward me was unforgettable.
•••
But Nancy’s silly side outshines everything.
More than 30 years ago, the Fagans hosted Christmas in Wisconsin.
One of Nancy’s girlfriends stopped over.
The friend was draped in a full-length mink — a holiday present from her husband.
Nancy asked to try on the coat.
After petting the fur and cooing about its softness, Nancy let the mink drop from her shoulders.
It hit the floor and settled into in a puddle.
In her bare feet, Nancy playfully stomped all over the coat — like a child smashing sand castles on a beach.
Sometime in the 1980s, Nancy announced that she wanted to enroll in break-dancing lessons.
This past September, at my dad’s 80th birthday party, Nancy dominated my parents’ living room by squatting and bucking her hips back and forth.
Seeking feedback, she asked Pat Turner to demonstrate how she could improve her twerking moves.
•••
On Christmas Eve, Nancy and Howie hosted dinner.
Her brother Dan Turner passed away that very morning.
My mom’s iPad contained video footage of a recent visit to Oakland — where my mom and Nancy visited Uncle Dan at his care facility.
Nancy sat next to me on her sofa.
I played the video for her and pointed out three things that Dan says:
“I keep looking for mom...
“I miss her...
“Oh, I can’t wait ...”
Nancy looked at her brother’s image.
And missing Dan, she rested her head against my shoulder.
•••
Between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve, our family has had to say goodbye to a megawatt brother-and-sister duo.
But today, I would have expected Aunt Nancy to point how nice everything looks since all the holiday decorations are still up.
There are so many things I’ll miss about my Aunt Nancy:
Her morning phone calls.
Her rubber-faced expressive wit.
Her tasteful aesthetics.
Her dance moves.
And the cadence of her catchphrase when she’d say, “Awwwww. God love.”
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