Person:Margaret Blocker (1)

Margaret Elise (Peggy) Blocker was daughter of Harry Blocker and Margaret Breitenfeld. Peggy died in the evening of December 11, 1979 in Oklahoma City, OK, Ken’s birthday, listed on the death certificate as December 12.

Margaret Elise (Peggy) Blocker, born January 8, 1924 in Providence RI, was the daughter of Harry Blocker and Margaret Breitenfeld. Peggy was raised in Maplewood, NJ with her sister Caroline (called Cal). They were raised with the longterm help of a wonderful maid named Lillian. The family – father Harry, mother Mag, and the two kids, Peggy and Cal, loved to sing around a piano, whenever there was an opportunity. After high school, Peggy went to the Connecticut College for Women in New London, CT, where she majored in zoology. In college, she met Austin at a party at the New London submarine base, as he was preparing to ship out to the Pacific for World War 2. She later dropped of college to marry Austin. Peggy had a beautiful singing voice and sang and played piano all her life, including in competitions in college, and later in the Sweet Adelines barbershop quartets. Mostly, she was a housewife, raising Ken and Jim, but she did some secretarial work from time to time. She loved people, and was as sweet and outgoing and friendly and optimistic as anyone could be. More than 100 people came to her funeral to pay their respects. Her sister Cal wrote a book called The Winnemah Spirit, about two girls at camp, one of whom was Peggy. Upon Peggy’s death, Cal sent a note reminding us about a line in the book about Peggy: “’She was good in the way other people are tall, short, fat, or thin. It was just kind of there.’ It came naturally. Rooms seemed to brighten when she came into them, as did faces. Wherever Peggy was, the world sparkled.” She was named “Miss Manpower” in 1964 by her secretarial agency.

Remarks by son Jim at Peggy’s funeral. Everyone here is going to miss my little Mom. Inside that frail little body, which finally had to give out, was a heart as big as any of us has ever known.

Mom ran her own little Lonely Hearts Club at our house. She used to sit in the kitchen with her typewriter in front of her and her phone on her shoulder, and would listen, or would talk, or write to anyone who needed some love. If you called up with good news, you knew she would be just as delighted as you were, and would bubble over with enthusiasm about whatever it was; if you called with bad news, you knew you would get a sympathetic ear, and that cheery little voice just couldn’t help but make you feel a lot better before you hung up.

Most of Mom’s energy – and we all know there was a lot of that – went toward raising this little family. My brother and I have been all over the country and various parts of the world, and we always knew that wherever we went, before we got there, there would be a letter waiting from Mom. Not expressing her disappointment that we had chosen to move still further away from Oklahoma, but rather her delight that new possibilities were opening up in our careers, and that we were leading happy and productive lives. Because that was what she wanted most, for us to be happy. So Mom, if you’re listening, the only way we could be happier is if you were still with us. We loved you very much, and we’ll miss you.