If there were a Mothers Hall of Fame, Helen Major would be a charter member. She asked for little, but gave a lot, her concern almost always for the feelings and needs of others. If she placed a condition on her generosity, it stemmed from an ever-increasing reluctance to go out. She loved her home and a rather simple life, gladly sharing things with visitors, which for several years included nieces, nephews and her children's friends. The Major kitchen was a forerunner of Applebee's – eatin' good in the neighborhood. (In fairness, I should add that this was also the case next door at Bill and Gert Smolinski's home, as well as at Ed and Sally Smolinski's home a few blocks away.)

Helen was Jimminy Cricket to husband Buster, particularly during his years as Solvay mayor. She disliked pretenders and hypocrites and alerted Mayor Buster whenever she spotted one in his path. Buster was flattered when Gov. Averill Harriman invited him to Albany to discuss running for Congress, but Helen was incensed, believing that her husband was being set up as a sacrificial lamb. "Go to Albany," she told Buster, "and I won't be here when you return." (He correctly translated the threat: "When you come back I'll make you wish I wasn't here.") Buster realized Helen had wisely analyzed the situation. He didn't make the Albany trip.

Later in life Helen qualified for the Mothers-In-Law Hall of Fame, as well as the Grandmothers Hall of Fame. She continued to make more demands on herself than on others. Besides her grandchildren, her biggest pleasure became the yearly trips to Florida with daughter Mary Chard and her family.

Buster died in 1985 and Helen carried on alone at 104 Russet Lane, turning to Mary whenever a ride was needed. Helen, you see, never had a driver's license. She had tried, back in the late 1920s, in a Studebaker she described as "like driving a tank." In true Helen Major fashion, once was enough. She remained a passenger the rest of her life. An excellent passenger at that, except while on driving vacations when she was the navigator, in charge of routes and choosing restaurants where we'd stop for lunch. ("Slow down, Buster. It's right over there . . . no, wait. I don't like the way it looks. Don't stop! Wait! I see another one. Slow down. This time I mean it! No, wait . . . ")

Her health failing, Helen refused to leave her home, even as she approached 90. She was easily flustered, often forgetful during this period – until she had a doctor's appointment. Suddenly, with Mary as her witness, Helen became an all-knowing sage, providing correct answers to any question the doctor might ask to test her mental state.

In 1998, a few months after her 90th birthday, Helen Smolinski Major died, true to herself and to everyone who knew her.

HELEN MAJOR with husband Buster in Solvay backyard in 1981 with daughter-in-law Olinda Major and three of their grandchildren, Brian Chard (in Helen's arms), Jeff Major and Meridith Major.

HELEN SMOLINSKI in her First Communion dress.

HELEN MAJOR in her
wedding dress (1929).

Helen (top) and her best friend Stella Rydelek (bottom) in section of the photo (below), taken in 1921, perhaps marking their graduation from eighth grade at Sacred Heart School.