‘Just Joanie’: Remembering My Mom

By Nancy Dorrans

Truly not a day goes by that I don’t hear my mother’s voice in my head. It has been almost eleven years since she died and I constantly feel her presence all around me… especially in the garden, forest, and when I hear the birds singing.

My mom was lovingly known as just “Joanie” to many friends. Also, Aunt Joanie, Ama to my nieces, and Joanne to her parents, many aunts, uncles, and her four younger brothers. She loved spring, flowers, gardening, babies, baking, family gatherings, and socializing. She never knew a stranger.

Joanie & the Stolen Bike

When I was five years old, my first two-wheel bicycle was stolen out of our front yard in Dearborn, Michigan. My mother’s best friend’s father was the chief of police in that town. My mom took me down to the police station to file a stolen bicycle report with him.

The chief (who looked like Lou Grant) took the details of my report very seriously. Then he gave me a tour of the station. I specifically remember the white bars of the holding cell where he told me they keep the criminals that steal bicycles. Then we went to the room that housed recovered stolen goods. It was filled with hundreds of bicycles, though unfortunately, mine wasn’t among them.

My mother had connections and she viewed this unfortunate incident as both a lesson and a bit of an adventure. I cherish these early memories and the so many adventures we shared together.

Visiting Broadway & New Irish Friends

I moved to Portland in the fall of 2000 and soon after my mom phoned me excited to announce that Marcus, the son of her best friend Carol (the police chief’s daughter), had secured a role on Broadway in the original cast of “Full Monty”! Marcus had been living in New York since the early 1980’s trying to “make it there.”

I told her, “We have to go!” Along with my older sister and my mom’s friend Terri, we ventured to New York City just after the holidays. On the way from the airport to our hotel we passed several Irish pubs and so, before they got too comfortable in the hotel room, I suggested we go out for a late-night pub crawl.  At the first pub, three of us ordered Guinness, my mother ordered a margarita on the rocks with salt! 

The next pub looked busy, but a young handsome Irishman opened the door and said, “Surry, we’re clo… oh… oh… zed!” My sister, Mom, and Terri turned around to head back to the hotel.

The pub was not closed! This bloke had had a few and was joking around. I went in, found him, and told him that was not cool. That was my mother he was joking with and she believed him.

He said “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” ran out of the pub, put his arm around my mother, introduced himself as Desi, and apologized profusely.  We went in, had another pint or margarita, and my mom chatted with Desi’s quiet friend and heard all about their lives in Ireland and now in New York.

She was worried that those boys were homesick and invited them to come and visit her in Tennessee. She wrote her number on a bar napkin. Later that year her friend Terri had calling cards made for her so it would be easier to stay in touch with these random strangers that became friends.

Mother/Daughter Adventures

Our first trip to see Marcus on Broadway started an annual tradition of mother and daughter adventures. Over the next ten plus years we adventured to New Orleans, Ireland, Charleston, Savannah, Chicago, Boston, Asheville, and back to New York City in 2010. It was usually my mom, and sisters, and Terri, and her daughters Christine and Kathleen. Other mothers, aunts, cousins, friends, and daughters joined us on some of the adventures. Visiting different destinations was nice but it was always more about being together than where we were.

Sadly our last mother/daughter adventure was in 2012 to Philadelphia. It was bittersweet as both my mom and Kathleen were undergoing treatment for cancer and lost their battles the following spring. We laughed a lot and cried a bit, too. I cherish the photo of all of us, sisters and mothers, at Jon’s Bar & Grille, the birthplace of the Three Stooges’ Larry Fine.

I’m missing and remembering my mom Joanie this Mothers’ Day and all her love, creative influence, and sense of adventure! Before she died I told her she was the best mom. She reached out to me, hugged me, and said, “I loved every minute of it.”

That’s how she lived her life… She is and always will be my inspiration!