To the editor:
I was 9 years old when I noticed this distinguished-looking lady walk up the sidewalk leading to our home. I later learned her name was Thomza Zimmerman and that she and Mom were meeting to discuss collaborating on a column.
They took it upon themselves to drive to area newspapers, asking editors to take a look-see and hoping to sell the column themselves. No agents for them. They were quite successful.
The two developed a wonderful personal relationship. During the warm but not hot months, they'd take many mini-trips, have picnics, enjoy their surroundings and talk at length about the multitude of things they had in common. Their compatability was uncanny.
When Thomza, at age 98, came to Mom's visitation last summer, she walked in with little assistance, cane in hand, and head held high. She made a few heartfelt, personal comments to my wife and me, sat for a while and left. On her way out, I told her what a good run she and Mom had had with the "Dawn to Dusk" column. "Yes," she said, proudly, wagging her finger in a schoolmarmish manner, "and we never failed to have our columns ready for publication." "And well ahead of schedule," I thought to myself.
If there's a fast track to heaven, she's on it. In fact, I'll bet they've already had a picnic or two.