Hello, everyone........I am a writer who had a close friend while growing up, Georgia Harding Hoyt Hopkins, who was a fascinating woman, ahead of her time. She lived to be 100 years old, and I would like to tell her story in some meaningful way, because it's a story worth telling, even though this is very long (for which I apologize--just hit delete if you're not interested). Here is all I know: Georgia had been born into a privileged existence in Rochester, NY, on May 13, 1873. Her father, George, was a wealthy jeweler who indulged both of his daughters, Georgia and Leona, beyond all imagination. They lived in Gardner Park in a large and stately home. Whenever the young ladies would go to parties, what they wore would be written about in the society columns, and when Georgia made her debut into society, it made quite a splash. But Georgia, beautiful,spoiled and headstrong, shocked her family by refusing her suitors and beginning a career with the New York Central Railroad. This was during a time when it was unthinkable that a young lady of position would choose to work for a living. She was very independent, and travelled extensively, usually on steamboat cruises. One of her fondest memories was walking across the ice of the frozen Niagara Falls. She had a long career with the railroad, and was working in Buffalo, NY, the day that President McKinley was assassinated. She remembered people rushing into the railroad office to send telegrams about the tragedy. It was in the office one day that she noticed a distinguished looking older gentleman enter, and she said to herself that she would marry him. Oddly enough, he was having the same thought. A widower from a pioneer family from Mentor, Ohio, Julius Weed Hopkins was short on money, but long on character and integrity. He had one grown son, Raymond. So Georgia, 41, married Julius, 50+, and they moved to Mentor, where they lived on a farm at the outskirts of town. Eventually, probably due to a financial reversal, they moved into a cottage owned by Raymond. Georgia said she was hanging clothes outside one day when a small airplane crashed into their backyard, narrowly missing her. About that time, Georgia's brother-in-law, in charge of the family estate back in Rocester since her parents' death, lost everything in the stock market crash. So Georgia was left with nothing but her silver, jewelry, and small mementoes of her past life. She owned silver dishes, serving sets, platters, ice buckets, silverware, candlesticks, and even a silver mechanical pencil. She owned many gemstone rings, a coral necklace, and one in amber. She owned many beautiful pieces, which she sold, one by one, over the years, to support herself and Julius. Suddenly, Raymond decided to evict his father and stepmother from their cottage, so Julius found a small lot in a new neighborhood, and had a tiny cottage built. It had no central heat, but had an oil stove in the central dining room, which served to heat most of the house, after a fashion. During the Ohio bitter winters, they would close off the living room with heavy velvet curtains, and sit by the oil stove. They had one bedroom, a small kitchen, a bathroom,and a small storage room, and an attached garage for their 1949 Chevy. At about this time, Georgia developed cataracts, and her vision gradually dimmed. She blamed it on the magnificent tablecloth she had crocheted, and proceded to learn how to deal with blindness. Soon after, Julius, a heavy pipe smoker, developed throat cancer. He died in 1954,after a long career as a dedicated local township trustee. He was a loved, highly respected, but impoverished man, and Georgia was devastated by his death. By this time, Georgia was in her 80s, and decided to enjoy her life. She volunteered at her local Episcopal church, helping to run bazaars and other events. She was very proud to have been able to solicit a donation from Princess Grace of Monaco for one of her fundraisers. She auctioned the handkerchief off, then bought it herself. But otherwise she lived frugally on her Social Security check, and sold off her few remaining silver pieces from time to time as she needed to. She relied on neighbors to run her errands and bring her groceries once a week, and lived on All Bran, eggs, cracked wheat bread, and soup. She arranged for "talking books" from the Society for the Blind, and would often answer her door with, "I'm busy reading Moby Dick. You can come in and join me if you want." She marked the phone dial with string to determine how to dial for emergencies, and would make calls by feel. She loved company, regardless of age of her visitors, and instilled in one of them (me) a profound love of history. My mother, her neighbor, would buy the needed supplies, and I would volunteer to take them over to her. Mom would know that meant I would be gone for the rest of the day. Georgia would sit me in one of her twin rockers, by the oil stove, and cover me with an old woolen afghan she had crocheted "in my younger days. Just don't look for the mistakes" .....but it was warm, and I would rock by the fire as she told me story after story, of her husband's pioneer ancestors, of her own youth in Rochester society, and of her parents. She would show me her clipping collection, of accounts of her many parties, of the McKinley assassination, and of the Lindbergh kidnapping, and her treasure, a document she said had been written by her idol, George Washington, whose portrait hung in a place of honor on her wall. Mom and I would clean her house for her, Mom would clip her toenails and do her hair, and we really became her only family. On one visit, Georgia's arms were covered with welts, which she said she had gotten from something in her bedroom. To our horror, we saw that her bedroom was full of hundreds of bees. We got her safely over to our house, fumigated the place, then went in and vacuumed dead bees from her windowsill, floors, bedding, and even in all her drawers. Soon after that, we checked on her one day to find no answer to our knock. Thinking she had gone out to church with one of her friends, we thought nothing of it and went home. That evening, we checked again, and still no answer. Then Mom thought she heard a faint sound from the bedroom and had me run to get Dad to break open the door. Georgia had fallen the previous night, and couldn't get up. She had lain on the cold floor, in her nightclothes, for about 18 hours, unable to summon help. She was weak and suffering from exposure, but the doctor said she would be all right. She had, however, suffered a stroke in the process. From then on, her mind gradually faded. She had turned her affairs over to her church, including power of attorney, and her minister arranged for a nursing home. Church members visited her often, as did Mom and I, and Georgia would tell us that she and the minister were planning to elope. Georgia's fondest wish had always been that she would live to be 100. She passed away one month after her 100th birthday. Only Mom and I, the minister, and one other couple from her church attended the funeral. She was laid to rest beside her beloved Julius in Mentor Cemetery, overlooking Julius's ancestral homestead. Today, I treasure the few items she had given me for my birthdays, a garnet ring, silver sugar tongs, a small antique door knocker, Princess Grace's handkerchief, and a silver mechanical pencil. The church, which had gotten her personal effects from her will, allowed Mom and me to go in and choose anything of special memory to us. They donated many of her antiques to the local historical society. Georgia had left her diamond ring and her cut glass chandelier to Mom, her coral necklace and two antique boxes to me, but the coral necklace was long gone, sold years before. I did, however, take my most favorite of her possessions.........the portraits of George and Martha Washington, the rocker, and the old woolen afghan......all things I treasure along with my own family heirlooms. A few weeks later, the church people called and said they had several boxes of old clippings, photos and other small treasures, and were only going to throw them away, since there was no family. I told them I would take them, sad to think there was no family to give them to. For years, I stored them away, till my mother suggested I contact the Rochester Historical Society to see if they would like them. I got a very nice letter from the people there, who said by all means, send them. So I shipped everything off to them, content that Georgia would have liked that. But soon after, I got a note from a lady at the historical society, thanking me profusely, because she had been a relative, was interested in genealogy, and was thrilled to see the things in the boxes, because it was her family history. SO>>>>>>>>>I know this is much longer than I intended, but I wanted to tell everyone how important it is to think about Historical Societies before throwing away any old clippings, photos, etc. (not that any genealogist in their right mind would ever do such a thing!) Also, I would like to hear from any HOYTs connected to Georgia's family, and learn more about it. I think she would like to think of me writing about her life someday. She had no "family" but Mom and me and I would like to think that someone should perpetuate her memory. Diane Cuffman Ryder, Georgia's friend