Pat was my best friend from the 4th grade on. We stood up in each others weddings and remained very close. It saddened me deeply when she passed away at a young age. I still miss her.
As I read through the names of our classmates who are no longer with us, I can't help but wonder what tragedy took their life so soon. I really appreciate reading the comments that some of you have made to help explain this to the rest of us. This being said, I thought I would share with those of you who do not know the story behind Pat's early death. Pat and I grew up as best friends all through school. After we went away to college (to different universities), she became very ill in about her sophmore year. She was diagnosed with brittle diabetes, a form of DM that is very difficult to control, and was forced to discontinue her college studies. She got married and she and her husband eventually had a son, and then adopted a daughter, but all this time Pat's diabetes progressed and presented many problems for her, making life very difficult and taking its toll on her body. Finally in October 1994, it became necessary for her to have 5-way cardiac bypass surgery in order to live. She went to Mayo Clinic for this as no cardiac surgeon in the Detroit area would attempt the surgery knowing the great risk to her life. Before going, she called me to touch base, knowing she may not make it through the surgery. She lost her battle at Mayo. Pat was always such a gentle, kind, caring, loving person. Life takes such cruel and sometimes sudden twists. I am glad Pat is a free of the ugliness that diabetes can be, but I miss her terribly even today. She will always be my best friend.
Genuine kindness is no ordinary act, but rather a gift of rare beauty. Pat Burrell had this gift. When I think back on my days at Wayne Elementary, I remember a pretty girl with sandy blonde hair, warm eyes and a very sweet smile. Patti was reserved, and, even in her early years, carried herself with a quiet dignity, a sense of wisdom, a compassion for others and a very giving heart. As a kid, I had learning disabilities, an attention deficit disorder and insecurities. If I was a student in this day and age, they would have me taking 50mgs of Adderall, hiring special tutors and sending me to weekly meetings with the school shrink. But, alas, this was the eastside of Detroit in the early fifties. For every student back then, it was sink or swim.
I was in Mrs. McGee’s gym class. She was a tough old gal who wore rippled-soled shoes, long frumpy skirts and the same wool plaid blazer year round which was always adorned with a whistle dangling from her neck like a badge of honor. Mrs. McGee truly enjoyed blowing that whistle at any student who did anything too slowly or not up to her high physical fitness standards. During these Detroit glory days, young school girls wore saddle shoes or black patent leather Mary Janes with white, thin cotton socks. Boys wore thick-soled black or brown leather shoes from the Buster Brown Shoes on Whittier or Montgomery Ward’s on Gratiot. We tied these shoes tightly with wide laces. Being the boy genius that I was, by the first grade I still did not know how to tie my shoes. At Wayne Elementary, students could not go out on the gravel playground or run on the shellacked and waxed gymnasium floor unless they were wearing canvas, rubber-soled gym shoes. The boys wore laced-up black or white Converse high-tops and the girls were in blue or white canvas Keds. When entering the gym, we were instructed to take our street shoes off, line them against the wall and put on our gym shoes. My first two or three days in gym, I was always easily spotted. I was the one with the floppy shoes that kept falling off because all I could do was pull the laces tight and then tuck the loose ends inside the shoe. This was especially embarrassing when we were on the playground because by the time we returned to the gym to change into street shoes my socks and gym shoes were full of small pebbles and dust. When I would go home at night, my Mom would repeatedly try to teach me the art of tying one’s shoes, but by the next day, I would have forgotten, and, if the truth be known, I had never actually listened to her instructions. Fortunately, no one in class ever said anything, but I’m sure my fellow students took note of my sloppy fashioned footwear and my quick getaways at the completion of every gym class. Then one day, as I sat struggling with my shoes, Mrs. McGee blew her whistle at me and said, “Hurry up there. We don’t have all day.” I felt my face flush red, and when I looked up, Patti Burrell was kneeling next to me, and in a very non-embarrassing and unobtrusive way said, “Let me show you a trick my Mom taught me.” And with that, Patti proceeded to quickly teach me the correct way to tie my shoes. Patti had the rare gift of genuine kindness.
But the real proof of Pat Burrell’s compassion, wisdom and non-judgmental demeanor was proven six or seven years later and has stayed clear in my memory to this day. It was an incident that occurred in Wayne Junior High that actually made the front page of the evening Detroit Free Press and headlines the next morning in the Detroit Times. I remember this fact because I delivered the Free Press every night and have a memory of sitting at the Hayes & Haverhill paper station that particular evening reading what I opine was a very slanted and inaccurate piece of journalism. Because of the sensitivity of this story, I’ve changed the name of the student involved.
As I recall, it all began after a tough basketball game in gym. As the class concluded, everyone filed out into the halls to head for their next class. Most of the boys were hot and sweating and ran off to splash some cold water on their faces. Keith and I stayed behind on the court a bit longer to practice our free throws and cool down. Keith was a great guy, smart as a whip, a good athlete and had artistic ability way beyond his young years. But, most importantly, he was a very good friend. Our next class was music and there was no way we were in a hurry to see Mrs. Mallard who would make us sing Oh, Susanna. Finally, we were pushed from the gym by Mr. Schetner and reluctantly made our way down the hall. We were thirsty and both headed for the water fountain for a drink. These were the days when you could try to squeeze in a drink between classes, but, once the classroom doors were closed, you were required to have a pass. A pass consisted of a varnished piece of wood in the shape of a bird or a fish that some industrious student in Mr. Kaufman’s shop class had created with a jig saw. Regretfully, because of our tardiness, all of the classroom doors were now closed. Nancy, an attractive ninth-grade girl, was guarding the fountain. “Where’s your pass?” she asked. “We don’t have one,” we replied. “Then, no drink,” she answered with authority. I accepted this and headed to the music room. Keith did not, and after more words were exchanged, was dragged to the principal’s office to see Mr. Cross. Mr. Cross was an elderly, overweight, white-haired gentleman with a neatly trimmed mustache and wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like a principal should look – kind of like he belonged in an Archie comic book.
I was sitting at my desk in music class when the door flew open and Mrs. Lee, the vice principal, ran in with tears streaming down her face and whispered something to Mrs. Mallard sitting at her piano. Mrs. Mallard looked shocked and also instantly teared up. The rest of the day remains a blur, but, essentially, the news that spread through the school like wildfire was that Keith stood in front of Mr. Cross who was seated at his desk. Heated words flew back and forth between them. Suddenly, Mr. Cross stood up, grabbed his heart, fell over and died. Poor Keith witnessed the entire episode all alone. The quick-to-judge local press and many within the student body were quick to place the blame solely on Keith for this unfortunate occurrence. The next day, a group of us congregated behind the green velvet drapes on the auditorium stage discussing the entire episode and considering the various scenarios that could have occurred in Mr. Cross’s office the day before. Sadly, many there were again quick to place blame on our good friend, Keith. Patti Burrell, however, just stood therequietly listening and, finally, as the conversation paused, she spoke. “It is a shame what happened to Mr. Cross, but none of us were there, and we all know Keith as a very sweet boy. Let’s not cast blame on someone unless we know the full story.” Patti was right and her few words of wisdom made all of us realize the need to look at things in a much more objective and nonjudgmental manner.
Keith never did return to Wayne. He was sent to another school. Needless to say, he was found totally innocent of causing any harm. It was just unfortunate that he was in the wrong spot at the wrong time. From what I understand, Keith became quite a successful businessman and today is happily retired and painting pictures on the beaches of south Florida.
After I left Wayne, I never had the opportunity to see Patti again. But, like all great mentors, her tutelage made a lasting impression on me. I can still tie my shoes, Patti, and I thank you for allowing me to experience that rare beauty of the gift you possessed that shared wisdom, compassion and kindness to those you met during your life’s journey.
With tears in my eyes, I read Bob's and Nancy's comments. I remember years ago I was at a organ dedication at Holy Communion and Doug Miller told me about beautiful inside and out, Pat's death. Now reading about hers and Anna's I can't believe how two of my elementary and high school friends have tragically passed. I also remember that day well when "keith" (not real name ofcourse) was falsely accused of the death of Mr. Cross. I also liked "keith" (one of the few elementary students who never teased me) and knew the initial stories were false or had to be. So glad our sweet Pat said something.
Regarding "Keith". I remember him well. As Bob and Merry said, rumors spread quickly. It was a tragic coincidence. Keith was moved to another school, but eventually ended up at Denby, class of 1965. Per the classmate profile list, he has not responded.
Pat and I were friends at Wayne Elem and were also in Girl Scouts together. We have a long history of school stories and scout activities together, including weekend camping trips with our Girl Scout Troup. Mrs. Burrell was our scout and camp leader for a portion of the time. Pat was a gentle, soft spoken person who always found the best in everyone and in most situations. She had a big brother named Jack and all of the girls thought he was quite handsom.
Pat and I were freshmen at WMU and our first semesster had just started and Pat had to leave school due to health reasons. Later we all knew that she was diabetic and was in fragile health. More than anything she wanted to have children and be a mom. She was a devoted wife and mom and is missed by all.
Nancy Gould (Gomoll)
Pat was my best friend from the 4th grade on. We stood up in each others weddings and remained very close. It saddened me deeply when she passed away at a young age. I still miss her.
Nancy Bono (Randall)
Such a lovely girl in high school, had many fun times.
Nancy Gould (Gomoll)
As I read through the names of our classmates who are no longer with us, I can't help but wonder what tragedy took their life so soon. I really appreciate reading the comments that some of you have made to help explain this to the rest of us. This being said, I thought I would share with those of you who do not know the story behind Pat's early death. Pat and I grew up as best friends all through school. After we went away to college (to different universities), she became very ill in about her sophmore year. She was diagnosed with brittle diabetes, a form of DM that is very difficult to control, and was forced to discontinue her college studies. She got married and she and her husband eventually had a son, and then adopted a daughter, but all this time Pat's diabetes progressed and presented many problems for her, making life very difficult and taking its toll on her body. Finally in October 1994, it became necessary for her to have 5-way cardiac bypass surgery in order to live. She went to Mayo Clinic for this as no cardiac surgeon in the Detroit area would attempt the surgery knowing the great risk to her life. Before going, she called me to touch base, knowing she may not make it through the surgery. She lost her battle at Mayo. Pat was always such a gentle, kind, caring, loving person. Life takes such cruel and sometimes sudden twists. I am glad Pat is a free of the ugliness that diabetes can be, but I miss her terribly even today. She will always be my best friend.
Robert Ambrite
Genuine kindness is no ordinary act, but rather a gift of rare beauty. Pat Burrell had this gift. When I think back on my days at Wayne Elementary, I remember a pretty girl with sandy blonde hair, warm eyes and a very sweet smile. Patti was reserved, and, even in her early years, carried herself with a quiet dignity, a sense of wisdom, a compassion for others and a very giving heart. As a kid, I had learning disabilities, an attention deficit disorder and insecurities. If I was a student in this day and age, they would have me taking 50mgs of Adderall, hiring special tutors and sending me to weekly meetings with the school shrink. But, alas, this was the eastside of Detroit in the early fifties. For every student back then, it was sink or swim.
I was in Mrs. McGee’s gym class. She was a tough old gal who wore rippled-soled shoes, long frumpy skirts and the same wool plaid blazer year round which was always adorned with a whistle dangling from her neck like a badge of honor. Mrs. McGee truly enjoyed blowing that whistle at any student who did anything too slowly or not up to her high physical fitness standards. During these Detroit glory days, young school girls wore saddle shoes or black patent leather Mary Janes with white, thin cotton socks. Boys wore thick-soled black or brown leather shoes from the Buster Brown Shoes on Whittier or Montgomery Ward’s on Gratiot. We tied these shoes tightly with wide laces. Being the boy genius that I was, by the first grade I still did not know how to tie my shoes. At Wayne Elementary, students could not go out on the gravel playground or run on the shellacked and waxed gymnasium floor unless they were wearing canvas, rubber-soled gym shoes. The boys wore laced-up black or white Converse high-tops and the girls were in blue or white canvas Keds. When entering the gym, we were instructed to take our street shoes off, line them against the wall and put on our gym shoes. My first two or three days in gym, I was always easily spotted. I was the one with the floppy shoes that kept falling off because all I could do was pull the laces tight and then tuck the loose ends inside the shoe. This was especially embarrassing when we were on the playground because by the time we returned to the gym to change into street shoes my socks and gym shoes were full of small pebbles and dust. When I would go home at night, my Mom would repeatedly try to teach me the art of tying one’s shoes, but by the next day, I would have forgotten, and, if the truth be known, I had never actually listened to her instructions. Fortunately, no one in class ever said anything, but I’m sure my fellow students took note of my sloppy fashioned footwear and my quick getaways at the completion of every gym class. Then one day, as I sat struggling with my shoes, Mrs. McGee blew her whistle at me and said, “Hurry up there. We don’t have all day.” I felt my face flush red, and when I looked up, Patti Burrell was kneeling next to me, and in a very non-embarrassing and unobtrusive way said, “Let me show you a trick my Mom taught me.” And with that, Patti proceeded to quickly teach me the correct way to tie my shoes. Patti had the rare gift of genuine kindness.
But the real proof of Pat Burrell’s compassion, wisdom and non-judgmental demeanor was proven six or seven years later and has stayed clear in my memory to this day. It was an incident that occurred in Wayne Junior High that actually made the front page of the evening Detroit Free Press and headlines the next morning in the Detroit Times. I remember this fact because I delivered the Free Press every night and have a memory of sitting at the Hayes & Haverhill paper station that particular evening reading what I opine was a very slanted and inaccurate piece of journalism. Because of the sensitivity of this story, I’ve changed the name of the student involved.
As I recall, it all began after a tough basketball game in gym. As the class concluded, everyone filed out into the halls to head for their next class. Most of the boys were hot and sweating and ran off to splash some cold water on their faces. Keith and I stayed behind on the court a bit longer to practice our free throws and cool down. Keith was a great guy, smart as a whip, a good athlete and had artistic ability way beyond his young years. But, most importantly, he was a very good friend. Our next class was music and there was no way we were in a hurry to see Mrs. Mallard who would make us sing Oh, Susanna. Finally, we were pushed from the gym by Mr. Schetner and reluctantly made our way down the hall. We were thirsty and both headed for the water fountain for a drink. These were the days when you could try to squeeze in a drink between classes, but, once the classroom doors were closed, you were required to have a pass. A pass consisted of a varnished piece of wood in the shape of a bird or a fish that some industrious student in Mr. Kaufman’s shop class had created with a jig saw. Regretfully, because of our tardiness, all of the classroom doors were now closed. Nancy, an attractive ninth-grade girl, was guarding the fountain. “Where’s your pass?” she asked. “We don’t have one,” we replied. “Then, no drink,” she answered with authority. I accepted this and headed to the music room. Keith did not, and after more words were exchanged, was dragged to the principal’s office to see Mr. Cross. Mr. Cross was an elderly, overweight, white-haired gentleman with a neatly trimmed mustache and wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like a principal should look – kind of like he belonged in an Archie comic book.
I was sitting at my desk in music class when the door flew open and Mrs. Lee, the vice principal, ran in with tears streaming down her face and whispered something to Mrs. Mallard sitting at her piano. Mrs. Mallard looked shocked and also instantly teared up. The rest of the day remains a blur, but, essentially, the news that spread through the school like wildfire was that Keith stood in front of Mr. Cross who was seated at his desk. Heated words flew back and forth between them. Suddenly, Mr. Cross stood up, grabbed his heart, fell over and died. Poor Keith witnessed the entire episode all alone. The quick-to-judge local press and many within the student body were quick to place the blame solely on Keith for this unfortunate occurrence. The next day, a group of us congregated behind the green velvet drapes on the auditorium stage discussing the entire episode and considering the various scenarios that could have occurred in Mr. Cross’s office the day before. Sadly, many there were again quick to place blame on our good friend, Keith. Patti Burrell, however, just stood there quietly listening and, finally, as the conversation paused, she spoke. “It is a shame what happened to Mr. Cross, but none of us were there, and we all know Keith as a very sweet boy. Let’s not cast blame on someone unless we know the full story.” Patti was right and her few words of wisdom made all of us realize the need to look at things in a much more objective and nonjudgmental manner.
Keith never did return to Wayne. He was sent to another school. Needless to say, he was found totally innocent of causing any harm. It was just unfortunate that he was in the wrong spot at the wrong time. From what I understand, Keith became quite a successful businessman and today is happily retired and painting pictures on the beaches of south Florida.
After I left Wayne, I never had the opportunity to see Patti again. But, like all great mentors, her tutelage made a lasting impression on me. I can still tie my shoes, Patti, and I thank you for allowing me to experience that rare beauty of the gift you possessed that shared wisdom, compassion and kindness to those you met during your life’s journey.
Nancy Gould (Gomoll)
Beautifully done Bob! Thanks for the heartfelt tribute to Patti - a truly beautiful person!
Merry Miller (Langset)
With tears in my eyes, I read Bob's and Nancy's comments. I remember years ago I was at a organ dedication at Holy Communion and Doug Miller told me about beautiful inside and out, Pat's death. Now reading about hers and Anna's I can't believe how two of my elementary and high school friends have tragically passed. I also remember that day well when "keith" (not real name ofcourse) was falsely accused of the death of Mr. Cross. I also liked "keith" (one of the few elementary students who never teased me) and knew the initial stories were false or had to be. So glad our sweet Pat said something.
'
Dora Skinner (Grady)
Regarding "Keith". I remember him well. As Bob and Merry said, rumors spread quickly. It was a tragic coincidence. Keith was moved to another school, but eventually ended up at Denby, class of 1965. Per the classmate profile list, he has not responded.
Douglas Miller
PAT BURRELL AND I KNEW EACH OTHER SINCE BIRTH! WE WERE IN CRADLE ROLL TOGETHER
AT HOLY COMMUNION LUTHERAN CHURCH! ALL THE WONDERFUL YEARS WE WERE ALWAYS
BEST OF FRIENDS!! SHE WAS THE MOST CARING, KIND, AND LOVING PERSON I EVER MET!
SO GENTLE, AND THAT SMILE, FROM EAR TO EAR, ALSO, WHAT A GREAT LAUGH! IT WAS SO
SAD TO GO THE THE FUNERAL, KNOWING MY BEST FRIEND DIED SO EARLY IN LIFE! I HAVE
REMEMBERED HER, AND THINK ABOUT HER OFTEN! THANK YOU BOB AMBRITE, DORA, NANCY,
AND MERRY MILLER FOR THE GREAT COMMENTS! LOVE YOU PAT! DOUG MILLER
Barbara ("b C") Wilson (Cotter)
Pat and I were friends at Wayne Elem and were also in Girl Scouts together. We have a long history of school stories and scout activities together, including weekend camping trips with our Girl Scout Troup. Mrs. Burrell was our scout and camp leader for a portion of the time. Pat was a gentle, soft spoken person who always found the best in everyone and in most situations. She had a big brother named Jack and all of the girls thought he was quite handsom.
Pat and I were freshmen at WMU and our first semesster had just started and Pat had to leave school due to health reasons. Later we all knew that she was diabetic and was in fragile health. More than anything she wanted to have children and be a mom. She was a devoted wife and mom and is missed by all.
Joyce Reynolds
Really, really sweet girl.
Joyce Reynolds