THEY SAY her parents named her Theodosia when she was born because they had waited and tried and hoped for her for so long. So when she came, they consulted the classics and named her Theodosia—Greek for God’s gift.
As it happens, she was. As her 96 years here would attest. What’s in a name? Plenty if the name is Theodosia Murphy Nolan.
One of the founding investors of what is now the Murphy Oil Corp.—yes, that Murphy Oil, and those El Dorado Promise scholarships. Miss Theodosia helped start the company with her younger siblings back in 1946. It, and she, and El Dorado and Arkansas, prospered because of it.
And how. The names and purposes of all the organizations that benefitted from her gifts over the years would be enough to fill this editorial column. Indeed, the list did fill a good-sized news column when the paper ran Mrs. Nolan’s obituary on Sunday. Very impressive.
But what caught our eye was something more personal, and very lady-like, buried down in the story: She was a woman of letters. That is, she wrote letters, never allowing our computerized, Facebooked, tweeted and texted and generally synthesized era to rob her—and her correspondents—of her talent for the written word.
“She believed in the lost art of letter writing,” said her son, Bob Nolan. “She was always sending her grandchildren letters. These kids are all of the internet generation, but they would write her back these long, handwritten letters. It was amazing.” The tradition continues! May it ever do so.
Yes, we’ve known ladies like that. Emphasis on ladies. They’ve often enough been Southern ladies, but to give the Yankees their due, our Northern climes have ladies, too. See the letters of Abigail Adams, which outshine husband John’s by a New England mile.
We can remember one true lady of the Old South, who, when she was forced to buy the kids a typewriter for homework, bought one that typed exclusively in cursive. So at least they’d know what it looked like.
Some folks just won’t give up even when everybody else thinks they’re beaten. But, like Theodosia Nolan, they’re not. And they’re not going to be. The genteel South still lives. Inside all its sweetness and delicacy, it’s hard as a rusty old railroad spike and a lot prettier. And ain’t nothin’ gonna break it.
All around the country today, arts centers and symphonies and hospitals and prep schools are reflecting on the long, well-lived life of a benefactress named Theodosia Murphy Nolan.
But some of us think anybody who can get this generation to write hand-written letters, when it seems so many young people don’t know what they’re missing, and would druther keep their faces down and thumbs busy LOLing, well, that is the mark of a lady.
You might even call somebody like that . . . a gift.