"Old Mama" The Judge

In 1982, Judge Mary Kay Riedel (aka Grandma/"Old Mama") passed away from breast cancer when I was just 8 months old. Old Mama was a force of nature. She stood for justice, lived to serve, and yes, she drove fast cars; she was the first female Justice of the Peace in Montana. Hers is a story to inspire today, and to pay tribute to the survivors and those passed on, in recognition of Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

Old Mama's story, written for the Women of Montana student essay contest in my junior year, was read into the U.S. Congressional Record in 1999 by Senator Burns. Below is the story of Old Mama, a woman, grandmother, and leader who left a legacy that can teach us about how to live, lead, and when the time comes for each of us, how to die.

‘‘OLD MAMA’’

‘‘Dear Courtenay, I wish you could only know how much I had looked forward to watching you grow up, but I guess that just wasn’t meant to be. Not to worry, though—we’ll get better acquainted later.’’ My grandmother, who was affectionately referred to as ‘‘Old Mama,’’ wrote those words in a shaky hand just before she passed away in 1982. I was eight months old, then, and so I have no memories of her; instead, I’ve borrowed the memories of those who knew and loved her, as I wish I could have. Through reminiscing with those close to her, I have discovered the courageous, colorful woman my grandmother was and I have begun to paint a picture in my mind.

"Old Mama,’’ was born Mary Katherine Emmert on February 7, 1918, in Kalispell, Montana. From an early age, it was apparent she would make her own decisions, and her strong will served her well. Using her active imagination, young Mary reportedly kept her parents at a full gallop.

Mary’s adolescent years might have been similar to any of ours, but they were marked by the hardships of the Great Depression, which began in 1929. ‘‘Old Mama’’ actually was one of those children who walked three miles to school in a blizzard. Like many, young Mary was eager to grow up. ‘‘You always look up to the next step and think how grown up you would feel to be there, butwhen you get there, you don’t feel any different than you ever did. I have found this to be the way with life,’’ she stated in a paper for her English class at Flathead County High School.

As a young woman, Mary lived the American Dream: She married Tommy Riedel, a local boy, and they eventually had two children. The couple worked side by side building a home on family farmland south of Kalispell, and the years that followed were typical for a young family of the ’50’s: Tommy worked while Mary raised the children.

There were neighborhood events, outdoor activities, and there were always the joys of the farm life. My mother recalls horseback rides with Old Mama on those long-ago summer evenings, dusk falling hazy and pink as they loped the long fields home. Old Mama was a constant and steady support for her children. At one time she drove all the way to Nebraska to watch my mother compete in the National track finals.

‘‘During those teen years, it was her never-failing presence more than her words that assured me of her love,’’ my mother once wrote.

There were neighborhood events, outdoor activities, and there were always the joys of the farm life. My mother recalls horseback rides with Old Mama on those long-ago summer evenings, dusk falling hazy and pink as they loped the long fields home. Old Mama was a constant and steady support for her children. At one time she drove all the way to Nebraska to watch my mother compete in the National track finals. ‘‘During those teen years, it was her never-failing presence more than her words that assured me of her love,’’ my mother once wrote.

After Tommy had a sudden heart attack in his mid-forties and became disabled, Mary did not sit helplessly by. She inventoried her skills and went to work in Kalispell, becoming a legal secretary. She took great pride in her work. Years later, when it was fashionable for women to have more grandiose plans, my mother once made the mistake of remarking that she intended to be more than ‘‘just a secretary.’’ Old Mama gathered herself to full indignation and retorted that, indeed, Christ had been ‘‘just a carpenter.’’

Eventually, hard work and commitment opened a door for Mary Riedel. When the Justice of the Peace fell ill—for whom she’d been ‘‘just a secretary’’—Mary was appointed to act in his place. From all accounts, the job was perfect for her. ‘‘Old Mama,’’ had an uncanny ability to discern people’s character and it served her well, as did her dry sense of humor. On one occasion, Mary intercepted a note that a previous offender had written to a friend who was due to appear in her court.

‘‘Watch out for Mary Redneck,’’ the note cautioned; it went on to complain of a substantial fine and a stern lecture. As Judge Mary read the note, all eyes were riveted on her. Slowly, Mary began to smile. Then she was laughing-tear streaming, gut-wrenching laughter. She returned the note to offender with the notation: ‘‘Sorry. This seems to have gotten misdirected. Best wishes, Judge Mary Redneck.’’

So often, in the shadow of life’s triumphs come the cruel, unexpected twists. My grandmother was diagnosed with terminal cancer only a few years after being elected Justice of the Peace. Determined to battle the disease, she struggled to survive the ravages of chemotherapy. With all of her heart she fought, until she could see that it was time to give in with grace.

On the last evening, she gathered her family together. ‘‘I told God I wanted ten more years,’’ she said, that wry smile still working the corners of her mouth. ‘‘But when you’re dealing with Him . . . you have to compromise a little.’’ To the end, Old Mama was indomitable.

On April 14, 1982, Mary Riedel was layed to rest. Although she is not here in person, her spirit lives on in the hearts of those who loved her; her strength, faith, and courage fire my imagination and warm my heart. Mary Riedel was a woman to be admired and remembered, and I am proud that she was my grandmother. She showed us how to live. . . and when the time came, she showed us how to die.