8 November 2013
New York’s Cardinal Edward M. Egan presents CNEWA’s Peg Maron with the prestigious Pro Ecclesia et Pontifice Award in January 2002. (photo: Christian Molidor, R.S.M.)
Yesterday, I learned of the death of Peg Maron, CNEWA’s indomitable copy and production editor from 1992 until her retirement in January 2002.
Peg joined CNEWA in 1990 and quickly became known for her dogged determination to track down every fact, not leave any participle dangling, have every verb and subject agree and check my tardiness — despite the fact I was the “boss.”
Edith to my often cantankerous Archie, Peggy’s tenacious attention to detail and accuracy earned her the respect of all — even if her nimble ballerina stretches stunned patriarchs and prelates alike.
I never heard Peggy utter an unkind word. Her years of service to the church — as a member of Pax Romana and its successor, Pax Christi; involvement with the Grail and the liturgical movement of the 1950’s; friend and colleague of Eileen Egan, a founder of Catholic Relief Services; service as a Catholic school teacher in Brooklyn and Manhattan’s Kennedy Child Center; participation in the life of the Oratorians of St. Philip Neri at St. Boniface Church in Brooklyn and lastly as my partner in arms at Catholic Near East, CNEWA World and ONE magazines — will undoubtedly earn her a place with Providence. Her years as a dancer with Martha Graham, however, earned my respect.
I remember when I first realized what an unsung hero she was: the funeral Mass of her husband, circa 1992, in Brooklyn’s church of St. Jerome. As she followed his casket down the center aisle after the Final Commendation, she cast her eyes down, wrapped her arms tightly around her person and hunched her shoulders. She lumbered down that aisle as if the weight of the world would have crushed her. But it did not.
She was a woman of few words, little emotion and complete self-control. She had many credentials and enormous talent. The only way I could show her my affection was to tease — and she loved it. Whether it was accusing her of bathing in gin or mooning a patriarch, she would laugh so joyously, but rarely would a sound escape from her lips.
My dear sweet Edith has left this world to meet her God, whom she loved deeply, her husband, Jim, her sister and all those she loved who went before her — almost all of whom died young. God be with you, Edith!