Irene Heines Austin (1904-2006)
Two lives rolled into one
"You can adjust to anything,” my 95-year-old aunt answered when I asked how she felt at this first evening meal at Columbia Nursing Home. She had to move since the home she lived in for five years closed. I brought her a thermos of coffee since she often complained about that beverage in her previous nursing home. She raised the white institutional porcelain cup to her lips, took a sip, and uttered more words of wisdom, “There is nothing like a good cup of coffee.”
Irene, my dad's only sibling, was born in 1904 in Memphis, Tennessee, to Henry Herman Heines and Gertrude Elizabeth Simpson. The Heines family lived in Evansville, Indiana, but Gertrude was in Memphis visiting her sister when Irene was born. Unfortunately, I never asked Irene about that story or why her mom would choose to travel when she was so far along in her pregnancy.
Irene (we never called her Aunt Irene) was tall and slim and always dressed to the T. Her suits and, later, her house dresses were adorned with shiny brooches and matching earrings. Irene looked put together, with every hair in place. She had a wide mouth with two false front teeth, the original ones knocked out in a scooter incident when she was a teenager.
After graduating from Lockyear Business College, she worked as a stenographer at the Mead Johnson Company for four years. She left there to work at Southern Finance and bought a rental property with her earnings. It appeared that she was settling down in her hometown until she met Charlie at work. Charles Grant Austin was 13 years older and divorced with a teenage daughter. Being Catholic and wanting to marry a divorcee was a challenge both with the church and the family. However, Irene and Charlie married in 1931 in their new hometown, Washington, DC.
Before marrying, they left Evansville and headed to Chicago. However, they decided Washington, DC, was where they needed to live. Charlie became a tour director and later taught new bus lecturers the ropes. Irene became a stenographer for the Gallinger Hospital, which later became DC General Hospital, where she became the administrator’s secretary.
Their life revolved around their jobs and friends. "Every Saturday night, we'd get together with friends and play poker for money," she told me during one of my visits. Charlie and Irene would also make trips to Evansville for special occasions. Irene's dad died in 1938, and shortly after his death, her mom Gertrude moved in with them. She died in 1950. Irene had been juggling her work and taking care of her mom, and now her husband was ill. She took care of him for several years before he died in 1954. Both her husband and her mother were deceased, and she was only 50 years old. She thought it was time to think about retirement.
She retired from DC General Hospital in 1959 with over 30 years of service and moved back to Evansville, living just down the street from us for the next half of her life. Irene never wanted to marry again because of their caring relationship and the difficulty of watching him slip away. She had never wanted children. Unfortunately, Charlie's daughter and her husband died in an automobile accident in 1940.
Irene spent much of her retirement traveling with her best friend, Miriam, who lived in the downstairs apartment. They traveled most of the US but really enjoyed Mexico. She also taught my sister and me how to knit. When she was in town, she walked every morning early. She also loved crossword puzzles working them in pen and bingo. She was a constant in our family life.
When Miriam became ill and moved to Kentucky to be near her family, Irene moved from her apartment to The Rathbone, a stately elegant building originally built in 1905 as a retirement home for “ladies of means.” The one-bedroom apartment was approximately 500 square feet but with enough space to move in some of her favorite furniture, including Charlie's chair. She had a kitchen, but she only used it if she didn't want to walk down to the dining room.
As her health started deteriorating, she agreed to go to Regina Nursing Home, a modern facility on the campus of St. Mary's (now Ascension) Hospital. Several years later, the administration closed the facility, giving the patients and their families a short window to find other accommodations. So when Irene was 95, she was moving again. She lived at Columbia Nursing Home until 2006, when she died five days before she turned 102.
She was resilient. She had two lives: one with Charlie in DC and one with Marian and our family in Indiana. When I'm struggling, I think of that evening sitting across from her in the dining room. If she can adjust at 95, I can deal with anything. I’ll tell you more about my story with Irene next time.
Oh, Irene, you will be remembered fondly for generations 🥰
Irene was an amazing role model.