Ramcharan-Crowley

PEORIA – Patricia A. Capitelli, 87, of Peoria died at 5:30 p.m. Wednesday, Jan. 1, 2014, at Lutheran Hillside Village. Patricia was born in Peoria on May 25, 1926, a daughter of Michael and Elsie (Schneblin) Crowley. She first married Gerald O’Connor, but they later divorced, leaving her in sole custody of five sons then aged 5 to 16. She left Northwestern University after her junior year to marry, returning to school at Bradley University in her late 30s to complete her undergraduate degree. She then taught English at Peoria High School in the late 1960s and early 1970s. She then earned a master degree from Bradley in counseling and joined Bergan High School, working as a guidance counselor until her retirement in the mid-1980s. Patricia’s quarter-century career in education was a source of great pride for her, particularly because she had been a stay-at-home mother for so long beforehand. In 1976, she married Richard Capitelli, whose first wife had died. Richard died in 1998, but their 22-year marriage was a fulfilling and happy one. A lifelong Peorian, Patricia had a rich life. She grew up with a successful father who thought she was perfect; and her stylish mother always gave her a once-over before she left the house in her youth. She and her second husband enjoyed early-morning walks around Madison Golf Course near their home and reading poetry to each other. She was a voracious reader who made friends with library workers because she visited so often. She loved travel, fine dining, cultural events and shopping for sales. “She was the only woman I know who saved money by spending it, “ her husband liked to say of her. Patricia was especially close to her only sibling, her brother, Daniel Crowley, who traveled the world despite being in a wheelchair and brought her jewelry from many exotic locales. He died in 1998. Even after suffering from dementia in recent years, her personality and wit shone bright, making her a popular resident at her retirement home. She is survived by her five sons, Michael (Janet) of Tucson, Jerry (Joyce) of Houston, Daniel of Vineland, NJ, Matt (Marie) of Glen Ellyn, Ill., and Paul (Karin) of Chicago; a stepson, Steve (Cathy) Capitelli of Oconomowoc, Wis.; 10 grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren. Funeral Mass will be 11 a.m. Saturday, January 11, 2014, at St. Mark Catholic Church. Msgr. Brian Brownsey will officiate. Visitation will be from 4-7 p.m. Friday, January 10, 2014, at the Waters of Life Chapel at Lutheran Hillside Village, 6901 N. Galena Rd. An additional visitation will be from 9:30-11 a.m. Saturday, January 11th prior to the Mass at the church. Cremation rites will be accorded following the Mass. Burial of ashes will be at a later date in Resurrection Cemetery. Wright & Salmon Mortuary is handling the arrangements. In lieu of flowers, the family requests memorials are made to Bradley Universty. Tributes and condolences may be submitted to www.wrightandsalmon.com.

EULOGY FOR PATRICIA CROWLEY O’CONNOR CAPITELLI St. Mark’s Church January 11, 2014 What do you say about a mom who often remarked that her dad felt she was perfect? OK, she wasn’t quite perfect, but don’t let any of her sons hear otherwise. She was everything we needed – and more. Despite a house full of five rambunctious boys, she reigned with class, dignity, love and a sweet disposition that made her a pleasure always to be around. One example: My mom was a neat-freak, but she let us have the run of the house when we were young, making a mess with blocks, balls and toys, and then she would swoop in at night to put everything back in order. Her finest moments came during the darkest days of our family life. Abandoned by my father, she became the sole caretaker of her five sons. Her greatest legacy will be that her strength kept our family together, a gift that will have meaning for generations to come. She confided years later that she contemplated ending her life at the time of the divorce. Instead she embarked on a new life, fortified by the love of her parents, Elsie and Mike Crowley, who were then in their 70s, and her brother, Dan, an anthropology professor in California who sent a $100 check every month as well as his encouragement. She had been a stay-at-home mom for 16 years, but suddenly she needed to earn an income to support her boys who were all still in school. Two decades earlier, she had left Northwestern University a year before graduating in order to marry. In her late 30s, she returned to the classroom, a most unusual undergrad for those days. But Bradley University made her feel welcome. On the day my mom graduated with honors, the Peoria Journal Star ran a feature about her accomplishment. “Student to get degree today to surprise, pride of 5 sons,” the headline read. I’m not sure we were all that surprised really. She thoroughly enjoyed teaching English at Peoria High School, but after quite a few years she decided to return to Bradley for a master’s in counseling in part because of the long hours she spent after school grading all those essay assignments. She joined Bergan High School as a guidance counselor and became known for a caring style and her glowing letters of recommendation that catapulted some kids to college who might not otherwise have been accepted. For many years later, in grocery stores, restaurants and shops in Peoria, my mom would run into former students who praised her as a teacher and counselor. That meant a great deal to her. As a reporter, though, I feel obligated to give the unvarnished truth about mom, even though her dad might have felt she was perfect. She hid her favorite chocolates from her children in a nightstand by her bed, you know those milk chocolate clusters with nuts. She was terrible at playing the card game Old Maid with her grandchildren, making it obvious whenever she had that old maid card in her possession. And, yes, she cheated at Solitaire. She could also be an easy target of practical jokes. My son Matt once left some fake poop on her kitchen floor. His grandmother didn’t think her little dog Sam could make such a large deposit and wondered aloud if my son, Dan, then only a few years old, was to blame. That’s about it when it came to any faults as far as I’m concerned. I can’t remember a time that I didn’t feel better after talking to my mom. Not quite a month ago on my birthday, I told my wife Marie that I wouldn’t be hearing from the one person I wanted to talk to the most. My mom’s dementia kept her from reaching out like that. Marie arranged with a staffer at Lutheran Hillside Village, her retirement home, to talk to mom by phone. They had alerted her it was my birthday, and she was singing happy birthday to me as I picked up the phone. She was a strikingly good-looking woman who did not try to hide her fondness for the opposite sex. In her later years, after some mini-strokes, she surprised more than a few men as they passed by with a friendly swat on their rear. Half a century ago after her divorce, my mother made another sacrifice for her sons by not rushing into dating. More than a decade later, in 1976, she married Richard Capitelli. The two enjoyed a very happy 22-year marriage, living in my mom’s big brick house atop Martin Luther King Avenue, the one with the distinctive red barn. He wrote her poetry. I’ll end with one he entitled “Patricia.” The first letter of each of its eight lines spelled out her first name. Patricia is a perfectionist Always clean and neat Tidy to the nth degree Ready to serve Inconsolable if Caught with her hair down Impossible expectations Always