| Story1: |
Oscar C. Martin was born 5 December
1891 and died 19 November 1958, aged 66 years, W. Mack Johnson Funeral Home.
Esther V. Martin was born 24 August 1893 and died 22 March 1976, aged 82
years, Craver Funeral Home. They are both buried in Section 4 of
Greenlawn Cemetery, Milford OH.
Elizabeth "Liz" Ann Martin was born 16 June 1931 and died 18 August 2010, aged 79
years, Craver-Riggs
Funeral Home & Crematory. |
| Story 2: |
Shortly after the death of Liz Martin,
Steve Early wrote an excellent article about her for Village Views
(September 1010).
"When I was a kid, Terrace Park seemed to be full
of really interesting and unique individuals and one of the best examples
was Elizabeth Martin. You may have known her as Liz, or 'the poodle
lady' or 'the lady on the bike with headphones' - I knew her as Libby and
was saddened to hear that she died on August 18th at the age of 79.
Almost everyone knew her, most people would stop and talk with her, some
even knew what time it was just by seeing her come down the street on her
bike, or on foot, or walking her standard poodle - she had many of them over
the years.
Liz lived in the same house on Lexington Avenue all of
her life. According to the building survey, her parents bought the
house in 1927 and Liz was born in 1931. At her funeral people
remembered her as a child sitting high in an old tree in the yard reading
poetry aloud to anyone who happened to pass by. She was a graduate of
the University of Cincinnati and a life-long supporter of her alma mater.
Although she never married or had children, it was made clear by old friends
that she was not to be thought of as any kind of old maid or spinster.
She was world traveled, sharp and knowledgeable about politics and sports,
had many suitors and enjoyed a rich and full life as a strong, independent
woman. She was a generous supporter of the Cincinnati Art Museum,
Cincinnati Zoo, Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, the Salvation Army and
Cincinnati Public Radio.
I first knew her as a friend of my grandparents.
Many summer nights, we would eat on the porch at Home street, and she would
always stop in on her evening walk for ice cream. Not long ago, my
father had stopped to talk with her while she was walking her poodle.
As they conversed, the dog gave him a little bite. 'Libby,' he said.
'your dog just bit me.' She quickly replied, 'Don't worry- it's not
personal. He bites everyone.' It's arguable that nobody
enjoyed the village more than she did. Hardly a day went by when
she wasn't seen somewhere on these shady old streets that she had known all
of her life. She was a great person and the village is better for
having had her." |
