Elizabeth Marie Fox

God and the angels with Charles William Fox, welcomed home to heaven his beloved wife of 62 years, Elizabeth Marie Sulger on Sunday, February 22, 2015. She died surrounded by a sad yet also grateful family. Elizabeth was our dearly loved wife, daughter, mother, sister and friend, who dedicated her whole life to us. Along with Chuck, it is hard for her survivors to think of a more generous, unselfish person. Her every thought and every act was for the care and comfort of her loved ones. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” was always the guiding principal of her children’s lives, and with Charles’ “rule”, “you are your brother’s keeper” together they provided the key stone for our own life choices, as we all strive to live ethical lives based on their incredible example.

Elizabeth was born in Walton, New York, a beautiful small town in the Catskill Mountains on September 2, 1923, to William and Velma Sulger, becoming the only sister to her dear brothers Victor, Robert, William and John. A great story teller like our daddy, she attended a one room school house and lived many adventures in a family of all boys- she regaled us with many tales of their mischief-making, of small pleasures like making homemade ice cream only in the winter when there was snow, shivering happily around the pot-bellied stove. She graduated from Walton High School, enjoying her home economics classes the most, and we were all the happy recipients of her delicious baking. Our uncles tell us that she had to fend off her hungry brothers, carefully measuring perfectly equal portions of her molasses cake to each. The tradition continued with us as she carefully divided her incredible apple pies among her own children and their families, as we in turn waited our “fair share.” Whether it was homemade cookies to help us through our homework, or mailing us birthday “care packages” when we were away with our favorite cake, or the table laden with dozens of cookies for all of the neighborhood in LA, mom’s food is one of our most precious memories. Even though the cookies were so good they could be rather distracting, mom was there to keep us on track with our homework with a glass of milk, and to dry our tears of frustration if we were struggling with something. She always believed in us and made us believe in ourselves.

Sharing with others and sacrificing her own interests were just how she lived her life. A petite lady of incredible inner strength, a heart bigger than she was, she survived the hard- ships of the Great Depression. Elizabeth worked in summer resort camps in the Catskills, working 6 ten hour days, in the Creamery in Walton, and then during World War II, she inspected Army-Air Force magnetos for U.S. planes in a war plant in Scintilla. Some of those magnetos made their way into the planes our father kept flying as a Crew Chief on P-47s in the Philippines, and it was during the war that the two, connected by family ties, began what became a great three-long-year war-time romance of constant correspondence. Doing her patriotic duty writing to her brothers in the service, she also wrote to Chuck. Our “grandpa Charlie” Fox, married Elizabeth’s half sister Margaret. The letters are a treasured part of our family and even nation’s history, documenting life on the home and war fronts in thoughtful and heartfelt detail. Slowly acquaintance turned to love, and they married in April after the war ended.

Then it was “California here I come” and a brave new life as Elizabeth and Charlie left their beloved New York for Los Angeles, where daddy made the transition from war time to commercial aviation. They raised four adoring children, Glenn Fox (married to Diana), Carol Fox, Catherine Fox-Anderson (married to James), and James Fox (married to Gladys). Diana, Jim and Gladys are so grateful because Elizabeth welcomed them unreservedly into the family, always had a compliment whether for a pretty Christmas tree or a job success, and even in her last days waved goodbye to us all at the front window with each visit. Whether traveling far and wide, or just home from a visit with her, she’d wait anxiously by the phone to hear we had arrived home safely. Even Space Shuttle astronauts had my mom’s heart fly with them, as she would watch over them until the shuttle safely touched earth. Her brave heart so admired theirs.

Elizabeth was the loving and nurturing grandmother to Karin Fox and Benjamin Charles Fox-Anderson. Karin remembers the math games she played with her, and Ben loved the orange frosting drizzled muffins. Through good and bad times as for all of us, Grandma was faithful and non-judgmental, a rock of unconditional love. Ben and Karin remember her hugs, her smile at their young energy, and most of all, her faith and belief in them. She even learned to drive on scary LA freeways so Jimmy and Cathy could attend the best schools! We always had a home with her. We feel so blessed to all live still in California, near their beautiful Santa Monica Mountains of Agoura Hills, and to have had such a long life with her. She and daddy instilled in all of us a deep love for this California land and her people, black or white, rich or poor. At heart a small town girl, Grandma did miss upstate New York- just not those cold snowy winters!

Elizabeth loved listening to Lawrence Welk’s music every Saturday night, providing us with a rich musical heritage; preparing us countless picnics for the park on weekends and 4th of July fireworks with our best friends the Danny and Laverne Hernandez family; socializing with daddy’s union brothers and sister and their families; airshow trips to Reno camping out with new and old wartime friends; taking wandering day trips around California back roads and across the U.S., always visiting us where we lived, whether Boston or Colorado or Auburn, and in the springtime, she loved spending hours with us in the desert chasing fields of California poppies and lupine. She and daddy enjoyed with us summers back in Bridgeport and Walton, where we all treasure memories of long summer days, fireflies, fireworks, games and cook-outs, preparing nutritious home-grown foods for us and all of our aunts, uncles and cousins.

She comforted us when we were sick or hurt, patiently helped us with our homework, drew little pictures on our lunch sack napkins with hearts or pumpkins or Christmas trees according to the season with an “I love you! Have a good day”, supported our adventures and dreams with an undying love. Her daughter Carol, with the help of the family, guided the care for mom and daddy to the last days, and of course, mom, ailing with time herself, was still more worried for her well-being and happiness, as with all of us, than her own. Elizabeth looked after her own mother through the years, and then her Aunt Helen in her last days, passing on by example her legacy of family. She welcomed everyone, always finding a kind word about Diana’s pretty Christmas trees, and waving hello and goodbye to Hilda each time we were together. Her wave and smile from her chair, daddy’s, too, we all coming and going, are like love book-ends, a visual hug we all will miss.

The poppies are in bloom, the blue lupine soon to follow. It’s a welcome sign of the new life of peace and joy she is now so deservedly living. A woman of a quiet and humble spirituality of her Methodist childhood, she never imposed, but gave us the freedom to choose our paths and our consciousness. Glenn cherishes the yummy picnics in Centinella Park, Carol mom’s intellectual faith and giving her career freedom, Cathy, mom setting her free to study and travel, Jimmy the milk and cookies with homework… we love Elizabeth Marie Fox forever, and wait anxiously too for the day when we are reunited in heaven. Meanwhile, with every precious song she loved, every wild flower we see, with every road we take, she sends us her undying love.

Elizabeth is survived by Bill and Annie Sulger of Walton, NY John and Betty Sulger of High Point, NC, Patricia Fox and Michael Hogan of Bridgeport New York, her children and their families, and dear generations of nieces, nephews and friends.