Helen Gowen Cameron

Mrs. Cameron was a chemist and a homemaker.

She is survived by her husband, Reid Jr.; one son, Reid III of Fort Collins; and one daughter, Mercedes Cameron of Grand Junction.

Memorial contributions to HopeWest and Hospice Care Center, 3090B N. 12th St., Grand Junction 81506.

Helen Cameron

June 15, 1924 - December 15, 2015

""Don't tell me I can't!""

If she'd had a motto that've been it. Being born to two scientists (a geneticist and a microbiologist) was not all that common in the 1920s, but was just the first of Helen's many departures from the usual. Sharing her early upbringing with millions of fruit flies and thousands of mice apparently encouraged a strong interest in science, unusual for a woman of her generation, which in turn brought adventures, misadventures and more departures from the usual. After about three years of college, she quit to join the army (it was WWII after all) and was sent to Los Alamos, New Mexico because of her chemistry background, to join the Manhattan Project. Despite (or perhaps due to) the seriousness of the circumstances and the project they were engaged in, a lot of fun was apparently had, judging from some of the stories which, luckily, I won't repeat here. To sum up, while there Helen met and married her husband Reid. Isn't that romantic, to meet while building a bomb? They married secretly in Santa Fe on February 1st, 1946, secret because they didn't want to wait, but couldn't disappoint families at home anxious to share in a wedding and, more important, the party. That second wedding, the only one anyone knew about until just a couple of years ago when they let the cat out of the bag, was August 17th, 1946.

Thenceforth life revolved around taking on every challenge she could find and following first the nuclear reactor industry, and later also her children. She had two by birth, Mercedes and Reid, and many more by unofficial adoption. Seemingly, you became hers after she got to know you and saw your potential, and thereafter she knew better than you what was best for you. Education was primary and critical, but travel and exposure to as much as possible was encouraged as well. She taught us all to swear politely: ""You can say hell, damn, spit, but be sure to enunciate the last word."" Independently, and exceedingly uncharacteristically, she also taught us each how to bet on horse races. ""What?"" we've been saying this last week, ""she taught you that too?"" Ask any of us. We are what and who we are because of her.

Helen did everything! Like many women of her generation, she spent a great deal of her time on volunteer civic activities, politics and her children's interests, but she also did a lot of things just for the challenge of them or more often because someone said she couldn't. Her husband took a training reactor to the World's Fair in Brussels in 1958. Technicians were few and far between and very busy. Rather than wait for some to be available, she climbed down into the pool tank herself to begin the work. Later she bribed two with her silk stockings to get some help. She was a downhill racer in the early 1960s. She played third base on a softball team in her late 40s and early 50s, until she took a line drive between the eyes - then she became the coach. When her husband lost his job and was unable to find work, she became a general contractor and built and sold houses. She learned to mountain bike in her 70s.

She had her opinions and she didn't back down from them, despite the risk. (As children we named a goat Helen because she always had an opinion, from which she could not be budged.) Her greatest confrontations arose from her belief in the importance of women's equality and independence. Her husband's work took them around the world, living outside the US for months to years at a time. No big surprise, not everyone agreed with her opinions, especially when she had data to back them or worse, began sharing them with their wives. On one occasion, having discovered a deserted tennis court on a nuclear reactor compound in India, she began teaching the wives living there how to play tennis. A riot ensued when she encouraged them to hold their saris up above their knees in order to move around the court faster. (Fortunately for her they had ignored her when she suggested that wearing shorts would be even better.) After retiring, Helen and Reid traveled to Canada, Mexico and South America on archaeological digs and accompanying their wildlife photographer friend on his various photographing expeditions. He photographed, they carried the equipment. On one of these, as he was photographing an anaconda that had swallowed a capybara, Helen kept pouring water on it to keep it wet. She worried about the poor little 35 foot anaconda.

She was small (""Five foot two, eyes of blue..""), so we learned early that true power comes in small packages. Hence she was ""H"", because ""Helen"" was too long for all that ability and courage.

A celebration in her honor will be held on February 6th at Historic Redlands Community Center, 2463 Broadway, from 1:00 to 3:00.

In lieu of flowers. the family requests that donations be made to HopeWest Hospice, 3090B North 12th Street, Grand Junction 81506.

Published in The Daily Sentinel on Jan. 9, 2016.