Isabel Mildred Langston Sudler

Even at the age of ninety-five, Isabel Mildred Sudler was a quick-witted, self-reliant, unassuming woman whose optimism and spirit were deeply contagious. Although she never had children of her own, Isabel served as beloved matriarch of the Langston family, presiding over four appreciative generations. Friends and family alike treasured her company, especially one-on-one. All will miss the endless conversations, the banter, and the stories. Instinctively, Isabel listened, encouraged, and inspired.

Her upbeat attitude and easy humor belie the many hardships Isabel faced in her early years. Born in her grandmother’s cabin in Harlowton, Montana, Isabel survived a blinding blizzard that stranded the family overnight when she was only nineteen days old. When she was just two, her mother died, leaving Isabel without even a memory of her. Older siblings, Harold and Mary, stayed with their father, Charles Langston, but he was unprepared to raise little Isabel or baby Jenny. The infant was farmed out to family, but, by the age of four, Isabel was relegated to an orphanage in Butte, Montana. Her sister, Mary, eleven years her elder, rescued her just in time for Isabel to attend first grade back in Harlowton.

In 1929, Charlie and Harold headed for Oregon, and ten-year-old Isabel soon joined them, making much of the train trip by herself. Occupied as a housepainter in Portland, Charlie sent his grade-school daughter to a neighbor during the week, with the understanding he would pick her up for the weekend. One Friday, Charlie imbibed too much of his paycheck and arrived very late. The neighbor called the police, and both father and daughter were carted off to jail for one infamous night!

Placed briefly into foster care, Isabel was alone and confused. Fortunately, her sister, Mary, soon became her legal guardian and moved her to Salem. Mary, her husband, Doc, and Isabel lived modestly in a rental on Commercial Street. Restaurant and cannery jobs paid the bills, but Isabel changed schools often, making it hard to establish friends. During her high school years, Mary and Doc bought a farm, leaving Isabel in the city during the school week to nanny in exchange for food and shelter. To earn her lunch, she left class early to work at a tiny sandwich shop.

Just before her graduation in 1938, Isabel made her move to Portland. By then, her brother, Harold, owned a downtown restaurant called Jack ‘n Jill’s, and Isabel began her career as a waitress. Earning thirty-five cents an hour and living at the Cornelius Hotel with big brother Harold seemed like heaven. The restaurant workers and cab drivers were like a big family stretched up and down Park Avenue. Harold was well-liked and respected and kept his baby sister on the straight and narrow.

During World War II, an up-and-coming restaurant owner hired her to work at Leonard’s card room at Vanport. It was a favorite spot for the workers recruited to build warships for Kaiser. She loved her boss, and moved to St. John’s to help him out at a bar on Lombard Street called “Idle Hour.” In the summer of 1946, Isabel worked extra hours at the Diamond Horseshoe Bar on Broadway & Stark, where she met an easy-going, likable bartender named Jimmy Sudler. Isabel thought of herself as “a mouse,” but mutual friends were convinced they would make a great couple and instigated the match. Three years later, they were married in Vancouver, Washington.

In 1952, Isabel settled in at the Embassy Club, a favorite lunch and dinner spot for young attorneys, police officers and bail bondsmen who all seemed to know Isabel by name. She became a fixture there, holding the position for eighteen years. In 1956, Isabel and Jimmy bought a small ranch house in inner Southeast where she lived until her death. A parade of dogs and cats was part and parcel of her life, and they were treated like royalty. Family members, whether they needed a place to stay or just an hour to talk, were always welcomed.

A long-time smoker, Jimmy was a victim of cancer, leaving Isabel alone in July 1987. After so many years on her feet, others might have retired. But Isabel kept on, moving to the Red Lion Motor Inn where she became a valued employee and popular mentor for a young wait staff.

Over the years, she was also a much-loved mentor and companion for Harold’s big family. His four children (Dick, Ray, Julie and Steve) and eight grandchildren formed a special bond with their Auntie Is. Succeeding generations shared that closeness because Isabel was a delight. Her attitude toward old age was simply to ignore it. Although she suffered from hearing loss for decades, her mind was sharp and her outlook youthful. It was in these later years that she lost some of her innate shyness and became a connected and cherished neighbor and friend. To the end, she could charm anyone who walked through her door, including the caring Hospice team who visited during her last month of life.

In those final weeks, family and friends filled her living room daily. She relished the company. “If I knew I was going to get this much attention,” she quipped, “I’d’ve gotten sick a long time ago.”

Pancreatic cancer was the tough adversary that brought her down, but, until her final days, she was able to enjoy the love of family, friends, and the last of her rescued felines, Sally Belle. Her absence leaves us heartbroken, but we know we are better people for having known her and will hold her close even now.