Evelyn Ruth Beaver Kramer

So…she could have been a dairy maid; born with her sisters in a small Wisconsin village that made its living milking cows. Orphaned at ten, with her mother dying at thirty-three from tuberculosis, she took steps for her own independence through a one room school house and a tomboy attitude that brought her into contact with the men and farmers of the area. She was a crack shot with her single round .22 rifle. She was taken squirrel hunting with her dad and his friends because she could make accurate head shots that would preserve the meat. Her father, a self taught large animal veterinarian for the local herds, would take her along during his calls to help him with the animals. In the 1920’s, as an adolescent, she learned the importance of self-sustaining knowledge. With Wisconsin just beginning to search for academic talent through statewide testing, she was found to be one of the best students in the state for mathematics. It, together with a sense that academics was a pathway out of 4:30 AM and 6:00 PM milking duties, brought her to one of the three occupations open to women upon graduating from high school—teaching, nursing and secretarial work. At a time when teenage marriages were the norm, she managed to leave the confinements of rural Wisconsin. As a nurse at Mayo Clinic, she carried the badge of a nationally recognized organization. It gave her insight into more precise diagnostic techniques and a feeling for how basic nursing habits and the loving care that goes with it were half the battle in any recovery. She also heard her first opera and symphony there in the Mayo Clinic auditorium.

She left Mayo’s in 1936 in the hope of seeing the larger world. The US Navy gave her an early look at some of that world. As a Navy nurse during the pre-war years and the suspense of WWII, she held the hands of admirals and common seamen alike as they crossed over into what she hoped was an everlasting life. She partied with the best of them in Norfolk, the Naval Academy and the Naval Hospital on 23rd street NW, DC. In the summer of 1942, she found a husband who was an OSS operator. He convinced her after several failed attempts that he was the right one. She raised her children as Catholics: Catholic grade school, Catholic high school, Catholic university, etc. The Jesuits at Georgetown forgave my lapses at Princeton for which she was always grateful.

Some of her best memories were as a civil service nurse at Bethesda Naval Hospital where she listened to the cries of the new born—hopefully separated by a two inch panel of glass. She loved the way their short past and mostly present time formed a future hope.

For a time she managed homes in Fort Lauderdale, Fl and Arlington, VA. For the last fifty years she woke up to a classic view of the city from the Prospect House heights just behind the Iwo Jima Memorial. The alignment of the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, and the US Capitol were always perfect from her balcony because 54 years ago she had chosen it to be that way. She always knew what she wanted and somehow she always managed to have it that way. This funeral is a testament to that. This church, this flag draped coffin, the music of her faith are what she wanted.

She loved us. She loved my wife, Elaine, for the little things she did for her — madeleine cookies and sometimes tea when she could only smell and taste. Sweet Jesus, her lasagne soup. She loved her for the grandson she gave her. Erik was a core happiness to her that kept her alive for many more years than was genetically possible.

She felt cradled by my sister’s love which she tried to return even though she knew the burdens, as a mother, she had placed on her. She knew Eve’s strength would carry her to the end. She trusted Eve with her life…and with her death. God, please bless my sister.

I knew she loved me. I can feel that love now as much as then. Please watch over us and help us carry on.

As your nursing pin always proclaimed: AMOR VINCIT. LOVE CONQUERS.

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