90, some speculated that Dorothy Von Drehle might go on indefinitely, a timeless affirmation of
spunk and spirit. What a surprise that time caught up to her scarcely a year later. Dorothy died
Oct. 19 after a short illness.
A lover of stray dogs and underdogs, she was born Dorothy Ann Love on March 27,
1929, the fifth of seven children in the crowded little home of George and Bessie (Harrison)
Love. Despite growing up in the Great Depression, this athletic girl with her sunny disposition
felt lucky, because her father always had enough work at the railroad station in Muskogee, Okla.,
to support the large Love clan.
Still, money was tight. After high school, Dorothy economized by attending Muskogee
Junior College and living at home before enrolling at Oklahoma A&M (now Oklahoma State
University). Though she received a B.A. in Education in 1951, like many women of her
generation she jointly pursued her MRS—as they said in those days—and married her longtime
boyfriend Richard Von Drehle a week after graduation.
She was a happy homemaker, mother to her own large and busy brood of six children
born over a span of 15 years. Her carpets usually bore the marks of recent vacuuming; her
husband’s shirts and underwear were always freshly ironed; she stitched and patched her
children’s clothes and the whole family sat down to a home-cooked dinner just about every night.
And still there was enough energy for the PTA, for room-mothering at the grade school and denmothering
with the Cub Scouts. Through it all, she nurtured a wide circle of friends thanks to a
telephone with a long, curly cord that stretched behind her as she whirled through her work.
Yet whatever the opposite of a “helicopter mom” might be, Dorothy was it. Her kids
roamed far and wide, largely unsupervised. Wrecking the occasional bike or setting the
occasional grass fire or learning to rappel from the second floor using a jump rope, they
nonetheless always returned alive—sometimes having learned a worthwhile lesson. Dorothy got
a kick out of hearing, decades later, some of the shenanigans they had been up to.
Her lifelong interest in education drew her into the political life of Aurora, Colo., where
the family settled for a number of years starting in 1965. A free-thinking moderate who drifted
leftward with time, she was the rare American who voted for both Barry Goldwater and George
McGovern, in both cases because she hated the Vietnam War. She chaired a successful bond
issue campaign to fund new schools for the burgeoning suburb and narrowly lost her bid for a
seat on the Board of Education. Dorothy served on the executive committee of the Colorado
State PTSA and wrote a weekly column for several years in the Aurora Sun. She also joined a
neighbor in thwarting a plan to clear-cut mature cottonwood trees from the banks of the High
Line Canal—threatening, if necessary, to chain herself to a particularly majestic specimen.
That phase of her life was a casualty of the divorce boom of the 1970s, in which she and
many of her friends unexpectedly became single moms. Thrust into the job market at 45,
Dorothy scrambled to convert her volunteer experience into marketable skills with two kids still
in grade school. A receptionist position at the local mental health agency led to a similar role
with Farmbank Services in Denver. In 1981, she went to work organizing continuing education
courses at the University of Denver’s School of Business. By the end of her 16-year career at the
University, she was a senior member of the Department of Institutional Advancement. The
University honored her with the Pioneer Award for distinguished service.
In retirement, Dorothy continued to serve her beloved DU through the volunteer
Women’s Library Association. She lunched with favorite professors and staff members and
continued her longstanding practice of opening her Denver home to students in all manner of
need. Her children who visited from out of town learned not to be surprised by a new face
coming up the stairs in the morning or returning “home” at night. Along with the robust
congregation of dogs in residence, and the steady companionship of her youngest daughter, these
additions to her household kept things jumping—just the way she liked them.
Though she often pronounced herself “older than dirt,” in truth Dorothy was winsomely
youthful and reliably game. She traveled the country watching grandchildren progress from the
crib to graduation day, and from the altar back to the crib. She was quick with a laugh, sage with
advice, and liberal with popcorn and ice cream. A passionate and knowledgeable sports fan (a 9-
sack loss by her Denver Broncos was the only part of her last week on Earth that visibly
disappointed her), Dorothy was asked once at a Major League Baseball game what her walk-up
song would be if she batted for the Colorado Rockies. Having no difficulty picturing such a
possibility, she swiftly replied: “ ‘Okie from Muskogee!’ ”
Her list of survivors is long.
Two brothers: Jack and Jim Love.
Six children: Richard Von Drehle (Christy) of Tulsa, Okla., Lynn Granello (Chris Stokes)
of Dallas, Texas, Carol Robinson of Portland, Ore., David Von Drehle (Karen Ball) of Kansas
City, Mo., Laura Von Drehle of Tucson, Ariz., and Janet Von Drehle of Denver, Colo.
Twelve grandchildren: Peter, Andrew (Katie), Chris (Colleen) and Chelsea Robinson;
Ben (Hayden) Von Drehle; Dominic and Maria Granello; Henry, Ella, Addie and Clara Von
Drehle; and Derek Von Drehle.
And two great-grandchildren: Beau Von Drehle and Cormac Robinson.
Too numerous to catalog is the collection of friends and relatives she carefully curated—a
few still living from childhood, others of recent vintage. She never stopped making friends.
Though she lived with intensity and championed justice, Dorothy was magnetic and forgiving;
thus, most people liked her and many loved her. All those who knew her won’t soon forget her.
Donations in Dorothy’s memory can be made to Our Place Clubhouse, a proven leader in rehabilitation of the mentally ill. https://www.ourplaceclubhouse.org/donate
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