MARLENE AIG, ASH, MBt
Remembering Mrs Turner
Marlene Aig (Mrs Turner to ASH) a noted journalist and stalwart of the New York Sherlockian scene, died in late April 1996, aged 43. Her concrete memorial is the anthology A Singular Set of People, which she and David Galerstein edited for Magico in 1990, but she’ll be remembered by many as a good friend. Marlene was one of the original Occupants of the Full House. A fortuitous typo in the Associated Press report called her “an award-wining journalist.” She’d have liked that.
–Roger Johnson, in The District Messenger,
The Newsletter of the Sherlock Holmes Society of London
No. 160, 15th May 1996
Marlene Aig embodied the Adventuress spirit through her award-winning journalism, her trip to the North Pole, and her zest for life. Two of her closest friends remind those of us who knew her of the friend we’ve lost and those who didn’t know her of what they’ve missed. These remarks appeared in The Serpentine Muse vol 13, no. 1, 1996.
Good Night, Marlene
My dear Marlene,
As you well know, despite my best intentions and your constant encouragement, I have never before submitted a contribution to The Muse. And now, having been an ASH for some fifteen years, it is with a heavy heart that I submit something which I never expected or wanted to write.
There was no wind coming on April 25, 1996, east or otherwise. The only cold and bitter blast I felt was the news that a ruptured aneurysm swept you away from us – forever. For days to come, I was reading the various writings about you – all written by your professional colleagues, all praising you as a reporter, as a loving and beloved friend, as a wonderful human being. You, who believed so strongly in accurate reporting, would have been pleased. Instead of repeating what has been so aptly and appropriately said before, I’d rather have a quiet talk with you.
My thoughts keep wandering to a happier April, seventeen years ago – my first ASH dinner. I know that was when we first met though it seem that you have always been a fixed point in my life. Your warm smile under a lot of bright red curls (all of them natural!) and your trademark constant chattering invited affection. I was impressed – you were already an ASH. Mrs. Turner (after all these years, it is still not clear to me why you chose this particular investiture – you said something about how she appeared once and was never mentioned again).
Ours was a friendship at first sight, a friendship that grew far beyond matters Sherlockian. There were hours, even days when we didn’t mention Holmes at all. Soon after our first meeting you asked me to share a room with you at “Autumn in Baker Street” and, slightly blushing, confided that you had this “bizarre” habit of always sleeping with the lights and TV on. (I saw nothing bizarre about this since I do exactly the same.) And that’s how we became perfect roommates. In addition, you didn’t mind that I smoked and I didn’t mind that you got up at the crack of dawn to work out at the gym. (Now, in my opinion, the latter is a bizarre habit!)
Our travels through the United States, Europe, and the Caribbean Islands were always filled with fun and laughter and provided the opportunity for leisurely discussions of our favorite topics: our nieces (becoming an aunt, twice, was the happiest adventure of your life), our amorous adventures (in our case, somehow they always turned into misadventures), Sherlock Holmes and Sherlockians (of course), occasionally some gossip (always well-meaning), our apartments (decorated in the same style), and the main obsession we shared – our beloved cats. It was during one of these long talks that the whimsical Sherlockian society of “The Canonical Capricorns” was conceived. (Our dear friend and the society’s third co-founder, Peter Crupe, will add a few of his thoughts in a postscript).
I am trying hard to accept the fact that I can no longer continue sharing so many of my favorite things with you. All I can continue to do is to love you and miss you. Good night, Marlene. As always and forever, we’ll leave the lights on.
Marina
P.S. Those weekend matinees aren’t the same without you. Of course, nothing is the same. You’ve left us all with a big gap, hard to fill, in the world of Sherlock Holmes. I’m still musically obsessed and football-crazed as ever. By the way, is there football in heaven? I certainly hope so. Remember, you’ll always be missed and never forgotten.
love,
Peter
