Franny's Eulogy

My parents gave me an older sister. The nuns at the Immaculata High School gave me a younger one. Her name was Valerie Jean McLenighan.

The only child of Wanda and James Mclenighan, Valjean was raised by her devoted mother who recognized early on that she was an extraordinary child. She received a scholarship to a private elementary school, skipped several grades, and entered high school at the age of eleven. That’s when I first met Valjean, almost fifty years ago. She had so many qualities that immediately drew me to her that it’s difficult to know where to begin.

There was her enormous love of learning. Although she figured out many clever ways to get out of study hall for more interesting activities, she often said that it never even occurred to her to cut a class. She devoured her studies, and it showed. She always focused on the goal—and pursued it with a passion, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone in the process.

There was her straightforward, unpretentious manner. Even back in high school, she meant what she said and said what she meant—without hesitation. Her strength and courage to stand up to anyone . . . Even the nuns, when she would question a doctrine—were impressive to witness.

Her creativity was unique, whether it was writing for the school newspaper, starring in one of the high school’s many plays, or being a cheerleader . . . Yes, that’s right. Valjean was a cheerleader—not your typical cheerleader, but rather one who wrote her own cheers to the tune of Peggy Lee songs and other jazz standards. She had a sophisticated appreciation and love for music even back then.

She visited me once at college, and I remember her kindness when she went out of her way to include a very shy roommate in our weekend plans. Inclusiveness was the name of Valjean’s game. She had a knack of making people feel special—letting them know that she truly cared about them.

She loved children. I don’t know who had more fun crawling around on all fours . . . Valjean or my kids. That love would be shared with the children of many of her other friends and demonstrated years later with her African family’s little Valjean and John Davies.

While some of her friends were raising families, Valjean was raising people’s consciousness of social issues that were having profound effects on many. Valjean truly made a difference.

Over the years, Valjean and I took about a dozen vacations together. And the one constant memory of our travels that remains most vivid is the laughter. I think I’ll miss her sense of humor most of all.

Valjean had a practical nature, and she couldn’t help speaking out against inequities, both large and small.

On a high school trip to new york, she ordered a snack from the hotel’s room service, and when it was delivered, along with the bill, Valjean immediately got on the phone and asked to speak to the catering manager. She said that she had never heard of such outrageous prices for a small bowl of chips and a few glasses of lemonade.

Another time, when she had just returned from one of her trips to Africa, we went to the movies, and when we bought some popcorn, she said to the kid behind the counter, “My African family could live for months on what we just paid for this popcorn.”

And when her picture was taken swimming with the dolphins in Puerta Vallarta on her final trip just a few months ago, she said “Eight dollars for a picture is obscene.”

Yet although she had been taught at an early age to be practical—even frugal—her generosity toward others was unparalleled.

We were coming out of one of her favorite Italian restaurants one night with our leftovers, when a homeless woman approached us and said she was hungry. We gave the woman our doggie bags, but Valjean did more: she touched the woman’s arm and said, “God bless.” And as we walked away, Valjean turned to me and said, “Damn, i was looking forward to having that fetuccini for lunch tomorrow.”

Her spirit of generosity continued . . . Even through her final months, and it was humbling to observe. When she was admitted to Northwestern hospital, she expressed concern about the long trips that many of her friends and family had to make to see her. When her doctors suggested hospice at Lincoln Park Hospital, her very first question was, “How much is the parking fee for visitors over there?” And on the second to her last day of life, when she was surrounded by her friends and family, I stood leaning over her, holding her hand, talking to her, and she looked up at me and said, “Sit down Franny, you’re going to hurt your back.”

She touched so many during her lifetime . . . Not just family and friends, but the guy selling streetwise on the corner, the incarcerated, the homeless, those plagued by afflictions and addictions, disadvantaged families both here and thousands of miles away. She felt it was her responsibility to reach out to them—to ease their pain—and to try to make the world a better place for them and for all of us. That was the heart and soul of valjean . . . The heart that I suspect will live on in ours forever and the soul that we’ll all join someday.

So let’s thank Valjean for being in our lives— for her love, her laughter, her strength, for always caring and for leaving her mark on our world. And although her death leaves an enormous void, let’s try to fill it with the many beautiful memories that she left behind.

~ Francine Friedman