Nina (Lowry) Marucci

Heroines undertake heroic labors. Here on the Walk, we will say that Nina Marucci (her maiden name, reactivated on retirement; she was Nina Lowry during her 25 years in Portland) earned heroic status through seven labors—and the number seven, beyond being favorite or lucky, was in her case a heroine's decoration, her shield and magic, a little heptacle totem that guided her through life's fears and trials.

Her most public labor was as an arts advocate. Following a stint at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, her happiest time, Nina hit town at the moment of change, in 1966, when culture and counterculture were ascendant, a more staid old Portland fading. Kay Corbett, who shared South Carolina roots with Nina's mother, hired Nina to run student programs at Portland State College, soon to be Portland State University. Nina quickly transformed the job into a state-system-supported engine for arts development and promotion. Over 25 years she lent her willful energy to the old Cabaret and poetry series; to the Northwest Film Center, American Theatre Company, Summer Session, Chamber Music Northwest, and Friends of Chamber Music; to PSU's piano series, dance department, Florestan Trio, opera program, and School of Fine and Performing Arts (now called the College of the Arts); and to Portlanders' cultural education, through steady exposure to world-class performers, many of whom she was the first to bring or present. Among striving local artists, Nina supported the serious, earnest, and joyful, however offbeat, while avoiding the pretentious or dissolute. She loved east-coast agents; her best pal was the late Pano Vlahos, who had the same job at Lewis and Clark College; together they shared hilarity and package deals. Nina knew "everybody and everything cultural," one friend said. She wanted a hand in all that was significant, quickly befriending prominent arrivals such as actors Anne and Tom Hill, conductors Larry Smith and Stefan Minde. Few local cells escaped her charm and influence, and when they did, she huffed.

Her most enduring labor was as a hostess, connector, and collector of people. A friend cited "... 7 times 7 people for whom I am grateful to Nina, who Nina brought into my orb or who once there were enhanced by Nina's generosity." The skill was inherent and blossomed quickly, nourished by her arts work, abetted by a gift in the kitchen and a tremendous co-hostess, her mother Henrietta, known as Mrs. Marucci or Marooch. Nina angled actively for post-event, pre-event, and special-event parties, used food and prominent guests as lures, and made her homes on Hall and Northrup Streets the places to be. But the mavening was as creative and generous as it was instrumental, as circles of artists and friends spread concentrically from her hearths. Unlike the arts work, the party-giving continued into retirement, as those who later joined her in Paris, London, or Venice will tell.

Her most important labor was as a friend. Generally, arts led to admirations, to generosities, to shared projects and experiences, to bonds of lasting love. One friend remembered her "... impatience with social climbers, pompous people and those who refuse to see things as they are ..."; but for those she found real, with whom she clicked, Nina worked to be a helpful force emotionally, playfully, and professionally. In the early days when social upheaval arrived, she became to some a special sort of friend, guide, beacon, and closet revolutionary in establishment drag. "She stood with many of us in those long ago days of student struggle and cultural adventure," wrote the same friend. "Nina's great heart and courage made me and mine braver and wiser."

Her most difficult labor was in her departures. There were four, all wrenching. Her style was to embrace them and move on. The first was from her hometown, Cincinnati, leaving her mother and beloved Italian violinist father, Virginio; it's thought she returned once, to bury him. The second was from Corvallis and her marriage, whence to Ashland and PSU; she returned twice, for parties. The third was from America; she returned three times, for paperwork, an operation, and a Broadway production of Sondheim. She came to wear the not-returning habit as another heroine's emblem. Some visited her in Paris retirement, but others were baffled, not grasping that life in Portland finally became discombobulated as her ability to make things happen diminished with the march of time. The fourth departure was from this earth, one she did not embrace, but endured, heroically.

Her most joyful labor was in her constant, energetic action. Here another friend's words suffice: "Time spent with Nina was never ordinary. She never stood still, mixing life and love and art and the good people she believed in, pulling all inward like a whirling dervish and leaving all exhausted and blinking with disbelief when she departed."

Her most applauded labor was her philosophy for living. "I never stopped marveling at Nina's joy in life," wrote an old friend about their visit to Buenos Aires, Nina's last trip overseas. "She brought all her armor: talking to strangers ... scouring the papers (in Spanish, of course) for that unusual event we could take in, resulting, for one, in a lovely evening performance of historic tango in a sumptuous theater supper club that I haven't been able to find ever since, which causes me to wonder if it really happened." "She brought the right degree of humor," wrote another, "... a jaded world view that stopped just short of cynicism. Someone else [said] she helped shape their worldview and in that, I heartily concur." A third friend summed it up: "Nina taught me so much about life, relationships and having the courage to be happy and thrive."

Her most elusive labor was in her uniqueness, edged with innate brilliance. Beyond the distinctive expressions of drive, will, force, action, energy, accomplishment, and constant enfolding involvement on display when she was with others, when she was alone—early a rarity, later, less so—evidence of the brain that ran it all would emerge. Nina would read a book a night, sight-read Bach, complete the most difficult New York Times crosswords, overcome the most inscrutable device instructions, and memorize the escalators at every Paris transit stop. Past 60, she learned enough French to start a new life. She was, as one friend put it, "... a special creation." The brain never gave out.

Family were often bystanders to Nina's wild rides, sometimes laborers, willy-nilly, but often enough partners, and always beneficiaries. The little family at the core of the big one she built—Marooch, sons Pete and Sam, daughters-in-law Hélène and Elaine, grandsons Simon and Eric—were as central to her heart as they were to her existence, just as she was to theirs. Her heroine's approach to parenting was as entertaining as all of her seven labors.