Birth date: Sep 25, 1931 Death date: Mar 26, 2022
Born September 25, 1931, in Long Beach, California, Patricia Lou Vanzant Deen belonged to the generation that’s been called “the Greatest” — and “Pat,” as she was known, was no exception. Her upbringing was split between the Cali Read Obituary
Oh wow! Truly she was like my second mom always related to me and you and Pam were my sisters more than friends. Your mom had this spunk in her she made life fun. She let me drive that mercury comet convertible and trusted me! She made me laugh she made me feel loved and needed thru my teen years. God knew I needed someone. I called her last year and her mind was so sharp she was like I was talking to her back in the good old days. Her smile, her humor she was beautiful! You got to have her a long time sweetie, but sorry she had to go. I love you my dear Patti, so many memories. Hugs and prayers for hard times right now losing her and Pam and Chuck!
Wonderful obituary! Pat, or Mrs. P as I called her, was hard to capture in words. I never met anyone who told better stories. In the early 2000s I moved across the street from her and Mr. P (Poppy). He immediately brought to my front door a plate of warm cookies, made from the recipe inside of the Quaker Oats canister but which he tweaked in his special way (extra chocolate, dried cranberries, etc.). When I returned the empty plate a couple of days later I met Pat, sitting at her kitchen table in a robe, her hair a mess, smoking a cigarette and drinking lukewarm black coffee. I would learn she sat at this table much of the day, surrounded by mail and magazines and, most importantly, the Morning News, where I was a reporter. Pat read EVERYthing I wrote, first thing every day, and she was always ready to tell me about it. I was magnetically drawn to her house every morning for coffee and to hear her talk (if she hadn't finished the pot of coffee the day before, she'd simply microwave the leftover). She always shot you straight. Her speech was peppered with old-timey vocabulary and I'd feel inexplicably transported to the time period and place of her experiences.
From her kitchen chair, Pat could directly see my front door and tell when I came and went and who visited. Nothing escaped her. "Who was that?" "Where have you been?" For a gal like me with no relatives nearby, she was instant family and I happily complied with her wish that I call her "Mama." I was (one of her) "brown-eyed girls." I took in foster children for a while and she was happy to report any errant behavior or things seemingly out of order. When I entered a hopeless marriage, she always listened, supported me, and never made me feel as foolish as I surely was. Though she was tough as nails, she never refused anyone; the person calling for a donation always received a check, and to a fault she always helped neighbors and friends who asked.
Those were amazing years and I'll never be able to replace her; I hung upon every word of her stories about growing up with a undiagnosed broken hip, her relationship woes, single parenting, her many lifelong friends, a long-ago boyfriend who took her across the globe but ultimately "got away" (but whom she'd go back to California and marry after Poppy died --- in his 90s that man was crotchety and confining, but she tolerated him and maintained a loving relationship with his sons). We all cheered for joy when she moved back to Arkansas after the passing of that third husband. Who else but Pat would tell you so plainly what you needed to hear? Her words were never tainted with propriety. Once, I hadn't seen her for a stretch; as soon as I came in the door she looked me up and down and said, "So, how much weight are you going to gain?"
Much love to Pat's family; you've had a difficult road with many losses. Patti, you are the most faithful daughter that I've ever observed, you were her greatest gift. Thank you for sharing her with us all.
