I first met Mary Corey when she was a young twenty-something reporter at the Baltimore Sun and I'd just come to work in the newspaper's art department. Although I left Baltimore nearly 25 years ago, there was a core group of women that I stayed connected with and that group included Mary. She passed away recently after a courageous battle with a particularly aggressive form of breast cancer. We were all better people for having known her. Her good friend, Susan Baer, a writer in Washington, D.C., gave this heartfelt speech at a luncheon following the funeral mass for Mary.


     I always liked to brag about being the one to have "discovered" the superstar who was Mary Corey. But in fact, Mary landed at the Sun back in the mid-'80s because of some of the qualities that made her so special: determination, resourcefulness and a zestful spirit. She had called me after I had spoken to one of her classes at the College of Notre Dame and asked if she could come work as an intern at the Sun Magazine.
     The magazine didn't even have a staff writer at the time, much less an internship program. But it wasn't too hard to convince Gil Watson, the AME for features, that we should bring on this spunky college kid. Mary was offering to come to work for free, an offer the Sun couldn't refuse. And then meeting Mary clinched the deal. She was bright, funny, adorable, enthusiastic, so sunny and personable, so eager to learn and to do anything she could. And she had multiple piercings in one ear, which I took as a sign of a maverick streak that I thought would really rattle the Sun of 1984 -- in a good way. And in fact that's just what Mary did. She was exactly what The Sun needed back then -- and every day after that for nearly 30 years.

     Mary made a profound mark on her hometown paper in ways the entire country and newspaper industry would come to know, rising to become the first woman editor in The Sun's 176-year history; the rare, inspirational leader who guided the paper through some of its most difficult days; a Pulitzer judge and highly respected journalist. But she left an even more indelible mark on the people she worked with through an unimaginably generous spirit -- she was all heart and no ego -- and especially on a circle of close friends to whom she was fervently devoted and who felt blessed to be in her life.
   
    These close friendships lasted year after year, decade after decade -- through weddings and births, through illnesses and deaths, through new pets and new jobs, through countless birthday lunches and beach vacations and Christmas eves, through so much laughter, through too many tears.
     Mary was the youngest in this group of women -- all of us current and former Sun colleagues -- and in the early days we felt a little like a mother hen, a little protective. Rebecca Corbett said she felt like Mary was the younger sister she never had. Mary loved to tell the story of how I had to gently break it to her one Monday morning at work that the reason her date, who was known for being a lovable rogue, had stood her up that Saturday night was because he had run off to New York to get married.

    But while we may have been early mentors and big sisters to Mary, it wasn’t long before the roles reversed. As the years passed, she became a role model to us. We looked up to her, admired her so much, watched in awe as she grew from the exuberant kid with so much potential to the extraordinary and beloved leader she became. In the end, we learned so much from Mary about strength and grace and generosity and kindness -- and how to be a friend.  
   
    Mary was a champion giver. Jan Warrington and I were talking about how our homes -- and closets and jewelry boxes -- are filled with gifts from Mary. Almost everywhere I look around my house, there is something beautiful from Mary. Jan remembers that she and Mary went to a Hopkins Christmas fair together and Jan saw a pair of earrings she really liked. In true Mary fashion, she bought them for Jan after Jan had left. Mary never followed the rules, even her own rules, when it came to giving. In 2011, when Mary turned 48, she threw a festive girls-only birthday party for herself. She very clearly requested no presents, but then gave each of several dozen friends a huge gift bag at the end of the party.

     Her big-heartedness extended not only to her friends, but to her friends' families -- spouses, siblings, parents, pets and, most of all, children. Rebecca recalls that Mary would ask for ideas for Christmas gifts for her daughter, Molly, who became like a niece to Mary. "Being the pragmatic type," Rebecca said, "I would tick off something useful, modest, earthbound. Mary would be appalled and say, ‘I'm not going to get that child a pair of tights!’ and instead come up with something that would evoke utter delight." Just this past December, Mary was once again appalled at Rebecca's suggestion: "I'm not going to get that child a colander!"
     
    Mary was also godmother to Catherine Cook's youngest child, Christine. Catherine recalls that for Christine's sixth birthday, Mary showed up with the very item that would be the object of every 6-year-old girl's desire: a purple feather boa. "She wore it so much that we had purple sparkly feathers floating around the house for months," Catherine recalled. "Mary was always so fantastic with children,” she said. “She knew exactly what would make them happy.”
   
    In fact, Mary spared no expense or attention to detail even when it came to gifts for strangers. One former Sun colleague recalled how Mary always helped organize the collection of Christmas gifts for needy students at Dr. Carter G. Woodson elementary and middle school in Cherry Hill. Patricia Fanning said: “She set out to see that her selections would be ideal gifts for each child.  Purchases only at stores where families can go to make exchanges. Gift slips taped to Barbie boxes so the child could choose to swap the plastic horse for a kitchen. And a great deal of consultation about the dimensions of a football meant for an elementary-middle school boy's hand." That was Mary.

   Of course, the most valuable gift she gave to so many of us was her friendship. It was no surprise that Mary's voice-mailbox was always full or that she couldn't keep up with her e-mail.  As Jan said, “We all marveled at her seemingly infinite capacity for friendship.”

     She would drop everything to be there for a friend -- whether it was going to Connecticut for Sandy Banisky's father's funeral or making a trip to Maine for Molly Corbett's college graduation. She organized birthday lunches and dinners, whisked a group of friends to New York to see “The Year of Magical Thinking” to thank them for being by her side after an especially difficult year, sent flowers if she thought someone might be feeling blue. “There are friends you know your whole life, and there are friends who go through life with you,” Ann Lolordo said. “Mary was the latter.”
    
      She was there for her friends in ways big and small. Jean Marbella recalls having a total meltdown in Mary's office one day, and then not knowing how to exit and get back to her desk in the newsroom without everyone seeing that she'd just been sobbing. Mary came up with a plan. She picked up a pen and notepad for herself -- and handed Jean a folder for her to bury her head in. As she walked Jean back to her desk, Mary scribbled in her notebook and, in her best boss lady voice, said, "Now, I don't think that graphic really works. You should reassign it." "By the time we got to my desk," Jean said, "I was laughing hysterically because I'm sure we fooled exactly no one."   
     
    Last week, I showed my daughter some photos of Mary and me from the '80s, and after commenting on our big hair, she said, "You look so happy there." It was true. It was impossible to be around Mary and not have a gigantic smile on your face or be falling down laughing. Everything was fun with Mary: whether it was big sinful breakfasts of blueberry pancakes or just walks in the park where she'd have to stop to coo over anything canine or feline. "Mary radiated warmth, shimmered with brightness, and made life just so much better," Rebecca said. "She brought summer, no matter the season."

    She also brought laughter, no matter the situation. Mary had this way of coming up with the perfect -- and often hysterical -- line to size up a situation. I remember phone conversations with Mary where I'd wished I'd had a tape recorder going because she was just so darn funny! Once, I was lamenting to her how depressed I was about a break-up with a guy who I really liked and thought was so good-looking. Without missing a beat, Mary said, "You know, he always reminded me of the Bob's Big Boy character." That’s a true girlfriend!

    Mary's unmatchable combination though -- the quality that was as disarming and unique as her blue/green eyes -- was this humor, this generosity, this humanity all wrapped around an indomitable strength of character. Jean Marbella recalls a memorable conversation with Paul Mattix, the love of Mary's life who battled lymphoma, with Mary by his side every moment until he died in 2005. Jean, who was features editor at the time, was exchanging emails with Paul, who was the night news editor. The subject turned to Mary and Paul said: "Mary is like a chocolate you bite into expecting a sweet, creamy center, but instead you get a ball bearing."

    Mary loved that description -- and it sure did fit. She endured so much over the last five years, more than any of us could imagine. Through it all, her spirit rarely wavered. Her determination to keep fighting was fierce, I think because she had so much love for so many and so much gratitude to spread around. Whenever one of us would tell Mary we loved her, she always responded: “I love you more!”
    
     As courageous as she was in her own battles, nowhere was her strength and enormous heart more apparent than in her devotion to Alice Steinbach, her good friend and former colleague who died of cancer a year ago. Mary took Alice to chemo appointments, cleaned her apartment, argued on her behalf, moved her to Seattle -- and then back to Baltimore -- and, as Jean wrote about last week in her beautiful story about Mary, rolled Alice's massive table down the street from her own home to Alice's. Mike Ollove, another close friend, said: “All of us were keenly aware during Alice's decline that Mary was fighting for her own life. That's what made her assistance to Alice so remarkable.”
    
     Alice's son, Sam, said he'll never forget Mary's kindness, especially a day in October 2010 when Mary took Alice and Sam for one last walk through the Sun newsroom before Alice was to move to Seattle. "Mary -- being Mary -- managed to be upbeat and keep things fun, even though I know she could sense it was a sad occasion for my mom," Sam recalled. "When we entered the newsroom, Mary had something nice to say about every single person we passed. She was so humble -- though clearly proud to have as colleagues such a talented group. I know my mom left the building that day feeling good about her visit. Mary had a wonderful gift for elevating people's spirit even in tough times."  

   It couldn't be more fitting that Mary made her life at, and went on to lead, a newspaper called the Sun. To those of us lucky enough to have had her as a friend -- and there were legions of us, from high school, college, the paper -- she was like the sun: bright, beaming, a person of infinite warmth who everyone just clamored to be near, and as Mary herself once said, defiantly happy. When she heard that a co-worker had expressed sorrow that she’d had to deal with so much adversity in her life, Mary was bewildered by the comment. “Why would he say that?” she confided to a friend, “I’m having a great life.”   
 
    In the last days of that great life -- an exemplary life -- her family was kind enough to read letters to Mary that some of her friends had written to her. Here’s a line from just one of those, written by Sandy:
    "You told us you were lucky to know us. But, my darling friend, you had that backward. You were the one who always deserved the best.  We were the ones lucky to have you in our lives. You pulled us all along with you, all of us awed by so much happy power in such a little blond frame. What a miracle you have been to us."
    
     A miracle, indeed. Like no one else. I know I speak for all of Mary's friends when I say, Mary, we will miss you every day and be grateful for your love and friendship every day and keep you forever close in our hearts. And I'll borrow one last line from Paul Mattix, who used to tell his sweet, beautiful, beloved Mary: Love you, love you, love you!

Mary's unmatchable combination though -- the quality that was as disarming and unique as her blue/green eyes -- was this humor, this generosity, this humanity all wrapped around an indomitable strength of character. Jean Marbella recalls a memorable conversation with Paul Mattix, the love of Mary's life who battled lymphoma, with Mary by his side every moment until he died in 2005. Jean, who was features editor at the time, was exchanging emails with Paul, who was the night news editor. The subject turned to Mary and Paul said: "Mary is like a chocolate you bite into expecting a sweet, creamy center, but instead you get a ball bearing."