Remembering Penny

IN MEMORY OF PENNY KINTZER
12/23/47-1/24/07

I met Penny in 1972, when we were both 24 and life was little more than one big party. We never imagined our friendship would last 35 years, through ups and downs, across thousands of miles.

Though her legal name was Margaret, she always went by Penny (pictured here on the right, next to her sister Gail). Penny delighted in telling people she was named after a dog who lived in her Buffalo neighborhood, always followed by a hearty laugh. I remember many road trips in the 70s to visit her parents, Peg and Art, and her younger sisters, Gail and D.C. Sometimes those long, 500 mile weekend drives from Brooklyn to Buffalo were organized (quite literally) at the eleventh hour on a Friday night. Always the night owl, Penny sometimes left at midnight and drove till daybreak to surprise her family. In spite of occasional squabbles and differences of opinion, Penny's devotion to and affection for her immediate family were deep and enduring.

A graduate of Syracuse University majoring in Art, Penny was a talented illustrator and graphic designer. After a brief stint working in the World Trade Center at the New York State Department of Disability Determinations, Penny accepted a job at Ziff-Davis Publishing. After a few years at Ziff-Davis, Penny spent many years exploring different creative opportunities, many of them as a freelancer. Penny was never afraid to take on a new task, even if she wasn't quite sure how to approach it. I remember watching her work late at night applying press-type to a children's book layout, painstakingly measuring each line and positioning each letter, not realizing the easier and quicker method was photo typesetting. In later years, we enjoyed many laughs reminiscing about the Letraset fiasco.

I will remember Penny mostly for her sense of humor and comic view of the world. Over the years, our phone conversations and visits were punctuated with much laughter, and we both felt we were the only two people on the planet crazy enough to enjoy the things we found amusing. I loved her penchant for the weird and bizarre. Many people considered her eccentric, but she never seemed strange to me. I understood her fascination with food packaging and Cracker Jack toys. We shared a common appreciation for roadside kitsch, and the apartment we shared in the early 70s was full of tacky souvenirs that made us smile. Finding humor in any situation was a mutual priority.

I moved to New England in 1975, leaving Penny behind in New Jersey, but we never lost touch. There were frequent trips to NY and NJ, and an equal number of trips to Boston to see each other. This photo of Penny and Ruth, circa 1974, was taken in a Lower East Side watering hole which bore a large sign out front that said, "The Bar," where she often played pool and spent time with friends. Shortly after I left the Tri-State area, Penny became an apprentice sculptor at the Johnson Atelier in Princeton. A true Bohemian, she lived in a house deep in the woods away from downtown Princeton with other apprentices. They dubbed their house Isla de Basura ("Island of Garbage"). The New York to Philly Metroliner regularly roared through the back yard, day and night. I learned quickly that sleep was elusive when visiting Isla de Basura.

Unencumbered by possessions, Penny moved about freely over the next several decades. She lived in Florida for a short time and spent many years in Seattle. We kept in touch by phone and the occasional letter. In later years we emailed. Penny bailed me out of many "graphic arts emergencies" over the years, offering suggestions and help with projects I'd taken on that were obviously beyond my skill set. She encouraged me to accept challenges and nurture my creative self. Penny inspired me to learn layout, web design, and video editing. She was one of the first people who urged me to write.

The laughter and good times came to an abrupt halt in early 1991, when Penny's youngest sister, D.C., died in a car crash at 28. This tragedy would forever change Penny's life. Haunted for years, she struggled daily with addictions and loneliness, and somehow found the strength to move forward in spite of profound sadness and self-doubt. As always, Penny's salvation took the form a robust sense of humor that carried her through even the darkest of days.

Las Vegas was her home for the last several years. Life was sometimes difficult, and this past year Penny faced major health issues. Through good times and not-so-good times, we continued to connect by phone and email, and she always had something funny to say, no matter how badly things seemed to be going. We shared our joys, accomplishments, and concerns. She always had something positive to report and made me smile.

Penny's bold laughter will forever be with me. I can't pass a souvenir shop without thinking of her. She was a fiercely loyal friend; her commitment to our friendship never wavered. We shared our deepest secrets and accepted each other without question, even though we didn't always agree or approve of each other's choices. Penny's support and caring were unconditional, no matter what.

I will forever remember Penny as a courageous spirit with indomitable resolve to face personal challenges with tremendous strength and determination. She faced even the most daunting of circumstances with conviction and stamina. Penny persevered when others would have folded. She never gave up, and when I was tempted to quit, she helped me stay the course. It's hard to imagine she's gone.

Penny died suddenly last week. She had just taken a medical leave from her job and was about to travel to Arizona to stay with her dear friend Dorothy--a move she was sure would restore her health and give her a fresh start. The cause of her passing remains a mystery, though the Coroner's report alludes to heart failure. Penny leaves a sister, Gail, a niece, Sasha, and her longtime companion Dorothy. The song you've been listening to, Blackbird, is from a Kenny Rankin album she loved and played constantly in the early 70s. It's a song about freedom. Always a free spirit, Penny is finally free from her earthly chains. Farewell, old friend, you're free at last. You're home now, with D.C., Art and Peg. Thank you for decades of joy, laughter, and love. I honor your courage and strength, and will miss you deeply.

No tribute to Penny would be
complete without this song.