Colin Devine, Staff Writer

We could all learn a lot from Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. Often the most ordinary things are also the most extraordinary. It is not one of the great heroes that saves the world, but Frodo Baggins, an “insignificant” hobbit. G.K. Chesterton penned these words in the early 20th century: “The most extraordinary thing in the world is an ordinary man and an ordinary woman and their ordinary children.” I think most would initially disagree with this idea. However, I am convinced that Marilyn Coleman, a South Dining Hall monitor whom most of us have probably looked at 500 times but never seen, would realize the truth and beauty of Chesterton’s idea. As I interviewed Marilyn, I was struck by her sincerity, sentimentality, and simply beautiful story.

Marilyn was born in Indiana some years ago. (My mom and sister drummed it into me from the time I was born that one of the questions you never ask a woman is how old she is.) The first memory she shared with me involved an achievement she and a group of friends accomplished when they were 16. She told me that there used to be a racetrack with a run-down concession stand in South Bend.  “Everyone told them” they would be unable to run the concession stand, but they started one up and ran it effectively. It was touching to see her genuine pride still shining over this accomplishment after several decades. The concession was also the place where the romance of her life would begin.

He was the 23-year old racecar driver, and she was the concession stand operator near the track. Sounds like the first lyrics to a Fun. song, I know. Some of Marilyn’s friends encouraged her to initiate contact with Andrew, which she proceeded to do—by sending him a Christmas card. I was surprised, because I hadn’t ever imagined a Christmas card could serve as a romantic spark. In such a communication-laden age, there is something pure and admirable about this relationship that began in such a quaint way.

Before their relationship really took off, the army sent Andrew to Germany for further schooling. Many would assume the relationship ended here, for after all, there was no Facebook for them to keep in touch. But it didn’t. They wrote each other letters virtually every day the whole year he was stationed in Germany. Perhaps their relationship thrived because they had to work hard so to get to know each other better.

Andrew returned home a year later and promptly proposed to Marilyn. When she showed the ring to her mother, she was told sharply to “send that ring back.” At this point in the interview Marilyn chuckled and said mischievously, “I didn’t,” and she was married at age 17. I suppose you could say that Marilyn was the “lord” of that ring.

Marilyn told me few details about her life after her wedding. She and Andrew raised three children together, all of whom are happy and successful today. She told me that her husband retired at age forty-nine, and they moved to New Mexico (Andrew hated the snow) where they spent ten fantastic years.

I was aware that she hadn’t said anything that indicated Andrew was still alive. Her eyes filled with tears as she described his death in 1995, after two heart attacks. A love like that, spanning the decades, is truly an extraordinary thing.

When I asked Marilyn why she was at Notre Dame, she told me, “It’s like the theatre—once it gets in your blood, you’re hooked.” She has worked here for twenty years. Marilyn says her co-workers are “like family,” and reflected “everyone seems so close here.” It struck me that people like Marilyn are why so many students share this sentiment about Notre Dame. The student body changes annually, but Marilyn and others like her who truly love Notre Dame help to make this place a home.

I think most would agree that our world needs some saving. I’m tempted to think that the “great” entrepreneurs, businessmen, lawyers, politicians, or peacemakers are the solution and our hope. Marilyn made me rethink this. The most ordinary people are the extraordinary ones. The next time you walk into the dining hall, freezing and ready to sit down, stop for a moment, for you are about to talk to someone extraordinary. When that kind lady swiping your card asks you how you’re doing, look her in the eye, answer, and return her smile. After all, you just spoke with a Frodo Baggins of Notre Dame.

This is Colin Devine’s first article for the Rover. He doesn’t believe that anyone will read his byline, and so dares anyone to prove him wrong by emailing him at cdevine1@nd.edu.