Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, September 21, 1993 TAG: 9309210141
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Kathleen Wilson
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Truth is, of course, that life goes on. When Joe Theismann retired, they didn't stop hurling footballs down 100-yard fields. Basketball will live on in Boston without Larry Bird. People won't stop heading out to the ballpark when Nolan Ryan steps down this year.
But when Marlen Grisso, Roanoke's "Peach Lady" of Mountain Top Orchards, joined the retirement ranks on Saturday, shoppers, tourists, friends and fruit lovers just stood around trying to wrangle smiles from their hang-dog faces.
And just like Chrysler carries on without Lee Iacocca, the Roanoke City Market will muddle through.
"Peach cobbler will just never be the same," sighed Philip Trompeter, epicurean and Tipper Gore Award-winning Roanoke Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court judge.
"You're so popular _ you know we're going to have a vacancy on City Council ... , " Mayor David Bowers suggested to Marlen.
"Can I wear my flowers?" she asked, when he handed her a very official looking city proclamation naming Saturday "Marlen Grisso Day" in Roanoke.
You know, I run into Mayor Bowers at a LOT of parties. But this time he was really into it.
"I think we should all sing `For She's a Jolly Good Fellow,'" he whispered later from the outskirts of the crowd, then led the singing himself.
For more than 23 years she's hawked fruit while wearing floral dresses anchored at the shoulder with foot-long silk corsages and a matching fluff of flora on her head.
The market reminded me somewhat of that movie "Honeymoon in Vegas," which takes place at a Las Vegas convention of Elvis impersonators.
That's because the market was swimming with Marlen Grisso look-alikes. Shirley Taylor, Florence Victoria Covey, Vicky Mullins, Laura Duckworth and Marie Lovell - all of the Gift Niche - were a hoot in their flower dresses and borrowed accessories from Marlen Grisso's private collection of big floral swags.
"Someone wants to buy apples, and I don't know what to charge," one of the look-alikes whispered.
"Oh, just let them have them," was Marlen's reply. That's not so very unusual, I was told.
Every night before she went home, Marlen left baskets of fruit on a nearby bench for the homeless.
Just about anyone who'd ever worked for her over the years dropped by with a home-baked pie and a story about the Peach Lady. And she wanted it to be a special day for them, too.
So Marlen hired a stretch limousine to drive her ex-employees around downtown Roanoke during the festivities.
Marlen stood ushering them into the limo one by one, but when she turned to join them, there was no room at the inn.
"Oh, I'll go with the next group," she laughed, waving them off.
"Filling a limousine with her friends and not leaving room for herself," one woman smiled, shaking her head. "That's just so, so ... Marlen!"
\ It was only the second time I'd ever mingled at Smith Mountain Lake.
The first?
A month or so ago when I judged a bikini contest - mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa - at The Cove.
Which was a good time. That is, if your idea of a good time is sitting around in 90-degree weather with hundreds of sweaty, shirtless, overweight men drinking warm beer, belching, and chanting, "Hooters! Hooters! Hooters!"
Let's just say that the annual Smith Mountain Lake Home Tour Gala, held Saturday evening at the Water's Edge Country Club, was nothing like that.
About the only complaint I have is that I needed an ITT night vision windshield on my car to read the dark signs directing me there along Virginia 40.
That, and the fact that the newspaper does not provide me with a clothing allowance like Anna Wintour gets at Vogue.
I have never, and I mean NEVER, met a nicer group of people wearing evening wear. More than 300 attended.
They raised a lot of money for multiple sclerosis and totally belied my belief that the more people who attend a party, and the more dressed-up they are, the more boring that party will be.
Amber Mills was wearing a floor-length ivory silk brocade dress she's had made for her. Retired Army Col. Jack Kuhn was just about the most handsome man I'd ever seen in his dress uniform.
And when I admired Judy Miller's outfit - which I can only describe as a black leotard covered with bugle beads - she actually took my pen, wrote down her phone number and told me to feel free to call any time I wanted to borrow it.
Black pantsuits were all the rage. Judy McFaden's came from Frances Kahn, which was also the source of the dangling, dazzling rhinestone pin of two people dancing the tango on her shoulder.
When I asked Hugh Parnell to help me describe his flashy bow tie, he just said, "It's tight."
Hugh claimed he arrived at this affair by boat, which I thought was incredibly cool.
But Hugh also told me he was married to the model on a nearby poster for Bud Dry, so who knows?
by CNB