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Jewel Rathjen
10/28/1926 — 02/17/2019
From Richland, WA | Born in Milton, OR
Jewel Rathjen
Jewel Lucile (Lou) Rathjen
Jewel Lucile Richardson Rathjen, talented artist, beloved wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, died on February 17, 2019, in Richland, WA, at the age of 92, following a difficult 12 months. Lou became permanently bedridden when she broke her arm in February 2018 and could no longer use her walker.
Born in Milton, OR, on October 28, 1926, to Mildred Marguerite Schmalzried and Richard Franklin Richardson II, Lou shared many memories about the Great Depression that hit when she was 3 years old. Jobs were scarce, and the family moved frequently as they followed the harvests around Washington, Oregon and Idaho. A blackboard was found for Lou when she was 4 years old. Except for grocery sacks, she couldn’t remember drawing on paper until about age 6 or 7 as that wasn’t in the budget.
Schooling was hard for Lou. She started first grade at age 5, and attended 13 schools, including Girls’ Polytechnic in Portland, OR, where she was happiest. By third grade she found she wanted to draw, but said she had a late start. By sixth grade, she was the “best drawer” in school. Lou concentrated on art and sewing courses, which cemented her desire to be a designer. She graduated at 17 from Denver East High School.
Lou’s first job was painting glass eyes for a taxidermy company, followed by department store elevator operator, where, as lone occupant, she often entertained herself singing. She didn’t realize she could be heard by customers at each floor she passed. When she moved with her mother and brother to Washington, D.C., Lou went to work at the Department of Agriculture where she met the recently returned World War II veteran, Max Lee Rathjen, who, on January, 24, 1947, would become her husband for 45 years. The newlyweds lived briefly in his hometown of Ottawa, Kansas, while he attended the university there. Then, with a baby daughter, they returned to Washington, D.C./Maryland area until Max transferred to the Atomic Energy Commission in 1953, which required that the family, now with three daughters, move to Richland, Washington, where a fourth daughter was born.
Lou used her creative talents to sew most of her daughters’ clothes and Halloween costumes, never using patterns. She sketched and painted whenever she could find the time. To supplement the family income, she made original postcards featuring Rattlesnake Mt., and fashion doll clothes, which she sold on consignment at some of the local stores. She and Max built a cabin on the Naches River, with a classic red water pump and the sturdiest outhouse in the Cascades. Eventually, Lou started her own business, Lou Rathjen’s Designs, selling through mail order her original quilt and applique patterns, and collector quality, historically accurate, original paper dolls. She was featured artist in a number of national trade magazines and newsletters.
Lou was preceded in death by her parents and husband, her brother Richard (Dick) Richardson III (also an artist), her daughter, Susan L. Whitney, and sons-in-law Dennis Whitney and Bob Loper. She is survived by three daughters, J. Kate Loper, Betsy J. Taylor (George), and Karen L. Todd (Bill); sister-in-law Dorothy Richardson (they “adopted” each other as sisters); nephews Grant Richardson and Bryan Richardson (Rebecca); grandchildren, Jennifer G. Buchanan, L. Shane Loper (Kristin), David F. Roohr (Kristine), Debbie E. Stacey (Andrew), Jack M. Roohr (Aimee), Kevin J. Todd (Candice), Jeffrey T. Taylor (Jenn), and Victoria L. Taylor; and 17 great-grandchildren.
A witness burial will take place on March 8, at 3 p.m., at Cemetery at Sunset, 915 Bypass Hwy, Richland, WA, followed by a family gathering.
Dear Grandma,
It’s been 6 years since your passing and this is the
first time I have been able to read your obituary notice. It is a beautiful tribute and tells so much about you that my heart is full of gratitude for those who wrote it. There are things about your life that I miss that were not included because they are things that only I may relate to. The smell of apricots that surrounded your house on a hot summer day. While I hated picking up fallen fruit back then, oh how I wish those trees were still standing. The tent stories you dreamed up to tell us at night before bedtime, before you would sing us a German lullaby……which we found out later was nonsense because you didn’t know any German in reality. Eating corn dodgers and fried beef and potatoes with onions, and chocolate cake that had vegetables and nuts ground up in it because you thought we didn’t get enough protein or vitamins (poor boogie with his nut allergy almost didn’t survive that!). But we ate every bite, because if we didn’t, we were assured that we couldn’t go to “aunt Cora’s” house.
We didn’t have an aunt Cora.
Sitting on barstools playing with your annual Christmas decorations.
Reading out of your set of encyclopedias, and poring over the photo albums and 19th century Sears catalogs on the shelves next to your paper dolls.
I remember you getting so mad at grandpa when he picked me up from brownies and stopped by Winchells (our little secret) for powdered donuts……but you always knew because he never could get all the sugar out of his afternoon whiskers around his mouth.
I remember watching Perry Mason from your sofa when I was sick. Even though I had no idea what it was about. And matching buttons from the tin box next to your sewing machine.
Most of all, I remember you defending me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Talking to you 3 days before you passed, you paused and then insisted “when I’m gone, I want you to be nice to Debbie.” Realizing you were confused, I began to correct you that you were TALKING to Debbie…..but stopped. Understanding in that moment, that you had my back no matter what. Even trying to make sure I’d be okay after you were gone.
I know that only 1 of my children will member you well, the other 2 only remember you as “the Grandma who sat in the rocking chair” but they do remember you were kind to them.
When we visited, you would always share your excitement about any cousins or grandchildren that you had seen, and what they were doing. You shared your hopes for any of us that were struggling, and your happiness for any of us that were doing well.
Your were my rock.
More than a Grandma, more than a friend.
I miss your smile, and your cardigans and your arthritic hands that helped me finish crossword puzzles, and tried to teach me to sew. I miss the way you made raw onions and radishes look appetizing as you crunched them, and the fiery talks we had about politics.
I miss going to doll sales at the goodwill in Pasco, and going out to move the sprinkler in your yard, a little bit too close to your neigh ors driveway because you didnt like them very much. I miss the sights and sounds and smells of your kitchen, and the warm sage feeling I had when you were there.
I miss you grandma.
Guestbook for
Jewel Rathjen