Obituary of Marjorie Ernst

Marjorie Ernst 1932 – 2025

Marjorie Shattuck Ernst was born on November 11, 1932, in Erie, PA.  She died, unexpectedly, on February 21, 2025.  She is survived by her husband of 68 years, Henry, and her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

But Marjorie was so much more than a list of facts.  She was the kind of person who started every single day with coffee and the newspaper.  Eschewing the front page, she would turn first to the obituaries.  Marjorie was always interested in how people truly lived, so she was particularly fond of obituaries that talked about who the person was and not just the facts of their lives.  So here we go:

Born into less than luxurious circumstances in Erie, PA, Marjorie always yearned for more:  She wanted to see everything, go everywhere, eat strange foods, meet exotic people, and dance to crazy music.  Marjorie wanted the world.  And she pretty much got it all.  What more can someone say of a full life?

A lot more, actually.  Marjorie was known for many things because she was a presence – you always knew she was there.  But, like many people, she was a mass of contradictions.  The contradictions that can make us good, valuable, and unique.  This was Marjorie.

Marjorie was a woman of strong opinions but was frequently unable to make a decision (picking a nail polish color could take an hour).  Perhaps she was simply foxing her children because we all grew up to be self-reliant and strong. 

She is mostly known for being famously tight with a dollar and for being generous to a fault.  Her entire adult life, along with her husband, Henry, was devoted to charitable works.  And not the works that get awards or your picture in the paper:  Marjorie was the one to always be counted on to do the “donkey work” that no one else wanted to do but needed to be done.  Marjorie was the bedrock of every organization she joined.  She was the ready lasagna, the extra coat to be donated, the steady hand to hold.

Much as Marjorie loved to talk, and to tell her little stories, she never complained about anything.  Not that she had a husband, three small children, a full-time job, a home, and various charitable projects going, or that she had to do all the planning for her family’s next camping adventure, or that again – damnit – she had to make dinner.

Marjorie hated music but loved marching bands.  She despised organized sports but loved parades.  She didn’t really care much for children and yet she became a teacher.  (And good for that:  It was under Marjorie’s tutelage that thousands of children, now adults, in Monmouth County, NJ, can accurately diagram a sentence.) She liked boys but not so much girls.  She hated curly hair, skinny people, brown cars, all green foods, and camels.  But her heart always had room for the lumpy puppy, the sad cookies, or the little, battered ballerina with the band-aids on her knees.

Marjorie loved politics but was not political.  She was, however, strategic:  She wisely picked the best man possible to marry in her husband, Henry.  Few women ever truly get to be treated like a princess, even for one day, but Henry treated Marjorie as his princess every day of their long life together.  Fact:  They still fell asleep, every night, holding hands.

From a camping tent, to a pop-up trailer, to planes and jets, Marjorie set out to see everything, her family following along behind her like ducklings.  She saw the Grand Canyon, the Louvre, the world’s largest ball of string, and passed through the Panama Canal.  Not bad for a gal from Erie.

Like most mothers, Marjorie found her greatest joy in her grandchildren.  Her two sons, of whom she was uniquely proud, gave her four grandchildren in total:  Matched sets of boys and girls. She loved them, raised them, and bore the sadness of being forgotten by them.  She also bore the sadness of a lazy daughter who gave her none.  But from sadness can come great joy as in when one of her grandchildren presented Marjorie with a great-grandson. 

It was through her great-grandson that she saw the true meaning of her life.  Marjorie knew that she had made a difference in many people’s lives, knew that she was, and still is, well loved.  She would have wished to stay longer and so would we.  Contradictions and all.