MARY KRELL-OISHI

MARY KRELL-OISHI
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Mary Krell-Oishi has taught Theatre at Sunny Hills High School since 1984. When she first began at Sunny Hills the program consisted of a beginning and an advanced theatre class. Within a few years the program grew to include two Theatre One Classes, a Theatre Two Class and the extremely challenging International Baccalaureate Theatre class for which she developed the curriculum. Over the years she has been named Orange County Theatre Teacher of the Year, California Theatre Educator of the Year, California Playwright of the Year among other honors.
Upon seeing the need for high school students to have material to perform with which they could relate, Krell-Oishi began writing short one acts for her students. These works became quite popular with her colleagues who advised her to have them published. In 1993 her first book, Scenes That Happen was published through Meriwether Publishing/Contemporary Drama Services and quickly became a best seller among Theatre Educators. Since that time she has written and had published 5 books and a variety of one and two act plays. She is currently writing adaptations of public domain works for her publisher as well as a two act play about High School Seniors at the crossroads of child and adulthood.
Mary has been joyously married to Harris Oishi since 1977. Their son, Rick married the fabulous Shay and they have produced the perfect granddaughter, Myka.

A TRIBUTE TO RICHARD "BUD" KRELL

MRS. K-O'S FATHER
May 30, 1929 - June 16, 2000
I have so many memories of my father. They play like a library of film clips in my mind. Little snippets of things he would do or say, some very funny, some so politically incorrect today that he could probably be sued, which would explain a lot of my own twisted sense of humor. Most of my memories, though, deal with him as a husband and father. I was dad's favorite. How do I know this? Because he actually had a song he sang to me. Mary Googala, with the goo goo googly eyes. He called me Goog. It has been so long since I heard that nickname, that I almost forgot it myself. I think that's when I knew he was losing his memory, when he stopped calling me "Goog," and would just smile happily when he saw me.
He gave me more than he ever knew. He gave me the basis for marriage, he gave me the foundation on which to raise my own son, and he gave me my career. The first two wouldn't surprise him at all, because that is what he was trying to do, set an example. Of how to live a good life. That last, though, would take him back a bit, I am sure.
Think how it must have been for this athletic man, this 5' 8" man who loved nothing more to run around, shoot hoops, bat the ball, to have all girls. But then he sees me. Growing and growing and growing....and growing. Almost to 6 feet tall. Then imagine his dismay to see this amazon of a daughter with the co-ordination of a gooney bird. In fact, he used to laugh when I was young, saying I was just like one. Sitting still, they are lovely graceful birds. The minute they move they trip over lint. That was me. He spent the better part of my childhood trying to teach me to catch a ball...a dismal failure. To ride a bike...I can show all of you the scars on my knees later, to shoot a hoop...that involved running which in turn led to sweat. I don't sweat. I don't even glisten. So, I am sure, he wondered, what the hell is this girl going to be good at? Then, by some miracle, in my senior year of high school I got the lead in the play. And he came to see it. I will never forget the look of stunned admiration on his face. He couldn't believe it. This kind of outlet had never occurred to him as something I could do, and there I was. I remember being downstage, him hugging me and looking at me with wonder and joy and I thought, "I can do this the rest of my life if it makes him this happy." And it did. It did. From that moment, I knew what I would do. So, for the joy it brought my father I was able to take something that started as a casual pastime and make it a passion. My dad made it possible for me to work with kids and whatever I am able to give to them, is all based on that foundation back in October of 1970 when he looked at me with such happiness.
So, too, did he give me a foundation to build a marriage. I am sure having three teenage pre-menstrual girls in the family with a menopausal wife all under the same roof was not his idea of a day at the beach. One day in particular Janice was whining about my mom's rules about some silly thing, Kris was arguing with my mom about curfews, I was quietly sitting at the table like the perfect child I was. Well, no, I was probably seething silently, as is my way, about something I didn't like that mom was doing. All of us were in an estrogen driven chaos. Suddenly my mom says, "Fine, if I am so horrible, I can just leave." At that point my father raised his voice over the female shrieks and said, "That's it!!" We were all stunned into silence. "I'm telling you girls this right now," he said. "I love you all. You are the most important people in my life. But, your mother is the most important. If anyone leaves it will be you. Mom's not going anywhere. Your mom and I are here forever, together. Now be quiet and eat, dammit." Well, let me tell you that shocked us all into silence. But it also was wonderful to hear. No matter what ever happened, we always knew that mom and dad would be together, forever. He loved her with such a deep abiding never-ending love. I knew that's what I wanted. To be loved, adored, thought of as perfect. That's why I thought I'd never marry, because who could possibly live up to my own father? The day I brought home Harris, I knew I made the right choice. The few guys I had brought to the house had been taken to the basketball courts for the ultimate test. Dad had run several young males into the ground, crushing them with his speed, coordination and vicious sense of competition. Oh, the times he had, humiliating young men ½ his age. What glee he took in destroying these guys who dared to challenge him for his daughter. And then came Harris. Oh, they played, and dad crushed him in the first game. 15 to 0 I believe. Then Harris got wise to dad's game, and proceeded to crush dad for the next several games. Well, they came home, laughing, towel snapping, very testosterone. And dad came in to me and said, "I don;t know where you're going if you two break up, but he's moving in here." And he meant more than just the basketball game. He meant that Harris was someone he approved of, that could keep up with me and could probably hold me in check...at least he would try. And the day we got married, that look he had back in October of 1970 was there again. Proud, happy, and not a little stunned that I had done so well.
The day my baby was born was the happiest day, I think, in his life. I am sure he thought it would be another girl. But, no, the child was male. And we named him Richard, after him. When mom told him, he actually cried. Why would he, though? The most perfect child in the world was to be named after the most perfect dad in the world. And I am so lucky. Because my son Rick has my dad's green eyes. And everyday I can look in those beautiful green eyes and see my dad's wicked sense of humor, his joy for living, and see in those eyes the great love he has to give. Of the three of his children, I am the luckiest. For the past years, whenever I have missed my dad, I could look into the eyes of my wonderful son and see my wonderful father.
My dad never climbed a mountain, never saved a child from a burning building. He worked the same job with the same company for 40 years and took care of his girls and loved his wife. Some people might say he led a small life. But he didn't. He taught his daughters how to love, to be caring, to laugh, to share joy with others. For every life that Janice, Kristy or I have touched, those lives, too have been touched by my father for the example he gave us. He was the true definition of what a hero is. We are the luckiest family on earth.

MRS. K-O'S MOTHER

A TRIBUTE TO LUCILA "LUCY" KRELL
April 27, 1928 - October 3, 2008

You know what a tsunami is. When the tsunami starts, the ocean waters pull back for hundreds of feet, leaving the ocean floor bare, everything exposed. I heard that when the 2004 tsunami hit in Thailand people didn’t understand what was going on. They saw the water sucked away from the shore. People actually ran down to collect the shells. Some people just stood back and watched in curiosity. “What is going on?” “What’s happening?” They didn’t understand that a huge change was coming in only moments. That’s how I’ve felt the last few weeks. I watched the life force that is my mother pull away from us. But she was still there.

My mother has always been there, of course, a power in our family. Dad may have been the funny one, but mom was the rock. She created the foundation upon which our family was built. Even dad said so. Well, not so eloquently. More like, “You girls need to understand that your mother is always right. Even when she’s wrong, she’s right.” And that’s how it was. As I grew older I came to realize that she was seldom wrong.

When we were younger Mom was known as the strictest mom on the block. She kept her girls on a tight leash, one that we all rebelled against in our own ways. We weren’t allowed to run around in stores or doctor’s offices. We weren’t allowed to shout. We had to be home on the dot at 5:30 for dinner. We had a bedtime. We couldn’t go hang randomly with friends for no apparent reason. We had to behave. Many were the evenings that Kris and I (we shared a room.) huddled in our beds grumbling about how mean Mom was. Later, when Janice got older and we actually started speaking to one another, she would share in our grumbling. And we would share our anger with her in ways only teenage girls could. But pretty much every time her last word on the subject was, “You can be mad at me now. You’ll thank me later.” We’d harrumph out of the room, declaring that we’d doubt that day would ever happen.

But, again, she was right. I distinctly remember going to our G.P., Dr. Mintz’s office and seeing little kids running all over the place, screaming and yelling. One time in particular, I think I was in fifth grade, some kid was throwing a fit and his mother was just ignoring it. I was trying to read, as was Mom. I remember thinking, even at that young age, “Jeez, lady, handle your damn kid.” I looked at my Mom like, “Hey, handle that kid.” She just shook her head and gave me the “not our problem and aren’t you glad you don’t act like that” look. We both then just stared at the offending child for a bit, shared a look with each other that said, “Losers,” and went back to our books.

Not that we always accepted with such ease her discipline. One time she and I were both going through our hormonal times. PMS for me, Menopause for her…good times for Dad. At one point I threw to her the ultimate teenage rejoinder: “I didn’t ask to be born!” to which she replied, “Well, you weren’t exactly what I was hoping for, either!” While part of me was shocked, another part of me went, “Damn. Good line! Save that for later use.” Which I have. Yet another example of her inspiration.

Mom seemed to have an almost psychic connection with us. When I was first dating Harris, she told me at one point, “You’re in love with him.” “Hah!” I said. “I’m never falling in love with anyone.” She said, “Okay, but you are,” and went into the kitchen. And as I drove to his apartment I couldn’t stop thinking about that. By the time I got there and walked up the stairs, I felt like my mother had opened my mind to a whole new world. I looked at Harris differently at that moment and realized, “Huh, she’s right. I am in love.” She knew before I did. And when Harris and I first got married and had our first phone installed at our apartment, she knew again. Right when the phone guy connected it, the thing rang. I laughed and said, “It’s probably my mother.” He said, “No, it’s the phone company checking the line.” Well, it was my mother. And when I was in the delivery room with Rick, the phone rang. Keep in mind, the child wasn’t even all the way out yet. So, the phone rang and again I laughed and said, “It’s probably my mother.” And it was.

My Mom has always been the first person I told when something happened, good or bad. When it turned out Joe Hobbs, my first teenage crush, turned out to be gay, I talked to Mom. (the Krells and the Morris’s will understand that) When I got my first book published, told Mom first. When I found out I was pregnant, I told Mom first, even before I told my husband. There hasn’t been a day that has gone by, except for when she was on a trip (this was before cell phones) or in intensive care, that I haven’t talked to her at least once, oftentimes 2 or 3 times a day. All of a sudden, she’s not here. She’s always here. I know I will reach for the phone tonight to tell her about today. I will automatically press the #2 button on my cell phone speed dial. (She asked why she wasn’t number one and I explained to her that the manufacturer put Voicemail there. I don’t think that explanation satisfied her at all.) So, as I do every day, I will try to call her. But for the first time ever, she won’t be there. How is that possible?

I am who I am today because of my mother. She taught through her examples and through the way she lived her life. Everything I teach my students as life lessons were learned from her and so even they have been influenced by her. I am the woman I am because she taught me that a woman is loving, strong, intelligent, and honorable. I am the mother I am because she taught me that it is more important to be a parent than a friend and if you do it right your child will love and respect you. I am the wife I am because she taught me that love is forever and survives even death. And we have the family we have because she taught us that family is the most important thing in our lives.

And now that huge wave is hitting. The tsunami of emotion will knock us down and throw us und and we will try really hard to stay above it and breathe. Because that is what she taught us to do. Stay above it. Stay strong. Move forward. The life preserver that has held me afloat for 55 years is gone. But not really. Her spirit will hold me up as it always has. All of us, her daughters, her sons-in-law, her grandchildren, her family and friends have always counted on her being there, a source of love, of support, a voice of reason. She will be there in our hearts. It will hold all of us up and all of us together because that is the way she wanted it. We won’t let her down. We’ll miss her, but we won’t let her down.

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