Lois and John Randall loved books and the life of the mind with an
enduring passion. Visiting their quiet house in Newton Highlands was always a
special treat. We would pull up her driveway, be greeted warmly at the door,
and sit and chat in their cozy living room surrounded by piles of books and
papers. John would sit to the right of us in front of the fireplace, Lois would
sit across from us, and we would sink into their comfortable couch and discuss
how things were going in everyone’s lives. Their house, although stacked with
books, was filled with light. Blue and green bottles twinkled in their windows.
A couple spider plants hung here and there. Their coffee table always had
something interesting to pick up and discuss and they showed me the funniest cartoons
in the latest New Yorker. Lois always served us hot tea or a delicious soda and
asked me to play a piece on the piano beside the stairs. She had a miniature
orange tree by the dining room window that miraculously survived many years
living indoors in Massachusetts. When my sister and I were young we sometimes
got to sleep over. I loved their guest room upstairs with its interesting
wallpaper and slanted roof. Like every other room, it was filled with
interesting things to read. The bed was comfortable and warm and felt almost
hidden at the edge of the slanted ceiling. When you lay in it you could look
out the window and see a nearby radio tower blinking in the night sky.
I will always remember Lois with her reading glasses hanging on
her neck on a beaded chain and her wispy partially grey hair curling around her
gentle face. I loved to visit her at her office at the old Houghton Mifflin
building. I would take the creaky old fashioned gated elevator up to her office
overlooking the Granary Burying Ground and she would introduce me to her
colleagues and show me around the historic building. She loved her husband,
cats, California, her friends, editing, juvenile literature, good mysteries,
and her family. Lois Randall had a strong positive influence in my life. Her
presence in my childhood gave me love and consistency. I will always miss her
dearly.
Kara Moritz Harrison
January 7, 2014
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