New Relic Discovered in Troy Hill

great place to live. Folks who grew up there or now live in Troy Hill must be very proud of the place and deserve to be there!” home on a row-house-lined narrow street that terminated with a “tail” of downhill steps disappearing into the woods.

Having been a sports writer in my younger days, I may have been guilty of some measure of exaggeration in my comments (or more likely had taken too many toasts of champagne to the newlyweds at the reception); however, I was working at Allegheny General Hospital at that time and realized that Providence had assigned the would-be saints of the 20th century to the “Hilltop Heaven” of Troy Hill and left the devil to do his own thing in the Northside. Some blessed people look more beautiful in death than they or anybody else ever dared to in life, as if their inner being could no longer be airtightly concealed and emanates out of the body. I was absolutely convinced of this at Lillian’s wake at the funeral parlor just several blocks from her lifelong earthly

Here, Lillian spent most of her 102 and a half years raising a family of 5 daughters with her husband “Buck,” working tirelessly for the People Concerned for the Unborn Child and the Respect Life Foundation when the nest was empty, and spending her final years between reading voraciously in her living room parlor using a magnifying glass, praying daily among the relics of St. Anthony’s (a 1 mile walk) … and hobnobbing with yours truly at joint family events about the art of staying on top of things during the long life of serenity I coveted.

Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray;

Along the cool sequester’d vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

— From “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” by English poet Thomas Gray.

Actually, my interaction with Troy Hill over the past 40 years has been largely vicarious through joint get togethers between the Lyons and Rausch clans at my in-laws Aunt Bobbie (Rausch) and Uncle Eddie’s unpretentious little home on “Good Lane,” where every possible family event and holiday was celebrated, no matter how trivial the occasion. The highpoint of birthday parties was the singing of the Lyons birthday medley which featured the entreaty:

“We hope you live to be 100/ We hope you live to be 100/ We hope you live to be 100/ And then 100 more!! The decades of this tradition were to reveal that Lillian alone had this wish granted!

Part of the allure for the children was the 3-foot high above-ground swimming pool which infringed upon much of the correspondingly little backyard. Hanging in the living room was a plaque stating the family’s institutional motto derived from Bobbie’s Troy Hill connection:

“He who knows he has enough is rich!”

…as well as the “mission statement” that was adopted by our children and our grandchildren:

Lillian never failed to attend a family gathering; likewise, it was unthinkable that she would ever fail to attend morning Mass at St Anthony’s, even in the final days when her vision and hearing were failing. She had the mistaken belief, in spite of the devotion and admiration of her many grandchildren and great grandchildren (which for an outsider like me were becoming too numerous to count), that if she was not seen or heard at the parties, surely she would immediately be forgotten. The saintly woman stoically bore the deep inner sorrow of having outlived several of her offspring and their spouses.

Time it was

And what a time it was

It was a time of innocence

A time of confidences

Long ago, it must be I have a photograph Preserve your memories

They’re all that’s left you

“Bookends” by Simon and Garfunkel connectedness was responsible for her grand longevity and for the prolonged duration of her keen memory and sharp cognitive powers, and I have scientific research to back up my claim! The wellknown “Roseto Effect”, first described in 1961 by Dr. Stewart Wolf and reported in JAMA in 1964, documents that the Italian villagers who emigrated to the small town of Roseto, Pennsylvania in the early 1900s and duplicated their small town Italian lifestyle, prioritizing close-knit living quarters and frequent socialization, experienced an overwhelming health benefit. This culture of inclusiveness seemed to be directly responsible for a comparatively lower rate of heart disease and better overall health than those neighboring nationalities who had adopted the “American way of life.” There was an incredibly low prevalence of myocardial infarction (ie. heart attacks) in the otherwise high-risk age group of men greater than 54 years of age, in spite of the fact that they continued to smoke unfiltered stogies, drink wine, and eat meatball and sausage fried in lard and cheese with reckless abandon.

She was dogged in her advocacy for the disadvantaged and was connected with four generations of inhabitants of Troy Hill, visiting by foot the densely connected row houses of her neighbors throughout the village. It was said that she knew the whereabouts of all those resting in peace in the indigenous Voegtly Cemetery — even when the inscriptions on their tombstones had been worn away by the elements over two centuries.

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Researcher Wolf had this explanation: “The community was very cohesive. There was no keeping up with the Joneses. Houses were very close together, and everyone lived more or less alike. Elders were revered and incorporated into community life. Housewives were respected and fathers ran the families. There was very little crime.”

Regardless of their nationalities (Germans predominated), I suspect this same communal style of living contributed to a “Troy Hill Effect.” Lillian refused to move out of her diminutive home to the wealthier suburbs despite the supplications of her vast network of offspring. She died as she had lived: a peaceful dove.

Regardless of the lack of authenticity by the Vatican, I am certain that a piece of the heart and soul of the humble 102-and-a-half-year-old saintly woman will remain among the collection of relics in the chapel until the end of days. However, just in case I am mistaken, I wrote this story to dispel her fears that she could ever be forgotten!

You were meant for me!

I was meant for you!

I’m content, the angels must have sent you

And they meant you just for me!

—“Penny Serenade” (1929)

The author wishes to thank the Rausch Family for the information they provided and the permission to publicly reveal Lillian’s life of love of her faith, her family and of Troy Hill.

This story was originally published in the column OUT OF THE OLD BLACK BAG in the Pediablog (https://pediablog. com/2023/05/24/out-of-the-old-blackbag-45/ ). Under the editorship of Dr Ned Ketyer, the Pediablog was recently