Elizabeth Pfohl Campbell died this month, at the age of 101. I was privileged to know her. She was the sister of one of my first choir directors, James Christian Pfohl, a founder of WETA, the first public television station in the nation’s capital, a founder of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Arlington, where I sang and worshipped for many years. She and her husband, Ed Campbell, were unfailingly gracious and kind to everyone they encountered. When my sister attended my son’s baptism wearing an (almost) backless dress (somewhat risqué for Virginia Episcopalians), Ed beamed down at her sweetly and told her how lovely she looked. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell left everything they touched better for it.
You’ve written the kind of obituary that not only honors its subject, but encourages the best kind of aspiration in the reader.
Mrs. Campbell’s life was certainly worth aspiring to. Someone asked me if I was sad that she had died; not at all for her, but sad for the people who no longer have the opportunity to be with and learn from her.