Living in a mid 20th-century era of compliant, subordinate women and freely-expressed prejudices, Maybelle “May” Vranicar agitated for social justice. But while others were picketing or bomb throwing, say her kids, Vranicar mainly chose a less dramatic but equally effective way to help foment change.
“She did her work at the bridge table. She did her work at parties. That’s where people were most likely to speak about such issues because they felt they were in a group where they felt it was safe to express prejudices. And then here comes my mother,” said John Vranicar of Chicago, her oldest child.
Married and living in River Forest, Illinois, a wealthy suburb of Chicago, May Vranicar became known for her early outspoken stands for racial, gender and sexual-orientation rights, and against the Vietnam War.
Her youngest child, Atlanta attorney Beth Tanis, said one incident was particularly telling.
The day after Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated a teacher at her parochial school disdainfully remarked that King preached non-violence, yet violence seemed to follow wherever he went, Tanis said.
“My mother got on the phone with the principal of the school and said ‘I send my kids to Catholic school because of the values I believe the school should be infusing into the kids. I am heartsick that a teacher would say something like that about such a great man.’ ” said Tanis.
The teacher apologized to the class.
Maybelle Lucille Vranicar, 90, of Atlanta, died on May 3 from complications of Alzheimer’s, surrounded by family. Her body was cremated. A private family memorial service was held Saturday in Atlanta.
A Chicago native, Vranicar was born in Maywood, Illinois in 1922. Answering her country’s call, she enlisted in the U.S. Navy WAVES in 1944, serving at a Texas based where she met her future husband Edmund, a radar instructor. After marrying, the couple settled in River Forest in 1953, where they raised four children and Vranicar served as secretary and bookkeeper for her husband’s business.
Her kids say that while their mom was a classic mid-century housewife in many ways, she broke the mold when it came to social issues.
A lifelong news junkie, she wrote letters to the editor denouncing the Vietnam, and later, the Iraq wars. She waged a campaign on behalf of a family member who sought conscientious objector status during Vietnam. She spearheaded a petition drive for a public swimming pool, squaring off against village elders who opposed it because of fears African-Americans from a neighboring town would try to use it.
And on more than one occasion, said John Vranicar, she ruined her own lavishly -planned dinner parties by challenging what she regarded as insensitive and prejudicial remarks.
“One of the neighbors was pontificating about how Hiroshima was the best thing we ever did,” recalls Vranicar. She disagreed. He challenged her patriotism. She replied by recounting her Navy service in World War II. She asked the neighbor what he had done, said Vranicar. He admitted he’d never served, and slunk out of the party, which broke up quickly.
“My dad just kind of shook his head and said, ‘well, she did it again,’ “
Tanis said while her mother spoke up for the rights of others, she didn’t do it in a grim or hostile way, saying that she loved to laugh and tease friends. All the same, Tanis thinks, her parent changed a lot of minds.
Vranicar felt those born into more fortunate circumstances should help others get a leg up. That translated to extensive work with her local parish, where she coordinated canned food drives and served in the altar guild. Yet, she found time for fun, rooting for her beloved Chicago Bears and White Sox, developing a solid bridge game and staying active with golf and painting.
“My mom was a pistol,” said Tanis, simply. “Beautiful, sassy and smart.”
Other survivors include son David J. Vranicar of Smyrna and daughter Mary K. Vranicar of Smyrna.
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