Nancy L. McGuire
Nancy, editor and publisher of the Nome Nugget for 34 years, came into the world on Dec. 15, 1943, a blessing to Frederick Bernard McGuire and Elizabeth Melverna Giesy McGuire.
She died early Nov. 17 at Quyanna Care Center in Nome, surrounded by friends, after a long, determined and vigorous fight against cancer.
Her only sibling, Robert E. McGuire, survives her, as well as her sister-in-law Josefina McGuire and her two nieces Christina Maria McGuire and Laura Lynn Starkand. She also leaves her beloved dogs Mortimer and Flip, for whom Nancy personally selected new safe and happy homes before she left.
Nancy was predeceased by her mother and father Frederick and Elizabeth McGuire.
Many friends attended a funeral mass for Nancy McGuire on Saturday, Nov. 19, at St. Joseph Catholic Church in Nome. Her ashes have gone to Pittsburg to be alongside those of her mother and father. Nancy’s family and friends plan to hold a grand celebration of life in Nome next summer, where folks can meet and to honor and share fond and funny memories of Nancy, known by many as “Nancy Nugget.”
Nancy’s brother Robert McGuire of Pittsburg provided the following “remembrances of a little brother:”
Nancy was born in Allegheny General Hospital, Pittsburgh, during a blackout; not the kind we are used to, but the kind they practiced to hide an industrial city from enemy bombers. It was a fire-breathing city of close-knit ethnic communities united by a common belief. Mom was a registered nurse who grew up working a farm and selling produce on routes through the city with her widowed mother, a wonderful and formidable lady whom we called “Granny.” Dad was a full-time iron and steel cop, part-time Brinks guard running the mine routes into West Virginia, and a former vaudeville and radio actor who didn’t go to New York.
Nancy spent her early years on the north side of Pittsburgh, but the country called her, and so in spite of the fact that one couldn’t buy tires, Dad agreed to move to the “Tea Room,” a road house “Granny” was running. It was a great place of huge sun porches, gardens and interesting and kindly people. My memories of Nancy begin there. She was my big sister, my protector. We ran away together (always packed a lunch, and always came back before supper). She was the one who dragged her “didn't wanna go to school” brother down the hallways of the school to his classroom.
Mom and Dad built their own house on a corner of the old farm, so one very snowy winter we moved to the “basement;” tar paper roof, coal stove, and an old hound dog named “Davy.”
We took care of the place. Mom and Dad worked. We rambled through the woods and fields in the summer, rode sleds in the winter and did our homework. We did things together. There was church, school, trips to the city, family picnics, and, above all, the “farm” work. My parents planted what seemed like acres of crops, and we pulled so many weeds we knew them all by heart.
Holidays were very important, especially Christmas. There was a long family tradition of the tree and the Christmas garden. We loved it. There were just the two of us. We bought each other presents, can’t remember what they were, but it took us all year to save up.
Nancy was a “bobby soxer.” Rock and Roll was new, and there was a thing called the "sock hop.” There were high school friends, the science projects, the Easter outfits; when she went off to college, we missed her. I wrote many ‘little brother’ letters to her; she always answered. When she came home for the holidays, it was great. Our parents taught us the importance of keeping the traditions. Christmas was her favorite. My parents were very happy with her.
There was nothing the world could do to break that circle. Even “Death" cannot break it. I’ll see them again. My memories of Nancy are the things of the heart; that was the world she lived in. Temper that with an iron but pragmatic will, a keen interest in the natural world, a respect for others, and then you’ve got something. — Bob McGuire