By Clint McElroy
HQ 131 | AUTUMN 2025
I have been writing since my chubby little fingers were able to wrap around a No. 2 pencil well enough to print letters without impaling myself. I have written uncountable numbers of sketches, scripts, plays, comic books (and graphic novels, which are not the same thing), essays, recommendation letters, cancellation letters and love letters.
But this is the first time I have written an obituary.
Donna Gail Secrist McElroy passed away July 19, 2025, and of course, she waited until 12 a.m. just to create some controversy. She was born Jan. 28, 1932, which, for those of you not inclined to math proficiency, means she was 93 years old. And let me tell you, it was a jam-packed 93 years.
Allow me to run through her titles over the years, some of them official, some of them unofficial:
“Daughter” to Homer Secrist, a big rough-and-tumble sheriff’s deputy, and Luella Secrist, a tiny redhead who was by far the more intimidating of the pair; and later to her stepfather, Wilbur Sparling, who would duel her to the ends of the earth playing Euchre.
“Sister” to Betty and Brenda, who together formed a triumvirate of master candy makers.
“Donna Gail” to her brothers-in-law, Tom and Ralph, who learned she could take it — and dish it out.
“Church Member” at Zoar Baptist Church, where they had to break the ice in Storms Creek, Ohio, when they baptized her.
“The Most Beautiful Girl at Coal Grove High School,” based on the photos I saw in her yearbook.
“Radio Hostess” when appearing on daytime shows at WIRO-AM, where she met my dad, the original Clinton “Mac” McElroy.
“Mrs. Donna McElroy” when she married my aforementioned dad.
“Ski Queen of Bodmer Village” according to a loose conglomeration of boaters who amassed on the Ohio River to water ski, camp and consume mass quantities of adult beverages.
“Travel Agent” while working for AAA, where she hosted many trips around the world, her favorite being China.
“Rosebud Hues Queen” to the Red Hat Society of Venice, Florida, of which she was a founding member.
“Mom” to David, Clint and Mark McElroy; and mother-in-law to Alice, Leslie, Helen, Carol and Jan.
“Auntie D” to Tim, Tom, Chris, Lecia, Mike, Ryan and Luann, whose names I remember from the many times she would run through them as she told me, “All your other cousins have summer jobs.”
“Nonnie” to her grandchildren: Michael, Christopher, Justin, Travis, Griffin, Abby, T.J. and Adam; grandmother-in-law to Min, Sydnee, Teresa, Rachel and Chris; and great-grandmother to Willow, Meadow, Lydia, Charlie, Bebe, Henry, Cooper, Dottie and Gus. She really didn’t pay any heed to qualifiers like “step,” “half” or “adopted.” She treated everybody the same. She told me once, “I can’t keep track of it myself.”
“Mom” (in quotes) to Ort and Mayn, whom she always treated like sons (which was sometimes good, sometimes not).
She was also my biggest fan. She saved every test that got an “A” (which didn’t require all that much filing space) and every newspaper clipping. She had a shelf full of the books Justin, Travis, Griffin and I had written. And one of her proudest moments in life was going out on stage in Orlando to help me introduce a live show of My Brother, My Brother and Me in front of a thousand screaming fans, many of whom asked her to pose for selfies with them after the show.
I have a lot of great memories of times with my mom, and some not-so-great ones, as well. Regarding the latter, for the life of me I can’t think of a single bad one right now.
But I have not been able to stop thinking about one good one: sitting next to my mom while she played the piano and we sang together That’s Amore.
When you walk in a dream
But you know, you’re not dreaming, signore
Scusami, but you see
Back in old Napoli, that’s amore!
Huh. What do you know? It turned out to be a love letter after all.
