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Larry Wilson
Our thoughts and prayers go out to Peggy and Butch Dunlap at the loss of Butch's mother. May she rest in peace.
Maymie Ruth Dunlap, age 87, of Newark, passed away, Wednesday, February 1, 2019 surrounded by her family.
She was born August 25, 1931 in Newark, Ohio to the late Charles Orville and Mary Alice (Kolb) Bowen.
Maymie retired from the L & K Restaurant after twenty years of service. After her retirement, she provided daycare in her home for her grandchildren as well as many other children. She loved country music and loved dancing with her family and friends at the Druid’s Club. She was an avid euchre player and was active with the Druid’s euchre league for many years. Maymie was a lifetime member of the Druids, the V.F.W. and the Eagles. Maymie attended Newark High School and continued to be active with her NHS reunions.
She is survived by her children, Butch (Peggy) Dunlap, Debra Riley, Linda (Chuck) Stidham and Richard (Teresa Rine) Dunlap; eight grandchildren, Christina (Wayne) Lupher, Deanna (Randy) Daughters, D.L. (Gretchen) Dunlap, Maymie Linn (Tim) Saunders, Mandy Smith, Megan (Carnell) Martin, Tara Carmichael and Ryan Dunlap; a half-sister, Linda Sweigart, twenty-two great-grandchildren; and four great-great-grandchildren.
In addition to her parents, she was preceded in death by her former husband, Richard Dunlap, Sr.; special long-time friend, Paul Francis; three brothers, Robert Bowen, Donald Bowen and Clifford Bowen; and two sisters, Betty Schimpf and Alice Bowen.
In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made in Maymie’s name to the charity of the donor’s choice.
In accordance with Maymie's wishes, there will be no calling hours or services.
The Newark Chapel of Henderson-Van Atta-Stickle Funeral & Cremation Service, 59 North Fifth Street, Newark, is assisting the family with arrangements.
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I have a pretty good Class of '68 "small world" story . . . . Yesterday, Emily and I went to a small art institute on Broome Street in the Nolita (North of Little Italy, what's left of it) area of Manhattan. We sat on a bench in the entry hallway awaiting the arrival of some friends. As the entry to the institute was not well-marked, I worried that they might wander by, so after a bit I walked over to the glass door to scrutinize the few passers-by on this frigid Saturday morning, wrapped up against the chill. After a few minutes, one heavily bundled gent glanced at me while walking past and stopped. He stared for a few seconds and then turned to call to someone farther along the street and out of my sight. He reached for the door, which I opened, and asked, "Are you Roger McDonald?" "Yes," I replied, "but how did you know?" Then he whipped off his woolen cap, loosened his thick scarf, and proclaimed "I'm Jeff Danford!" I was stunned; this was not Times Square. When his party returned to the institute, Jeff identified me to his family, they all met Emily, and Jeff then proceeded to tell his grandkids some whoppers about my prowess in Little League. I'm ashamed to say I let him. We tried to provide some guidance to the few remaining Italian restaurants in the area, especially where there might be some historical significance like Joey Gallo's bloody demise in Umberto's Clam House. So, the next time anyone is in the Big Apple, glance in the doorways and you might be surprised! It was, all told, a sweet '68 moment . . . . (Perhaps someone else has a similar "small world" story to share? I vaguely recall an amazing one related by Malcolm Montgomery long ago that involved a phone call in the Northwest, but the details have dimmed with time and my woeful memory.)
