With permission the following article that was originally printed in the St. Paul Pioneer Press (then the St. Paul Dispatch) March 15, 1978.  This article is about Lillias Joy, the donor who gave the land on which our first PHS community was built.

“Auntie” Joy lived that name, by Oliver Towne

As the setting for the last scene in the final act of the human drama, House of Hope Presbyterian Church on Summit Avenue has taken its place on history’s stage twice this winter.

Within the space of two months, the funerals of Hubert Humphrey, and 3M’s founder William L. McKnight have been held in the gothic edifice.

But there was another and less publicly heralded farewell and ringing down of the curtain in February for an equally life-loving, courageous contributor to human progress and betterment.

Her name was Lillias Anna Joy. For all of her 95 years she personified that name. But her greatest joy was House of Hope Church, to which often referred as “The Church of Joy” and no one denied that.

“Auntie” Joy as thousands knew her in the Summit-Hill neighborhood endeared herself to me two years ago this month when, on the day of a sudden and fierce March snowstorm, I went to speak to a women’s group in the church.

Many canceled because of the weather. But not Lillias Joy. No, sir. She was the first to arrive and the last to leave. And I believe she has walked all the way from her home at 902 Goodrich Avenue, using only her hated cane for support.

“I have never missed one of the meetings and I don’t propose to let a little snow stop me today.” She told me. “Where are all those faint hearts?”

This was the same strong heart that traveled with Charles and Will Mayo – The Mayo Brothers – to Panama for the opening of that canal.

She was only 93 that stormy day two years ago, but the gleam in her eyes was the same that met the adventure of being among the first handful of people to cross the nation by car or, a year later for the bicentennial, turning into a fashion model.

But here I am parroting the last soliloquy about “Auntie” Joy, delivered to the audience at her memorial service by the Rev. Calvin Didier, who only four weeks earlier had spoken so eloquently and movingly of his friend, Hubert Humphrey.

Now, he stood on that stage again and gave the epilogue and it was, in large measure, a recital of words that characterized “Auntie” Joy in this world.

“Trip to India…walking to the airport to send student summer service volunteers overseas…tennis ‘til age 75…ice skating at 75…hymn sings Sunday night…shoveling snow…Halloween parties…Sermon on the Mount…the store.”

The “store” was Joy Brothers (hers) Packard care agency on Pleasant Avenue, which was the epitome of quality and service to the motoring public of years age.

On the day before she died, a Sunday, Miss Joy gave her own final public valedictory to the church’s adult Bible class.

That day she rose and read from the seventh chapter of the Book of the Revelation, even though that was not the lesson of the day.

“I looked, and behold, a great multitude which no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and tongues, standing before the throne clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, salvation belongs to our God who sits upon the throne.”

She finished with that stirring phrase, “for the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and He will guide them to springs of living water; and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

Did Miss Joy know something that Sunday?

The day after her death, her grand nephew, Sam did her bidding and took her hated cane and hurled it into the river from the High Bridge.

“As an act of eternal triumph,” said Pastor Didier.

I remember too, that March day she and I chatted and I reminded her that she had provided the wherewithal to build a large portion of Presbyterian Homes on Lake Johanna.

“And yet you still live in your own home” I said.

“Oh, yes, I will live there until I get old and then move to the Presbyterian Homes,” said the 93-year-old, winking at me.

What an exit line.

Reprinted with thanks to the St. Paul Pioneer Press, and our gratitude to the late Miss Lillias Joy (10/07/1882-02/01/1978)