Two factoids you may not know: 1. The inspiration for the Energizer Bunny came from right here in Austin. 2. The word “perky” didn’t exist until the birth of an Austin baby girl made a demand for its usage. (That birth, by the way, caused the rotation of the planet to suddenly surge!)

The little girl’s mother worked as a nanny for the Ben Hormel family. Mrs. Hormel  took one look at the new baby and insisted she be named Ann Jeanette even though the baby’s father wanted Colleen Beth. “But,” Mrs. Hormel argued, “she must be Ann Jeanette because she looks like an Ann Jeanette!”  Father was overruled.

Ann Jeanette is, of course, now a grown woman. She describes herself as  “unremarkable,” but I would resolutely disagree. You will find her bustling about the Hormel Historic Home making sure the tables are set correctly, decorations are precisely placed, and that—most  importantly—everyone is properly welcomed. This she does with ease as her smile lights up her face like a hundred watt light bulb. Never one to mosey, Ann Jeanette scoots back and forth with a vigor coveted by women half her age. But it doesn’t end there. When she isn’t surveying the dining room, she also serves as a tour guide, treating the guests to inside stories of the Hormel’s and their home.

In her spare time (what spare time?), she also volunteers at the Senior Center doing “whatever needs to be done.” Now you see what I mean by “perky,” although I’m thinking of changing it to “ball of fire!”

By now you may have guessed who this very special woman is. Why, Ann Dixon, of course!  Ann is one of the many delicious drops of glue that holds our community together. And, lest I forget to tell you, this feisty little drop of glue is 92 years old!

Ann still lives in the home she and her husband bought in 1954 and where they raised four children. Ann feels blessed when she describes Roger as a wonderful man. At one point the two of them were packed and ready to leave for the Peace Corps when their plans were cut short by her husband’s diagnosis of lung cancer. This eventually took his life. Ann has been a widow for 32 years during which time she has also lost two sons. Her daughter lives in Nevis, a small island in the Caribbean, and her remaining son lives in South Carolina.

One only has to look around Ann’s home to see the love her family showers upon her.  Photos of them cover every surface and the phone frequently rings with a loved one “just checking in.”  Even distant Nevis is not too far away as her daughter regularly Skypes.

As a child Ann remembers being poor.  “But, then,” she explains, “it was the norm because most everyone was poor.”  At times her family had to live with her grandparents when they had no place to go. You see, growing up in her family was not altogether rosy for they were forced to frequently move because of her father’s drinking. As a result, they all became experts at packing up and leaving in the middle of the night … just before the rent was due.

Ann doesn’t have many disappointments in her life, but she vividly remembers one. It happened on Christmas Eve when she was five years old.  Being a “true believer,” she had a one-in-a-million chance to scrutinize Santa Claus up close.  To her shock, savvy Ann recognized the ring on his finger as that belonging to the neighbor man. Crestfallen, that was the end of the Jolly Fat Man for her.

When Ann turned 15, she got a job at the old root beer stand across from the Methodist Church. It was a coveted position because all the girls wanted to work there  so they could wait on the boys.  Ann’s face still gets a dreamy cast when she talks about flirting with the guys as she handed the heavy mugs through their car windows.

Her next job was at Kresge’s lunch counter, followed by a long stint at Wold’s Drug where she stayed until she married.  Later, even with four children at home, Ann worked at Ankeny’s for twenty years.  She also managed to volunteer as a Brownie leader, as well as helping out at St. Augustine’s and working as a school classroom mother.

As a teen, one of her happiest moments was when she was acting in Austin High School plays.  Ann usually got a part because she had a loud, clear voice that could easily be heard across the expanse of the old auditorium.  AHS had lots of clubs to join, lunch hour dances to attend, and was only a block away from the glorious Carnegie Library that was full of enticing books.  She was also a voraciously devoted fan of radio cowboy programs.

Crime wasn’t an issue in Austin then and Ann regularly hitch hiked with her girlfriends to places like Albert Lea and Osage, Iowa.  She also recalls her mother frequently hiring hobos who were passing through on the train.  Later when Ann’s classmates were drafted to fight in W.W.II, she wrote to numerous servicemen so they didn’t feel forgotten.

In 2015, Austin recognized Ann (wasn’t it about time?) as one of five deserving individuals who have done outstanding community volunteering. I don’t believe Ann received a crown on that day, but she should have!  But, then, Ann doesn’t need a crown to shine.  She radiates naturally.

For decades, Awesome Ann has lived alone. She drives, does not wear glasses or hearing aids, has most of her original teeth,  seldom visits a doctor, and still has her tonsils! Every fiber of her being has clung to a life of high moral standards … except for that one wicked activity. Every Thursday night, as she had done for the last thirty years, Ann gambles with her girlfriends, placing $6 bets, drinking one beer and arriving back home by 7 p.m.

I ask you now, how utterly remarkable is this “unremarkable” woman?

Peggy Keener’s column appears every other week in the Austin Daily Herald