The church bells rang and the fire alarms screamed that November day in Philadelphia.
"What is happening? Why are the sirens ringing?" the woman asked her husband on the telephone.
He told her the war was over and she began to cry. Their 3-year-old daughter watched her mother's tears and didn't know what "the war is over" meant, but she never forgot the news about the end of World War I.
"'The war is over.' That's my first memory. I think it's a good one," Ellen Whitcher said at her 100th birthday party last month.
On a windy and blustery afternoon atop Cleary Summit, nearly 100 people gathered in an enclosed white tent at Skiland to celebrate her first century.
She is a retired elementary school teacher and a memorable Fairbanks figure. We first met many years ago when I worked at the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner and she handled the publicity work for the annual summer home tour sponsored by the American Association of University Women. Every conversation ended with a sense of appreciation. Over the years I picked up bits and pieces of her life story.
Her eyesight has dimmed and she is not as mobile around her house as she once was, but her mind is in working order. She looks to be in her mid-80s.
Her family lived in Philadelphia until she was 9, when they moved to Bayside, a neighborhood in Queens, then on the edge of New York City. She went to Wheaton College in Norton, Massachusetts, and studied art history and French. She has remained in touch over the years with her classmates, though their ranks have dwindled. She attended the 75th reunion of the Class of 1938 two years ago.
During World War II, she became a Red Cross recreation worker, serving in Hawaii and Guam. After the war, she worked in Japan for the Red Cross and at Bethesda Naval Hospital before coming to Alaska.
In Fairbanks, she met electrician Bill Whitcher, who would be her husband for 52 years. At his memorial in 2002, there was a chocolate cake marked with the words, "For Bill, whose zest for life is an inspiration to us still."
As Ellen hit the century mark, she showed great interest in those around her. A lot of people find that their circle of friends shrinks as they get older, but she has long had a knack for developing new friendships.
I asked her why she has so many friends who are younger than she is. As soon as I said it, I knew it was a stupid question, but her answer wasn't: "I guess that's because I am older than they are."
The party took place at the top of Skiland, a downhill ski operation to which Ellen and Bill dedicated many years. It is a place that holds many memories for Whitcher.
Skiland volunteer Jeff Fay, who met Ellen in 1970 when he was about to become a teenager, said he once witnessed her giving a "contemplative stare" to a customer who had walked up to the lunch counter in the ski building.
Ellen thought for a few seconds as she looked him up and down. "Snickers Bar, right?"
"That's my favorite candy bar," he said, mouth dropping. She also came up with his name. Fay said he remembers the man saying he had been to Skiland only once before, many years earlier, and purchased a Snickers.
Jack de Yonge, a retired newspaperman who came from New Jersey to attend the festivities, said Ellen's memory for words was invaluable when they worked together at the Daily News-Miner in the 1950s. She was the society editor and a woman of great wit, he said, who could handle the likes of fellow reporter Chuck Hoyt, who addressed her as "Whitch."
"Hey Whitch, how do you spell toilet?" he once asked.
"Who's your audience?" Whitcher replied.
A few weeks ago, she wrote a letter to the newspaper asking what someone at her point in life should be called.
"Of course, there are generic terms for my generation — senior citizen, old timer — 'centenarian' sounds too academic," she said. "I could ask 'Dear Abby,' but then I would have to wait for her to consult her readers and get back to me."
She didn't have to wait long for Fairbanks librarian Greg Hill to say she belongs to what people are calling the "G.I. Generation," those born between 1901 and 1924.
Ron Inouye, a friend who meets with Ellen regularly, said she is full of questions and remains curious about what is going on in the world, which is why he always has his smartphone handy to try to find the answers.
He said he learned not long ago that Ellen is a synesthete. In her case, the sound of music creates colors in her mind. He said he discovered this when Ellen said she and her brother used to have debates about the "color of music."
Inouye said this gift may have something to do with her memory and he thinks it helped her newspaper work in the 1950s, her work as a teacher and her ability to maintain friendships. "I don't know if you are born with this gift or if you cultivate it, but she's exceptional," he said.
As she cut the birthday cake, assisted by Connor Soden, it was clear that as with her late husband Bill, her "zest for life is an inspiration to us still."