NIHMEY o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2003-09-26 published
Lily NIHMEY
By John NIHMEY
Friday,
September 26, 2003 - Page A28
Mother, entrepreneur. Born July 15, 1914, in Ottawa. Died September
4 in Ottawa of natural causes, aged 89.
She was born Lily
MONSOUR, the first child of Lebanese immigrants.
Her father peddled, an occupation shared by Lebanese and Jewish
immigrants trying hard to make a living in a new land. An opportunity
to open a store in Mattawa arose and the family moved; nine-year-old
Lily stayed behind with the great-uncle and aunt who had sponsored
her parents into Canada. She helped in their downtown business,
translated letters from Lebanon, and attended school. The decision,
made out of family obligation, gave Lily an early taste of responsibility.
She missed her parents and siblings desperately. When her sister,
Mary, moved to Ottawa to attend school, Lily was overjoyed. Her
happiness turned to devastation, though, when Mary collapsed
at her desk and died at the age of 16.
Lily graduated from a business college and worked for a short
time in the federal government. She met Philip
NIHMEY, a Lebanese
immigrant who had experienced his share of hard knocks, including
the death of both parents before his 15th birthday. Philip fell
madly for Lily, who at 28 thought her eligible years were numbered.
They married and started a family; in seven years it would grow
to five sons.
In 1956, Phil and Lily opened one of Ottawa's first diners, Phil's
Restaurant. Graced with chrome stools, tube lighting, and jukeboxes,
it was a smash success. The family moved to a two-storey house
in the suburbs. The achievement for Phil, who once shined shoes
for a living, and Lily, who had worked hard to give her husband
the confidence to succeed, was enormous.
Five years later, Phil died of a stroke at the age of 51. Lily
picked herself up to keep the business going and support her
five sons, now ranging in age from 9 to 15. She sold their "dream"
house and bought one closer to the business. She smiled behind
the counter 14 hours a day, then cried over the tea her sons
would prepare for her each night. As the neighbourhood became
tough, Lily became tougher, teaching her "boys" right from wrong,
educating us through her toil, and guiding us away from the trouble
we witnessed every day. As for faith, she always said, "I don't
have time to go to church but God is on my side. But you boys
have to go." And we did.
Lily found solace in her work and treated her customers with
equal justice. She doled out uneven quantities of home-cooked
food for the same price; it depended on how much you could eat.
She chastised grown men for not finishing their meals, shamed
neglectful mothers into taking responsibility, and ordered dropouts
back to school. She once told a motorcyclist to go home and shave,
that he was too good-looking to cover his face.
Lily retired in 1976. Her children remained close throughout
her senior years, taking her on trips and congregating at her
home for Sunday dinner. When she turned 75, we hosted a surprise
party with 100 guests. It was a grand occasion, highlighted by
her granddaughter singing her favourite song, The Wind Beneath
My Wings. A few years later, we took her on a cruise to Hawaii,
the one place she had always wanted to go.
A prominent European hotelier once told me that my mother was
what class was all about. In his circle, he said, everyone equated
their own or others' class by manners and material goods. He
said my mother embodied characteristics to which these people
could only aspire: contentment with her life, pride in her family,
and modesty in her accomplishments.
Our mother never quite had the sense of self-worth that this
man attributed to her. Perhaps resulting from the loss of her
childhood years, Lily never thought she had class, nor beauty.
While we argued this with her, we also knew that these attributes
were unimportant to her.
John is Lily's son.
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