Alice Spansky always said that “family is the most important thing.” And that was what Alice Spanksy was—a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sister, an aunt, a cousin. Alice grew up in the depression, the fifth child of ten. She started working at the age of 14 at Tiger Stadium, then Navin Field, meeting the greats of the time including Hank Greenberg, Charlie Gehringer, and Billy Rogel. She later went to work for J.L. Hudson, and became the manager of the women’s department, where she worked until the age of 65. She met Harry—known to everyone as Joe—at a party as a teen and married at the age of 20. Her daughter Diane and son Robert became her life. She and Joe, who worked at Grand Trunk warehouse as a maintenance man, didn’t make a lot of money, but they worked hard and took pride in everything they did. Their home on Haverhill on Detroit’s East side was where the family met to spend Sundays and the holidays. The grass was the type you would find on a putting green, and a rock pathway led to a goldfish pond and statue of the Blessed Mother nestled into a grotto in the backyard. There were always blue and white forget-me-nots among an assortment of flowers in the planting beds, and roses that crept up and over a white arch by the garage. For Sunday dinners and the holidays, Alice cooked roast and turkey dinners, and had always baked a pie or two. The inside of Alice’s house was meticulous. Everyone who knew Alice knows that she was fussy—fussy meaning that when something was a millimeter off, for example, a curtain, Alice could see it. There was also a statue of Blessed Mother inside a neatly kept nook by the bedrooms, where Alice would place the forget-me-nots her grandchildren collected in a bud vase, and light candles for the family. Alice—Posie to her grandchildren—was the most generous person you would ever meet. She never bought anything for herself, but was always buying something for someone else, or giving someone money. Alice was the center of her family, the one who always knew what the right thing to do was when no one else did. She listened, she told stories, she gave advice. She was stubborn, a disciplinarian; but she was above all tenderhearted. She was always there to dry a tear, wipe a nose, kiss a forehead, or give a hug. Alice died April 1, 2012 at the age of 97 after a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease. She will be missed by her children Diane and Robert, and her grandchildren Michael, Mary and David.