By Anton J. Sartori

2057 Fremont Ave.
So. Pasadena, California



Mrs. Anna Bellaire

LeMars Globe-Post
February 3, 1949

Whatever it was this column may have had in store for today will be set aside to allow your correspondent to pay loving tribute to the memory of a dear, departed friend—Mrs. Anna Bellaire.

During a period of more than fifty years, we of my family knew Mrs. Bellaire as a kind and thoughtful friend.  Hers was a life of willing sacrifice as she gave of herself to be of help to others.  With her, the comfort and success of others came first.  Her many friends and the community at large suffer a great loss in the death of this outstanding woman.

In my early youth, I unwittingly proved a stumbling block in the path of this noble woman.  My mother fondly hoped that her son had artistic ability.  To further this, my mother turned me over to Mrs. Bellaire as a beginner on the piano.  But, I failed to cooperate. I not only would not practice—I even skipped going to Mrs. Bellaire’s for my lessons.  Then, with all the patience in the world, Mrs. Bellaire arranged to have me take home a little token of proof that I had not skipped. But somehow, I even managed to get around this plan—and I have had a lifetime to regret it.

However, in the smattering of music absorbed then and since, comes a comforting thought as I take leave of my good friend.

In music, as it is written, there is a character that stands for a rhythmic silence. It is known as a rest.  When this rest character shows up, there follows a brief period of silence, and then the melody and harmonious blendings pick up again.

I like to think of Mrs. Bellaire as merely having reached her rest period as she joins the choir invisible of which the poet sings. And surely, Mrs. Bellaire will live again in minds made better because of having known her.