Sally McLaughlin Johnson

SHREWSBURY, Mass. – Sally McLaughlin Johnson, 87, born in Gardiner, and longtime resident of Falmouth, passed away May 16, 2025.

We are now orphans. No mom, no dad. Our mom died two weeks ago. Her name is Sally Johnson. Dad passed away in 2011. Our sister Linda passed away last October. Our family of five has dwindled to two. Everyone has a unique perspective of Sally and her life as a mom, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, a friend, a co-worker, and a wife. Mom embraced the many roles expected of (and sometimes demanded of) mothers in the sixties and seventies.

We are gladdened and grateful that mom found and formed a group of friends at Southgate in Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, her final home. Initially she was hesitant and reticent regarding the move from Florida, a place where longtime friends, friendly weather, and a sense of belonging contributed to her pleasurable and fulfilling life. Eventually she discovered those attributes and more and forged ahead with a fertile final chapter of her life, when her wisdom, knowledge, and insight should be recognized and applauded on a daily basis in all aspects of life. Special thanks to Mom’s friend Dave, who showered respect and dignity and kindness and companionship upon mom. He is a good kind man and mom was better off for knowing him.

Our mom was a vibrant brave witty person. There are hundreds of memories. I can only offer a modest glimmer and shimmer of Sally Johnson and her life.

Mom and dad wasted no time having children after marrying. They had three children before she was 24 years old. Fairly common back then. One boy, two girls. This was back in the 1960’s, no 72-inch televisions, no iPads, no laptops, no computer in your pocket, no around the clock electronic babysitter/entertainment/waste of time for parents and children. Homemakers had the Herculean task of keeping children occupied, healthy, clean, curious, and sometimes, more importantly, preventing them from squabbling throughout the day. Mom was often the referee of brother sister sister fights. Mom was the secret weapon of family harmony, knowing when to employ a soft touch and knowing when to lay down the law.

We had a badminton net in the backyard and Mom used to tell us she was the badminton champion of Gardiner High School. There is no tangible evidence of this and it may well be true, but there is anecdotal word of mouth reports of the three wild McLaughlin sisters [Sylvia, Claire, and Sally] roaming around the mean streets of Gardiner driving all the boys crazy. When confronted with this, mom would deflect and channel the conversation back to her teenage badminton skills.

Summer days on Johnson Road in Falmouth were truly sublime and bucolic, the ocean a five minute walk away, Town Landing Market with penny (actual pennies) candy, sodas, sandwiches, and chips for less than $1.00, and a neighborhood to roam filled with friends and fun. Mom was the person who made everything happen. Walking down hilly Town Landing Road to the beach was a regular excursion on sunny days. I remember mom teaching me how to swim in the shallow cove, my efforts buoyed by the salty Atlantic Ocean and mom holding me up as I learned to float without thrashing my way to the sandy bottom. She never let go until I was ready. That pretty much sums up a parents job, from toddler to teenager, and mom was always steady, always present, always ready and always prepared to support her children, whatever we needed. We would pack a picnic lunch and we would stay at the beach for hours. It was a place where moms would congregate, keeping an eye on their children while talking, smoking, catching up on neighborhood gossip, and laughing while basking in the midsummer sun.

We played flashlight tag on summer nights. We had the ideal house for that game, kids of all ages chasing each other around in the pitch black and parents inside the house listening to Nat King Cole, drinking Miller beer and smoking cigarettes on those sultry carefree fanciful summer nights. One of those flashlight tag nights remains a memory that is as evocative of childhood as anything else I have. The game never started until darkness fell over the neighborhood, thus allowing the flashlight to shine clear and bright, cutting through the blackness of an August night. Parents were always inside unless some unfortunate child became entangled with the clothes line or two kids ran into each other or someone ran headfirst into a tree. Then parents would come dashing out. Other than that, they did their thing, sharing pizzas and drinks and fondue and, the noise level rising as the night wore on. One starless moonless night was different though. An inky dark shape was spotted on the periphery of the yard. It was taller than us and loud guttural sounds emanated from it. This was no neighborhood kid. This could have been a bear, a monster, a moose, or maybe even Bigfoot. Little kids started screaming, big kids sought protective weapons (sticks, rocks), and all of us ran the other way. The thing speedily scurried towards us, catching up quickly, and before we could react, something was heaved towards us. It fluttered to the ground. It was a full length fur coat. Underneath the discarded coat was a grinning laughing mom who stated “gotch ya, didn’t I.” If that had happened yesterday I still would have been scared.

Mom taught me to drive a stick shift when I was 12 years old. We had a blue Ford Pinto, the car with the gas tank in the rear of the vehicle. She allowed me to drive back and forth on our lengthy dirt driveway, the car repeatedly stuttering and stopping as mom encouraged me to not give up. That was our mom, never disparaging and always encouraging us to chase down our dreams.

Most nights we had a full course dinner, typically waiting for dad to come home before eating. She would prepare meat loaf, roast beef, pot roast, lasagna, all my dad’s favorites, alongside baked or mashed potatoes, always accompanied by a vegetable. Didn’t appreciate it back then, but this was before microwave ovens were in every kitchen. Cooking was cooking and baking was baking. Mom never took the easy way out at mealtime. Our dad was a young CPA trying to establish himself, and oftentimes worked long hours well into the evening, but mom always had dinner wrapped in tin foil waiting for him. As she was preparing dinner each night there was often a clamorous maelstrom of three children, Tippy (our dog), and two cats needing her attention or deserving of her discipline. And this was the routine very single day. I certainly did not appreciate it in 1969 but I most assuredly do now. She must have been exhausted.

Our bedtime routine consisted of a bath, a story, a cup of water, and prayers. Mom was the overseer. The prayers were the important part. We had to “God Bless” all of our friends and she would remind us if we forgot anyone. Lest they be left unblessed for the night. To this day I remember the names of childhood friends who were, unknown to them, blessed by God each night.

When leaving an event, outing, party, or any type of gathering, including Thanksgiving, Christmas, weddings, and funerals, mom was famous for her abrupt departures, standing up and announcing “alright I am ready” and then off she went, gathering her belongings, leaving hugs, kisses, and goodbyes in her wake. She left this life the same way, her loved ones holding her hands, letting her know how much she was loved. She was ready and was not going to wait around for someone to tell her it was her time.

Love you mom. Also, thank you to Liz Johnson, who was always there for mom during her final years.

A remembrance service will be held 11 a.m., June 7, at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, 43 Foreside Road, Falmouth. Reception to follow. Speakers and your memories of Sally welcomed.