Remembering Joyce Stevens Fugitt

Joyce Stevens Fugitt, 1942-1987

Glenna Park:  Joyce left us November 30, 1987, when she was only 45 years old.  She lived with her three children, Jill, Jeff, and Janie, in Farmer’s Branch, Texas, just northwest of Dallas.  Joyce worked in hotel management, but was entertaining the idea of a new career in aviation.  Before her death, Joyce had made her solo flight in a Cessna 180.  She talked happily about making her own business in cargo flying.  There was such a feeling of freedom and control from the air. 

Janie Fugitt: Joyce exhibited personal strength in facing the devastating effects of ALS, when she wrote to her family, “We all have bad days, but there is something, no matter how small, that we can appreciate in each day.  Whether it be the sunrise, the sunset, birds singing, wind in the trees, flowers in bloom, lake and streams, snow falling softly, rain gently tapping on the window—these things and many more have always given me a natural ‘high.’ That’s why I have never needed alcohol or drugs to have a good time or feel good.  Life is a miracle and a gift—appreciate and enjoy it!” 

Joyce’s signature had a happy face in the large curve of the cursive “J” of her name.

Her courage, grace, strength, and determination, in spite of the daily challenges she faced from ALS, are a constant source of inspiration for me in good times and bad.  She is my hero, and her spirit lives on in me! 

Glenna Park: Several classmates remembered Joyce’s “dark eyes as sparkling and smiling.”  Helen Olson Jones remembered having a couple of classes with Joyce and felt like she was always happy and very friendly.  Debbie Snyder Pennypacker Tucker had a similar memory of Joyce, and again commented on her beautiful eyes.  Many cultures recognize that the “eyes are the windows to the soul.”  Joyce had many friends, a very kind soul.

A streak of good-natured mischief accompanied the Friday night when several of us girls decided to go camping overnight at Joyce’s family’s property in the country.  We set up cots with our bedding in an open field just up from a creek.  Some fished.  We all talked until way late in the night, enjoying the bright moonlight and stars.  Vesta Patterson got up to go and check her fishing line.  She raced back to us in a panic, saying that some male had whispered her name across the creek.  Joyce immediately surmised that some of our high school friends were going to “crash” our party and urged everybody to stay calm as the guys walked into view. 

Now, as Joyce’s dad had checked on us before bedtime, he assured all of us that he would be listening for the horn on the jeep he left with us.  We were to honk if anyone bothered us.  He said he would be there in a flash, and not to worry.  One of the girls panicked and honked the horn.  Joyce urgently told the boys to hide because her dad would have a gun. 

Fred Freeman Elder stood tall behind a tree, which was lots thinner than he was, and as we found it funny, we urged him to get somewhere fast.  We saw Mr. Steven’s headlights burning rapidly across the field and tried to calm ourselves down.  Joyce stood up and told her dad that one of the girls got spooked and honked the horn.  We all agreed, so he put his gun down, said “good night” and returned to the house. 

The guys visited briefly but saw that they needed to get away and retreated back across the creek to their car.  We eventually chatted ourselves to sleep under that night sky.

Jane Thompson Elder Olson:  I remember another party at Joyce’s farm for a mixed group and after a big dinner, made by our parents, and a bonfire, some of the boys went with Dan Kinney as he drove his car off the dam.  We heard the crash and all went running, especially our fathers, to discover that the car was not in the water, but on the landing, with everyone getting out safely.  My father drove Danny home so he could assure the parents that no one was hurt.  We have remembered and laughed over this event at subsequent reunions.

After school, Joyce drove several of us home, but stopped by Grifs Burgers for a 15-cent hamburger and cokes.  We girls were packed into Joyce’s ’53 black Chevy every day.

In an era when we had no cell phones and no computers, only those institutional black dial phones, we girls talked to each other every night.  We discussed wardrobes, what we would be wearing tomorrow, and most importantly, we reported if a boy had called us. One night, as Joyce started the bath water, the phone rang.  She answered it, and a boy was on the line. She became totally engaged in the conversation and forgot about the bathtub.  Soon, water was all over the upstairs floor and leaking into the downstairs ceiling.  Joyce’s dad hit the ceiling in a real storm.  Joyce quickly called to see if the Thompsons had room for her to stay overnight until her father calmed down and had the repairs done.  Joyce knew when to retreat, when to lie low.  

Joyce and I went to Wichita State for our freshman year.  Eventually Joyce joined Alpha Phi sorority, and I transferred to Kansas University.  She became a cheerleader in another year.  We both were active in our college lives and met up again at our weddings.  Although we did not live in the same cities, we stayed aware of each other’s lives and children, and, ultimately, divorces.  Joyce, living in Texas by then, stayed fiercely independent after her diagnosis of ALS, especially with the help of her children.  Her youngest, Janie, learned to understand her mother’s distorted speech (due to atrophied throat muscles from ALS) and “translated” for her to the end.

Joyce was young, had dreams partially realized, and lived as fully as her illness allowed.  She has been missed by many.  Her spirit has remained with us.

Editor’s Note: Glenna Stearman Park gathered memories from classmates for this story, assisted by Joyce’s youngest child, Janie Fugitt, who supplied memories, documents, and photos. You can add your own memories of Joyce in the Comment box below.

This story was originally published on the Class of 1960 website in fall, 2020.