Raleigh

Raleigh A Life of Purpose, Laughter, and Love

If every family has a center of gravity—the person who quietly keeps everyone connected—ours just might be my youngest sister, Raleigh.

She's seventy now, happily married to Bill Wolpert, and living in the beautiful suburbs of Minneapolis. She is the youngest of the four Fingerman children, but don't let the birth order fool you. Somewhere along the way, he quietly became one of the wisest, kindest, and most capable people in our family.

Our lineup has always been colorful.

First comes Pooky—Orlene to the outside world—who will soon celebrate her 80th birthday in Boston. For thirty years she taught honors mathematics at Boston Girls Latin School. She's a world traveler, a jazz enthusiast, and a fierce tennis player. She also possesses the remarkable ability to detect flaws in my logic before I've finished my first sentence.

Then there's me, Joel, seventy-seven, in Chicago.

According to my sisters, my principal hobby is giving them reasons to worry.

I prefer to think of it as providing family entertainment.

Next came our beloved sister Sally, whose laughter filled every room she entered. We lost her far too soon at sixty-eight, but somehow she still manages to be part of almost every family conversation.

Someone inevitably says, "Remember when Sally..."

And within seconds we're all laughing again.

Then comes Raleigh.

Not "the baby."

The heart.

Life with Raleigh follows the seasons beautifully.

Winter Most people see Minnesota winters and think, Stay inside.

Raleigh thinks, "Where are my boots?"

Every morning she bundles herself up and heads out with friends for long walks through the snow.

One January morning, with the temperature hovering somewhere between "very cold" and "are you kidding me," I called.

"Raleigh..."

"Yes?" "How cold is it?"

She looked outside.

"The thermometer says twelve below."

"And you're walking?"

"Of course."

"I'd be walking too."

"Really?"

"Yes...from the living room to the kitchen."

Bill, overhearing the conversation, simply shook his head.

"Joel," he said, "that's about the distance I figured."

Spring When winter finally loosens its grip, Raleigh and Bill become gardeners.

The yard comes alive with flowers, shrubs, fresh mulch, and enough planning to rival a military operation.

I called one afternoon.

"What are you planting today?"

"Perennials."

"I know exactly what those are."

There was silence.

"Joel..."

"Okay...I don't."

Bill rescued me.

"They're flowers that come back every year."

"I knew that."

Raleigh laughed.

"No, Joel...you hoped that."

Summer Summer in Minnesota is Raleigh's reward for surviving winter.

Long walks.

Friends.

Community gatherings.

Time on the patio with Bill.

Every sunny day is treated like a gift that shouldn't be wasted.

Meanwhile, in Chicago...

"I'm staying inside."

"Why?" "It's ninety-four degrees."

"So?" "I'm preserving myself."

"You've been preserving yourself since 1949."

Autumn Autumn is one of Raleigh's favorite times of year.

The maples explode into brilliant reds and golds, the air turns crisp, and she begins preparing for the Jewish High Holidays.

Friends gather around the table.

Stories are shared.

New memories are made.

Bill usually announces, "I'll help with the dishes."

Everyone knows this is why Raleigh married him.

But there is another part of Raleigh's life that deserves special recognition.

For many years she has devoted enormous energy to Interact Center for the Visual and Performing Arts, an extraordinary organization that empowers artists with mental health challenges and other disabilities through creativity, performance, and community. She has become one of Interact's leading fundraisers and strongest ambassadors.

She has an extraordinary ability to introduce people to Interact's mission—not by asking for money first, but by helping them meet the artists, understand their stories, and experience the joy, confidence, and purpose that creativity brings.

People support Interact because they believe in its mission.

Many also support it because they believe in Raleigh.

One evening I asked her, "How do you convince so many people to donate?"

She smiled.

"I tell them about the artists."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"I threaten to give them your phone number."

Bill nodded.

"I've seen that strategy work."

Our family conversations rarely stay serious for long.

Pooky says, "Joel, have you finally learned to listen?"

"I'm improving."

Raleigh adds, "We've been hearing that since Nixon was President."

Bill quietly sips his coffee.

"I've discovered something."

"What's that?" I ask.

"The three of you haven't changed very much."

"That's not true," I protest.

Pooky smiles.

"Oh yes, it is."

As we've grown older, especially with Parkinson's touching both Pooky and me, we've learned something that wasn't obvious when we were children.

Time matters.

Phone calls matter.

Showing up matters.

Laughing matters.

No one understands that better than Raleigh.

She keeps friendships alive.

She builds community.

She brings people together.

She helps artists find their voices.

She reminds all of us that generosity isn't measured only in dollars—it is measured in time, encouragement, kindness, and love.

So yes, Raleigh is the youngest of the four Fingerman children.

But when our family looks for someone to inspire us, organize us, welcome us, or simply remind us what's truly important...

We often find ourselves looking toward Minnesota.

And there she is—

walking through the snow, planting flowers with Bill, raising support for artists at Interact, opening her home to friends, and quietly showing all of us what a life of purpose, laughter, and love really looks like.

She's our youngest sister.

And we couldn't be prouder of her.