Years of Friendship and a Spirit of Giving

Theirs is a Santa Monica many of us can only imagine.

“We knew everyone who lived here,” recalls 79-year-old Virginia Tegner Spurgin, whose grandfather once owned what is now Santa Monica. “It was very rural--open fields from what is now Wilshire Boulevard all the way down to the ocean.”

“And milk was delivered by horse-drawn cart,” interjects a woman standing next to Spurgin.

Suddenly, all 19 women attending a recent luncheon are talking about Third Street before it became a destination, of dress-up shopping dates with their mothers and how, as kids, they fed hay to the milkman’s horse.

Through their philanthropic group, the Keys, these women have been helping support the Les Kelley Family Health Center at the Santa Monica/UCLA Health Center, which provides health care to 7,000 lower-income Westside families. In addition to raising thousands of dollars for the clinic, Keys members provide Thanksgiving and Christmas food baskets and gifts and huggable toys for families and children visiting the clinic during the holidays.

But they have done something even more difficult. Through their good work, these women also have managed to sustain friendships that began in childhood.

“Lillian was our fiesta queen at Santa Monica High School,” says Shirley Danley, hugging the smartly dressed woman standing next to her. “Class of ’36.”

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Both Danley and Lillian Adamson are charter members of the Keys, which was founded in 1953 when several of the women hit the ripe old age of 35.

“We couldn’t be in the Junior Women’s Club anymore because we were too old to be a ‘junior,’ ” says Adamson. “But we wanted to find a way to stay together. Several of us have known each other since grammar school, and we didn’t want to lose our friendship. We also found that Santa Monica Hospital had no one to support their clinic, so we took it on.”

At first glance, these well-turned-out women, who are dining on chicken crepes and salad over hand-stitched linens, might easily be regarded as Ladies Who Lunch. But such a label would ignore their activism, which goes beyond writing checks for good causes.

“In the beginning, we hosted a dinner dance at the Santa Monica Beach Club to raise money for the clinic,” Danley says. “We did everything ourselves--we cooked all the food, and we cleaned up afterwards.”

Earlier this month the Keys hosted its 45th annual fund-raiser at the Marina Beach Marriott, which, according to member Marjorie Lennon, was a huge success.

“We don’t cook anymore,” says another member. “But for years we did. Charged $5 per couple for a wonderful turkey dinner. It’s hard to imagine now how we did it.”

Danley explains why the women seized upon Santa Monica Hospital as the object of their philanthropic affection.

“It was the only hospital in town,” she explains. “Many of us had our babies there. And when the clinic first opened, it was just a little bungalow on the corner of Arizona and 16th--it was [Glenn] Ford’s family home, I’m told. So we started out with a few of us volunteering at the clinic. We’d put on uniforms and take patients’ temperatures, get their weight then steer them into a patient room. And when the clinic needed a new piece of equipment, we’d raise money for them to purchase it. That’s how it all started.”

When asked why, as young women, they chose this unpaid work in addition to raising families and--for several--working outside the home, the women look momentarily puzzled, as if they were being asked why they breathe.

“My mother always did volunteer work,” says one woman. In fact, daughterliness figures prominently into the zeitgeist of this room, perhaps because their monthly meetings provide one of the few occasions for these women to be regarded not only as a wife, parent or grandmother, but also as a mother’s beloved child.

“Virginia’s mother was so wonderful,” Adamson says. “She was our--what did we call her?”

“Our guardian angel,” responds another member. “Virginia’s mother was an angel.”

Spurgin nods her head, smiling. “And Mother called these ladies her girls.”

Indeed, in the glow of collective memory, these girls--most of them now in their 60s, 70s and 80s--slip into the kind of animated conversation they might have engaged in decades ago.

“Santa Monica was a small community--everybody knew everyone else,” Spurgin says. “So if you ditched school, you had to stay off the street.”

“I never ditched school in my life,” says Jane Trinkkeller in mock horror. “I’m shocked.”

“I did, I did,” says Spurgin with wicked pleasure. “I was a naughty child.”

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Nancy Goodrick, who, at 55, is regarded as one of the group’s junior members, says this playfulness illustrates a kind of loyalty that is at once rare and enviable.

“They keep going, no matter what,” says Goodrick, “even though the community has changed dramatically since they were young women.

“They call us the younger girls,” she says, laughing. “That’s primarily why I’m here. I’m 55 years old, and I’m still considered young.”

Later, over coffee served in pretty cups and saucers, Trinkkeller stands up and begins dancing the Charleston. Really well.

“Go, Jane!” someone shouts. And for a moment as they watch, the women return to being the high-spirited girls many were when they met.

“It’s a privilege having these women as friends,” says Spurgin as everyone prepares to leave. “They’re like family.”