Velma invented the Egg McMuffin.

This would have been around 1957, at a business she owned with her father called The Gem Diner.

The Gem Diner was a little place in Sanitaria Springs, New York — which in itself was a little place near Binghamton, New York — that sat on the side of Route 7 and sold sandwiches, shakes, burgers and fries to travelers who would stop by for lunch or an early dinner. But few people came in for breakfast.

“They stop and get coffee,” Velma said to her father.

“They get coffee,” Grover corrected. “To go. They don’t want to be late for work, so they fill their thermos and leave.”

So Velma began thinking of a portable breakfast that could be made quickly. She came up with a fried egg, slice of Canadian Bacon and cheese served on a toasted English Muffin.

“What is it?” Grover felt the warmth of the English muffin and egg flow through the wax paper that covered the sandwich.

“It’s breakfast,”

“Well,” he unwrapped it. “We’ll give it a try.”

They sold out the first week. The item was named The Gem Diner Special and it cost thirty cents.

“Don’t forget The Gem Diner Special tomorrow,” Grover would remind every customer he rang out.

Now, on the road from Bainbridge, New York to Binghamton, New York, there were over fifteen places to stop and get a cup of coffee on your way home from work —  twenty if you weren’t picky. But none with a prettier waitress. So every day Larry De Morier stopped at The Gem Diner. And every day he would talk to Velma. And every day he would leave — only after he made her laugh at least twice.

He proposed to her on the porch steps of Grover’s house in Sanitaria Springs — the big house that was once the town’s hotel — just around the corner from the diner. They were married in January of 1958. Grover rented the upstairs rooms out to people, so he moved to a back bedroom of the house, and the newlyweds took the first floor.

Life went on.

Four years later, two days after Christmas in 1962, Velma awoke suddenly and knew it was time to deliver her child. She woke her husband who carried her bag out and scrambled to get her into the car. Larry jumped in — it was ten miles to the hospital but the roads would be clear at this hour — but when he turned the car key, nothing happened. He tried again. And again. But without even a click from the starter to signify effort, the car did not start.

Larry jumped out of the car — leaving his wife inside — and disappeared. It was cold and silent in Sanitaria Springs at this time of night. Velma sat — trying to remain calm — until she heard the roar of a large engine in the distance, then a car raced towards her; a copper colored Ford Fairlane. Larry jumped out to transfer his wife inside.

“Who’s car is this?” she asked, through shallow breaths. .

“A friends.”

Larry shot out of the stone driveway.

On the clear back roads, they made good time. They got to the hospital and their child was born, and fifteen hours later — when his head had now cleared — Larry decided he’d better find out who’s car he had taken — since he had ran up the street and looked inside of every car he could find until he came across one with the keys in it. So he and Grover made some phone calls, identified who owned the car, described the situation. The police were contacted and they stopped their search for the stolen Fairlane.

The Gem Diner did well for a few more years but the hours were long and demanding. And Grover decided it was too much for his daughter and her young family, and too much for him. They closed the doors. So Grover paced the big house trying to determine what do next — especially since Larry and Velma would soon have another mouth to feed with their second child. He had to come up with a source of income for her where she wouldn’t have to be away from home as much.

“A fish store?” she asked. “You mean, to eat?”

“No. Tropical fish,” he said excitedly. Pointing to the area that was once the bar of the old hotel. “Right here. You wouldn’t even have to leave the house to take care of customers. You would here the buzzer inside the house when someone came in that door, and you would just walk in through the house. Simple.”

So Grover got to work on The Mermaid Aquarium, Sanitaria Springs first tropical fish store. He bought display cases and shelving, hose and tank decorations and filled over a hundred different tanks with water, gravel, pumps and exotic fish.

“Do people care about tropical fish?” she asked.

“You’ll make them care. And a fish tank is cheaper than one of them color TV’s, remind them of that.”

Grover walked out to his car, motioning his son-in-law to help him carry something back in.

“What is it?” Larry lifted his side of the box but something inside moved.

“Alligators.”

“What?”

“Baby ones. Put them in that tank right next to the piranhas.”

Preparation for the store continued. And two days before the grand opening of The Mermaid Aquarium, Grover Bennett died. Velma opened the store without him. And a week after that, she named her new daughter after her father’s favorite song; Laura.

The Mermaid Aquarium provided a solid second income to the family and with the rent of the tenants upstairs and Larry’s small salary, they squeaked by. In fact, there were even a few dollars to spend on a new trend: kids birthday parties hosted at McDonalds.

In 1972, as Velma helped kids into the basement of the Front Street McDonalds —  where they had games, music and cake set up for her son’s tenth birthday — she passed a large poster announcing McDonalds newest food item. The franchise would now start serving breakfast and they invited all to try the new Egg McMuffin.

Velma smiled.

And time moved on.

Velma is 93 years old now and I thought of these stories as I helped her pack last weekend. I thought of how when my dad went on medical disability in 1978 and his small salary would now become even smaller, Velma became the oldest College Freshman at the State University of New York at Delhi’s Nursing Program. She was 56 years old and she combined classes and graduated in one year. She then went to work at The Delaware Valley Hospital in Walton for almost thirty years, where she won nurse of the year in 2002. A plaque still hangs there with her name on it.

We continued to pack.

“Not everything,” she said. “We don’t need to take everything, just a few things. I’ll be back.”

“I know.”

And we would be back. A few times probably to get the house ready to sell.

“Your heart is strong, Velma,” Doctor Freeman had said, only a few days before when he examined her. “Very strong. So are your legs. But your balance is terrible.”

So Velma would go to Ohio. To Laura’s house. Where there was a room waiting for her and a city that had senior centers and groups and organizations and she wouldn’t be alone in a big house.

“I’m not just going to twiddle my thumbs,” she said.

“No one is asking you to.”

“I need to do things.”

“We know.”

And we packed her bag and got her medication. We took a few of her pictures and I checked the lock twice. We got in the car and then went back inside for her cane — she didn’t think she would need it. Then we adjusted the heat in the car to volcanic levels — just the way she liked it — and we headed out for the five hour drive to meet my sister half way between Walton and Columbus.

“I didn’t get breakfast,” she announced, as if a serious crime had been committed against her.

“We’ll stop at McDonalds on the way out.”

“Okay.”

And we did.