MORGANTOWN – It was Party Central at Irene Twigg’s house this past Friday.
Her kids were in and out of the place, as they always are.
In the kitchen, a culinary assembly line was going full-bore, for the production of 450 pepperoni rolls.
Decorations were still being discussed, along with other amenities for the party that was happening that next day.
Logistics, logistics, logistics were also part of the deal.
That’s what she gets for turning 100.
“I can’t believe I’m just sitting here, with all this work going on,” she said, from her recliner in the living room.
She was smiling – but she was also quite serious. After all, work is what the woman has been doing since she was a kid.
Irene was born in 1926 in Michigan: The Village of River Rouge, just outside Detroit, to Hungarian immigrant parents.
River Rouge, if you don’t know, is where the S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald, the ill-fated freighter made famous in the song by Gordon Lightfoot, was built.
As a businesswoman, Mrs. Twigg wasn’t about sinking ships. All her dealings were kept afloat quite nicely, thank you.
She came to Morgantown as a little girl, when her father followed his fortunes to West Virginia. Irene was 12 when he died, and she dug in to help her mom.
After her graduation from Morgantown High, she paid her way through business school.
She met and married Kenneth Twigg, who died in 1991. They brought five kids into the world: Paula, Lana, Tom, Dick and Arthur, whom everybody knows as Mack.
“Mom was a pioneer,” said Paula, who now lives in the Middle East (Jordan) and flies home to Morgantown and Irene every summer without fail.
“In fact, I’d really consider her a feminist,” the daughter continued.
“She had all these business ventures going at a time when women weren’t supposed to have business ventures going. They were supposed to be in the kitchen.”
Irene kept the books at the old Coca-Cola Bottling Plant on Clay Street. Without her husband’s help – the societal norm at the time, as said – she secured properties and businesses for investment purposes.
Again, entirely on her own.
“I still don’t know how she did it,” Paula said. “I’m amazed.”
“Well, I just did, I guess,” Irene said. “I didn’t really make a fuss about it.”
The funniest venture was a head shop – yes, really.
“So, we’re in the 1960s and ’70s with the hippie chicks,” Paula said.
One of those hippie chicks had the aforementioned shop known as The Tribe, and leased space in one of Irene’s buildings.
Until she bailed one day.
Mrs. Twigg took over The Tribe’s operation and the inventory: bongs, pipes, roach clips and all.
“It was hilarious,” Paula said. “Mom didn’t know what any of that stuff was.”
The only thing lit up Saturday for her birthday celebration at the Westover Senior Center were the candles on her cake.
She sang rock ‘n’ roll – she’s still a Detroit girl at heart – and danced with her sons.
“I’ve had fun,” she said. “I still am.”
