Daughters of UTA professors. Stolen elephant. Lifelong friends.
Margaret Monostory Crowley leaned back in her chair and set the scene. The year was 1969, and the 4-year-old had just lost her blue stuffed elephant made by her grandmother at a party for her father’s new colleague in UTA’s foreign language department. She later spotted it in the arms of that colleague’s daughter, a little girl named Lolín Martins-Crane, who fell asleep clutching it. “I was ready to walk over there and shake her and say, ‘Yo, little new girl, give me my elephant back,” said Monostory Crowley, assistant professor of practice in theater arts and dance. Martins-Crane, director at the Career Development Center, laughed as she recalled that moment. “I loved it,” she said. “I wasn’t going to give it back.” For the next 56 years, they grew into each other’s worlds. They had sleepovers. They went to school together, sometimes spent holidays together and took vacations together. Then they stepped back for a time to grow on their own. Yet through every milestone — weddings, babies, or, more painfully, the deaths of their parents — they showed up for one another. No one else could fully understand. Except the other. “She's the only one that has my history memories from a sisterhood perspective. I have no one else. It was just her in those moments,” Martins-Crane said before bursting into tears. Their friendship has gone through multiple facets — in sickness and in health. Their childhood was filled with days exploring the creek behind Monostory Crowley’s house, riding bikes and inventing adventures. They also had to deal with Martins-Crane’s asthma, when Monostory Crowley was the only person allowed to come over and hang out with her friend. In college, Monostory Crowley discovered theater. Martins-Crane, who studied psychology, remembered a sudden feeling that she wasn’t sure she had ever shared aloud. “I was so jealous, because I had not found my tribe yet. I had not found my community,” she said. The pair still traded letters and phone calls, but they became “two siblings trying to find their own identity and falling apart from each other,” Martins-Crane said. Monostory Crowley said the separation didn’t matter. It didn’t make any difference whether they talked to each other once a week or once a year. They knew the relationship was always there. Looking back, Martins-Crane called that process necessary. “We weren't the team discovering together anymore. We were apart discovering,” she said. “I think it was healthy thing. I think it was a good thing. It's made us who we are obviously today, and I just think it's the beauty of the separation.” Soon after, she found her own community at the Dry Gulch — the campus bar once tucked in the University Center basement where The Shorthorn's offices now stand — where her future husband, alumnus Martin Crane, was DJing. Somewhere between Martins-Crane meeting Crane and marrying him, she and Monostory Crowley went through one of their first tough tests. ‘I always felt like I didn't do enough’ Martins-Crane felt “schizophrenic” when her mother died in 1990, she said. One minute, she was crying. The next, she was planning table tents for her wedding the following year. Monostory Crowley also remembered that period for a different reason. “I always felt like I didn't do enough,” she said. At that moment, she was juggling graduate school and living in Austin. “I didn't feel like I was keeping this ball in the air, you know, while I was trying to keep all the other ones in the air,” she said. “I love you,” Martins-Crane responded back, almost immediately. In the years following, Monostory Crowley lost her father in 2003, and Martins-Crane lost hers in 2007. A decade later, in 2017, Monostory Crowley’s mother died. Each loss felt doubled. They mourned their own parent while watching the other grieve. When they were physically there for each other, one would sit at the hospital to give the other a break. And when distance kept them apart, they leaned on many five-hour calls. “I feel like I lost a second set of parents, you know, with yours,” Martins-Crane said. Crane said that with each loss, his wife and Monostory Crowley leaned on each other. Their different personalities made for a deep friendship. “It’s just a long-term friendship,” he said. “So few people get to keep friends that they had when they were 5 years, 6 years old.” ‘She loves me no matter what happens’ Their bonds have grown deeper in recent years. After 25 years of trying, in 2018, Monostory Crowley joined Martins-Crane in working at UTA, their alma mater. She chased the opportunity for decades and credited Martins-Crane for her getting the position. It was Martins-Crane who approached the chairman of the theater arts and dance department, asking him to consider her friend. Even then, Martins-Crane was the one more anxious about the interview. She had a long list of questions when Monostory Crowley called her after: What happened? What did her friend answer? Was she comfortable? Did she have good examples? Is there something Martins-Crane herself could do? Her friend was more brief in her reply, “I think they’re going to hire me.” Kim LaFontaine, retired theater arts and dance professor and chair emeritus, said in a text that Monostory Crowley was a great hire for the department because of her expertise in costume design and set construction. “Kudos to all the people who convinced her to take the position as the department was in desperate need of her talent at the time,” LaFontaine said. Pete Smith, professor of modern languages and UTA’s chief analytics and data officer, said the pair’s friendship reflects the legacy of their fathers, who were once his colleagues. “It's the perfect example of tradition, right?” Smith said. These days, they get together around every week or two, with many texts in between, Martins-Crane said. The family traditions they grew up with continue through their children. Both said they believe they would have been different people without the other — they’re now not just better friends but also better mothers. “I just know that she loves me no matter what happens,” Martins-Crane said. “I can share anything and every single thing with her. There's no judgment, there’s nothing. I feel so at home and so at ease, and it's such a comfort.” As the conversation stretched past an hour, they sat across from one another, eyes brimming as they went through past, present and future. More than once, they finished each other’s sentences. “I have so many things,” Martins-Crane responded when asked about what else they appreciated about the other. “How much longer do you want?” Monostory Crowley asked. Monostory Crowley still keeps the original blue elephant at her bedside. Martins-Crane’s red twin, also stitched by her friend’s grandmother, went to her daughter. Martins-Crane gave a loving look toward her best friend of 56 years, their eyes red from crying. “She’s my elephant in my life,” Martins-Crane said. @DangHLe news-editor.shorthorn@uta.edu