Alice E. (Whitehead) Krueger, 85 of Rockland died on March 5, 2010 after a period of failing health. Daughter of the late Edward and Gertrude (Richards) Whitehead she was raised and educated in Reading and Everett. Mrs. Krueger and her late husband founded New England Industrial Truck in Woburn where she worked in the accounting department for over 20 years. She also spent time working as a Bookkeeper for the former Puritan Clothing Company in Rockland. Alice enjoyed creating oil paintings of landscapes and seascapes. She loved to collect antiques, to knit, and to do needlepoint. She was a member of the Mothers Club at Holy Family School and was also active in the Great Books Program at the school. Alice was a Docent at the Fuller Museum of Art in Brockton. Mrs. Krueger was the wife of the late Robert E. Krueger. She was the mother of Kathleen Krueger Goshgarian of Arlington, Jean Krueger Sabo of Pembroke, Robert M. Krueger of Norwell, and the late Mark E. Krueger. She was the sister of Edward Whitehead of Weymouth and the late May O’Connor. Also surviving are 9 Grandchildren and 8 Great Grandchildren. The family welcomes friends and loved ones to celebrate Alice’s life in the Magoun-Biggins Funeral Home 135 Union St. ROCKLAND on Wednesday March 10, 2010 from 4:00-8:00 PM. A Funeral Mass will be held on Thursday March, 11, 2010 at 9:00 AM in Holy Family Church. Burial will follow in Holy Family Cemetery. Donations in her memory may be made to Germaine Lawrence Inc. 18 Claremont Ave. Arlington, MA 02476.

EULOGY THAT WAS SHARED BY KATHY KRUEGER GOSHGARIAN AT ALICE'S FUNERAL MASS.

My mother grew up in Everett, MA. At the age of 14, she met my father who was three years older. They married 6 years later----he a handsome sailor of 23, she a beautiful war bride of 20.

While my father worked to establish himself professionally, she stayed at home raising her four young children.

I have so many early memories of her. I can still see Rob and me walking home with her on the first day of school. We skipped ahead, and when I spun around to look back, there she was—looking to me like Snow White with her shiny black hair curled under. She wore a plaid skirt, saddle shoes and ankle socks. The sun shone on her and she smiled at us.

I remember waking up on Sunday mornings to the click, click, click of her high heels as she walked Del Prete Ave to Holy Family church—wearing a hat, gloves and a lovely suit. I remember being in awe as she prepared to go out—standing at the mirror, applying her lipstick, adjusting her hair, smoothing her skirt, giving her jacket a final tug. To me she was the most dazzling creature in the world.

I remember how fiercely she loved her children. How proud she was. How she proclaimed to anyone who would listen that Robbie was “the prettiest baby in the world.� And Rob always looked out for my mother. Whatever needed to be done at the house, he took care of it: from plumbing to snow plowing, from repairing appliances to banishing mice. Rob was always there.

How she protected us, If Rob, Mark, Jean or I got in hot water, she kept that information to herself.

I remember an incident that so captures her kindness and sensitivity. Jean was 4 at the time and adored our bright blue parakeet, Petie. Despite all warnings not to open the cage, Jean one day did just that. While patting Petie, Jean let her affection go too far. Unfortunately, the intended hug turned into a terminal squeeze. Petie fell dead to the cage floor. In panic, Jean ran to her room. Later she crept downstairs and asked my mother if Petie was OK. My mother looked at her and said, “It’s funny you should ask. He must have fainted. So I brought him to the back door and held him in my hands to give him some fresh air. And all of a sudden, he just woke up and flew away.� What sweet relief for Jean.

Christmas was her favorite time of the year, and she spared no effort in decorating to make Christmas special for us. For her, trimming the tree was not a chore but an art. She’d spend hours placing strands of tinsel on every branch until the tree was a shimmering wall of silver against the colored lights. On Christmas night, she never went to bed but spent hours wrapping countless presents, turning the living room into a Christmas morning vision. No wish was denied. Christmas parties for families and friends were filled with laughter that many of you here remember. And because Rob always rigged up speakers to the stereo outdoors, the neighborhood was filled with Alvin and the Chipmunks singing Christmas carols non-stop all Christmas day. Surprisingly, no one ever complained.

Everyone in our family knew they were loved by Granny. The grandchildren and the great grandchildren. She never forgot a birthday, or a Christmas gift. She always sought out the perfect present, wrapping each meticulously, always urging us to save the wrapping paper for future use.

. Her first grandchild was Donna, who ruled the living room for years. And every move that little blond baby made was cheered with “Isn’t she cute?� When Adam was born with a health issue, Granny was at his side with his mother Cheryl and his dad Mark for 4 months at Children’s Floating Hospital: All the grandchildren Michael, Jennifer and Rachael, noticed that Granny could occasionally be grumpy and affectionately called her “Granny Good-witch.� And of Jesse, Evan, Nathan and David she was extremely fond. She reveled in updates regarding their educational plans, their job prospects, and their latest adventures.

Mark and my mother were famous for long private conversations at any family gathering. While the younger children ran around and festivities commenced, my mother and Mark could be seen locked in deep conversation. My mother and Mark had a strong bond and she enjoyed his great humor, his intense passion for life, his music and his devotion to her.

My mother loved beautiful things. In her middle years she spent many hours and many dollars, exploring the antique and second-hand furniture stores of the South Shore where she bought exquisite Victorian glass lamps and oak furniture. She took up needle point and and knitting making sweaters for all her children. Each stitch was an exercise in perfection. She studied painting and produced some lovely seascapes. For several years she volunteered as a docent, giving tours at the Fuller Museum of Art in Brockton.

For nearly 20 years my mother worked in the office at NEIT. She made the trip from Rockland to Woburn twice a week at speeds that could qualify her for NASCAR racing. The trip through Boston was 35 miles and usually an hour for most people. But Alice Krueger covered this distance in half that time—We speculated that this was her method.: Floor accelerator. Stay in passing lane. Do not apply brakes under any circumstances. Come to a stop at 51 Christine Avenue.

Life was not easy for my mother. She lost her father when she was only 5. Her son Mark’s death at an early age, was a cruel cross to bear. She adored Mark and I don’t think she ever recovered from his loss. And when my Dad died, part of my mother died as well. They were a team and lavished their family with love and devotion. My mother and father were always there in good times and in bad.

But my mother was tender and she was tough. Her generosity included many of our friends who came to her in times of need. She had a great sense of humor and truly laughed hardest at the absurd in life.

My mother was a strong woman who found solace in her own way. She especially loved the privacy of her home and the sanctuary of her backyard with its flowers, birdfeeders and her rock. Often we talked about the weather. I might say,� I think it’s going to rain tonight.� She’d say, “Well, I don’t want a hard rain. I want a soft rain. Not a hard rain, but a soft, gentle rain.� So, Mom, as you look down on us from heaven where I know you are with Mark and Dad, I wish you all the soft and gentle rain you desire.

Kathleen Krueger Goshgarian