MISSING MISS MARGARET
I have truly been blessed to have met so many wonderful people through Theme Parkology. Over the years, my path has crossed with souls who were sweet, kind, and whom I still cherish dearly. But then, there are those rare, luminous individuals who don't just pass through your life—they permanently reshape it.
For me, that person was Margaret Kerry.
Margaret possessed a rare, magical alchemy: she became your friend instantly. The moment you met her, the walls came down. I was profoundly blessed to not only share a deep friendship with her, but to collaborate with her on several Theme Parkology projects, as well as lend a hand on her own creative endeavors. Working alongside her wasn't just a professional privilege; it was a masterclass in joy.
As time went on, our bond grew into a beautiful routine. She became the person I would call every single week just to hear her voice, and I made it a point to visit her as often as the world would allow. Distance and time meant nothing to us. Every single time we got together, the rest of the world faded away, and our friendship picked up right where we had left off, without skipping a single beat.
In 2007, I reached out to Margaret to discuss her legendary
delight, she was incredibly enthusiastic about the project—
so much so that she warmly invited me to her 80th birthday
celebration. Walking into that party was like stepping
directly into animation history. It was there that I caught my
very first glimpse of true Disney royalty, sharing the room
with iconic treasures of the industry like Eddie Carroll, Floyd Norman, Ron Dias, Jerry Beck, and June Foray.
Not long after, our professional relationship blossomed into a deeply collaborative journey. Some of my favorite moments were the simplest ones: driving her to various gigs and appearances, listening in awe as she painted vivid pictures of a bygone golden age of Hollywood. When she finished the rough draft of her book, she trusted me enough to send it over for my feedback.
Yet, of all our shared moments, one memory from the D23 Expo in Anaheim stands out the brightest. I had waited in a long, winding line just to get a moment with her. When I finally reached the front, her face lit up with a brilliant, unmistakable smile. She instantly linked her arm in mine, turned to her assistant, and announced she was taking a break. As we strolled together through the bustling convention arena, she nudged me and said, "You know, you don't have to wait in line to see me."
Without missing a beat, I replied, "And be robbed of the anticipation of seeing you?"
She laughed so heartily at that, with that signature spark of hers, that we actually had to sit down to catch our breath.
That was Margaret's true magic. She didn’t just make time for people; she made every single person feel like they were the only one in the room. Every conversation with her, no matter how brief, felt like a cozy, one-on-one chat with an old, cherished friend.
She was truly a gem—a rare, irreplaceable individual of the
likes we will never see again.
When she passed away on June 11, 2026, a quiet stillness
fell over my world. That entire day, I remained silent,
unable to find the words to match the profound emptiness
in my chest. I sat alone, pondering the heavy absence of my
dear friend, trying to navigate a world that suddenly felt a little less bright without her in it.
Though my heart was—and remains—shattered, I am fighting to let gratitude outshine the grief. I am so deeply grateful for the tapestry of memories we wove together, the belly laughs that echoed in quiet rooms, and the meaningful work we poured our hearts into.
To say I had the pleasure of having her in my life feels like an understatement. If truth be told, Margaret fundamentally changed me. She altered the trajectory of my life and softened the edges of my personality. I can still vividly hear her voice delivering the piece of advice she anchored me with so many times:
“Jerry, be true to who you are and never change.”
That phrase never failed to make me smile. And every single time she said it, I would look deep into those famous, beautiful eyes of hers—eyes that never lost their childlike sparkle—and reply, “Never, Miss Margaret.”
I miss you, my dear friend. Thank you for leaving your pixie dust on my heart.
