Marion Dunlevy, from a “Fine Irish family from Donegal”
Marion Dunlevy died Monday, December 11 as she lived….with family she loved, spunk that could not be extinguished, a smile on her face, and a bit of Irish stubbornness and laughter in her heart. In the end, she lost the battle of several months illness but would probably say she made the decision to forget it and move on.
The Common Scold didn’t lose battles. She fought for everything she felt was right. As a result, some half century ago she faced the possibility of repeating history of the 19th century by being found guilty of being a common scold.
Eventually, although three municipal courts would not hear it, Marion Dunlevy was found guilty of the outdated charge still on the books in Middletown. Yet somehow the powers that meant managed to change the ancient misdemeanor charge to require a penalty of up to three years in prison and a $1,000 fine. She beat that one, too. A common scold was a woman who constantly caused dissension….and no one could prove Marion Dunlevy was guilty of that. The Common Scold charge has since been removed from the Middletown law books.
The Common Scold made headlines from the time she first had disputes with her neighbors on Monroe Street in Middletown, then was in the process of divorcing her husband. It started in 1970 and by December of 1971 Marion was indicted on the Common Scold charge. At the time, she said she was thrilled…they would then have to follow through, this reader of history told the court. First, they had to decide if she were attractive or ugly. Her appearance made a difference in the punishment, she pointed out. An ugly woman, said one with warts on her face, would be subjected to a public dunking to cleanse her; an attractive woman, with her appearance in front of a public building or park, with a gag around her mouth and in a pillory.
There was no doubt Dunlevy was attractive; she was lithe, well dressed, had brunette hair and a perpetual smile on perfect teeth with dark eyes flashing. She suggested being displayed on Kings Highway, in front of town hall, for her public appearance. But she added if they found her ugly and needing to be dunked, she preferred her own swimming pool to the dirty Shrewsbury or Navesink rivers.
It was great fun, made great headlines and sold lots of newspapers for several years. The fearless woman who bragged about her family’s ancient roots and being from a “Fine Irish family from Donegal” spoke about many of the police officers who over the years were involved in her feuds, seldom praising any. Though both officers Bill Fowlie and Frank Cannon gained praise from her in 1972…that was when some unknown person torched her new Buick Skylark in front of her house and the two officers were first on the scene, extinguishing the blaze with apparatus in their vehicle. Unfortunately, too much damage had been caused to the interior, and though the arsonist was never identified, Dunlevy had to get a new vehicle.
There were numerous other incidents over the years damaging her property. There were also signs some police were also playing the get-even game….she got tickets for playing her car radio too loud or failing to signal a turn while driving. If found guilty, and sometimes she was, the fine was usually suspended. She always said that when she died, she wanted her ashes spread over the police department at Town Hall.
Alice Maxwell, editor of a small advertising paper that circulated in the Bayshore, wrote a book about a real common scold of the 19th century, this Courier newspaper reporter won a state wide award for her coverage of the Common Scold story, and Dunlevy made headlines every time she popped up at a township committee meeting, complained about a neighbor or was in Freehold with her attorney arguing her case.
In later years, while she still maintained her home on Monroe St. she grew friendly with her neighbors, enjoyed a private life, bragged about her son and special confidant Joseph Palandrano and kept up friendships with people she met during her Common Scold days. She never lost that sparkling smile or lively eyes.
A sculptor came to Marion’s house in 2022 and she agreed to allow the artist to sculpt her jaw, something he requested for his research the Common Scold, described as the gender-based misdemeanor charge used to punish outspoken women. He received numerous awards and grants for his work including fellowships and grants. Today, J.J. McCracken’s “The Mouth of the Scold: is in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC, where it was part of its IDENTIFY: Performance Art as Portraiture series curated by Dorothy Moss. McCracker is co-Director of Red Dirt Studio in Maryland. And is represented by Connersmith in Washington, DC.
Marion Dunlevy, the Common Scold, was with her son Joseph and other family members at her bedside when she died. Joseph had been with his mother for several months, helping her relive her spirited earlier days before she became a nonagenarian and began to take life easier. She told him she wanted to change her mind about where her ashes would be placed, and Joseph agreed to follow her wishes.
Marion Dunlevy has been cremated and a service is planned for the future when her ashes, and those of her late divorced husband, Joseph’s father, will be buried together in Mount Olivet Cemetery, Middletown.
