Helene Zollo Lentz, accordionist, toe dancer, businesswoman, film fan, and my mother, died of pneumonia and complications from surgery at a Memphis, Tennessee hospital on June 7, 2010 at age 86.
Helene was born in Memphis on August 7, 1923, the daughter of Dominic and Mary Zollo. She studied dance and accordion as a child, and performed frequently on the local stage and radio in the 1930s. She was a graduate of St. Agnes Academy in Memphis in 1940. Helene worked at her family’s Diamond Ice Cream Company during World War II while her husband Harris Lentz, Jr. served as a paratrooper in Europe. After the war, she and her husband continued to operate the ice cream company and raise a family.
Helene was very active in civic and charitable organizations and was an early supporter of St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. She was frequently involved in political campaigns, working for candidates on both sides of the political divide. She even ran for alderman in her hometown of Bartlett, Tennessee at the age of 78. Helene began working as a bookkeeper with The Fred P. Gattas Company following the death of her husband and sale of the ice cream factory in 1974. She continued to work with the Gattas family, serving as an accountant and office manager with James Gattas Jewelry until her death.
She was an elegant and wonderful lady who never met a stranger, and could make a trek to the post office or the grocery store a festive event. She reveled in watching old films and television shows (which weren’t so old when she first saw them). She was an avid attendee of the Memphis Film Festival and the MidSouthCon for over 20 years, where she delighted in hobnobbing with old cowboy stars and Klingons alike. She left an indelible impression on the film stars and fellow fans she met. On several occasions, while taking a rare moment to rest in a convenient chair, she would look up to see a small line forming around her, with fans thumbing through 8x10s and wondering which of the stars she was. When I first began writing for the original Famous Monsters of Filmland in the 1970s, Forry Ackerman would frequently call to discuss a story. Most of the time, his call would come when I wasn’t home, and he and my mother would have long conversations. I came to believe Forry was intentionally calling when I wasn’t there so he could talk to my mom. I largely owe whatever success I have achieved as a writer and a human being to her guidance, inspiration, and support, and can never hope to repay that debt.
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