Shelter from the rain, clothes rescued from campus dumpsters and a life with few possessions were enough for former IU graduate student Ellen Sears Marks.
“Her flute, and some papers are literally the only material objects she had in her possession when she died,” Marks’ sister Martha Clark said from her home near Grosse Pointe, Mich.
Marks was killed in September. Her body was found by a neighbor in a lot at Tenth and Summit streets, where she lived.
Marks, described by people who knew her as quiet and articulate, came to IU on a graduate fellowship in 1978 to study Old English literature.
“I suspect she had an interest in the evolution of language,” her sister said. Clark added that she didn’t know what Marks planned to do with her degree, but that she excelled in writing.
Although she was bright, Marks was not consistent in her enthusiasm or commitment to her studies, said her graduate adviser, Eugene Kintgen, professor of English and director of graduate studies.
“I don’t think she was really sure she wanted to be in grad school,” he said.
After Marks left IU in 1980 without completing her degree, she began to make friends with those who shared desire for a non-material existence, said Yassi Knodel, an acquaintance.
Marks’ nomadic lifestyle took her to many homes in Bloomington, where she would stay with friends for short times, usually less than a month, Knodel said.
During winter months, she sometimes took refuge with neighbors, said Kenny Garrison, her boyfriend.
One of those neighbors, Ruby Cramer, was “like a mother figure” to Marks, he said.
“Different ones of us helped her through the winter,” Garrison added.
For Marks, moving into a tiny, unheated shack on Tenth and Summit was a special time in her life, Knodel said.
“She finally could say, ‘This is my place,’” he said.
Knodel met Marks in 1980 when she worked at the Gathering Place, now the Daily Grind coffeehouse. The two frequently ate meals together at the Monroe County Christian Ministries Center where Marks volunteered.
“There’s no name for people who choose the kind of lifestyle she did. They’re just people,” said Debi Jones, kitchen coordinator at the Christian Center.
Although Knodel and Marks were acquainted for six years, they never achieved a close friendship because she kept to herself much of the time, Knodel said.
“Ellen was very isolated. She was pretty private, and could just stop talking to people in the middle of a conversation,” said Pierre Amy, who knew Marks through the Christian Center.
“She lived for her privacy,” Knodel said.
She said Marks was an open and talkative person when she met her, but became more subdued before he death.
“She went through some kind of a withdrawal. I watched her slide into it.” Knodel said.
But Clark said Marks’ move toward seclusion began before she came to Bloomington.
She said her sister seemed different after returning home from a trip to Europe in 1974.
Marks took the trip after graduation from the Columbus School for Girls, a private high school in Columbus, Ohio, near where she grew up.
“She wasn’t the same person when she came back,” Clark said, attributing the change to a chemical imbalance.
“She had definite emotional problems,” her sister said.
Marks checked herself into Bloomington Hospital’s Mental Health Unit in May 1980 for 72 hours. She remained under psychiatric care on a voluntary basis for four years, according to Monroe County Superior Court records.
“It wasn’t like she was crazy. She was just different,” Jones said, adding, “To her, it probably seemed crazy to work within the system.”
Garrison said he did not know about Marks’ counseling sessions until he read about
them in newspaper accounts.
The 44-year-old said he and Marks, 30, planned to wed this year.
“She was all enthused about marriage,” Garrison said. “We were getting ready to make an appointment at Bloomington Hospital for blood tests.”
Both Garrison and Clark said Marks loved children.
“I suspect it may have been the one category of people who were not dangerous to her,” Clark said.
When Clark’s now-teenaged son was a child, Marks would call to talk to her nephew.
“Sometimes, the person on the other end would hang up when I answered,” Clark said.
“I suspect it was Ellen, wanting to talk to my son.”
Garrison agreed, saying, “I always thought it was strange she didn’t have five or six of her own so she could spoil them.”
He and Marks would spend hours in quiet conversation, usually with coffee.
“She was a coffee fiend. As long as you’d pour it, she’d drink it,” Garrison said.
Marks loved walking outdoors and exploring nature. She could carve anything out of wood if she tools nearby, Garrison said.
“She could take a coat hanger and carve a flute with perfect notes,” Garrison said, adding, “the last time I spoke to her, she was going to try and make some pan pipes.”
The two often walked in the west Bloomington neighborhood where Garrison lives.
“We spent a lot of time walking around and gabbing at each other,” he said. “She was really plain-spoken and could talk about anything.”
Anything but her family, he added.
“I didn’t ask her a lot of questions about them because I didn’t want to be nosy,” Garrison said.
He said Marks only became upset when she was pressured to talk and wished to be left alone.
Marks’ adult life contrasted sharply with her childhood, a comfortable life in central Ohio with her sister, her mother and her physical father, Clark said.
Even in her upper-middle class surroundings, Marks enjoyed simple things the most.
A horse named Sundae, high grades in school, and playing the flute in marching band gave Marks the most satisfaction, Clark said.
“I don’t ever remember her getting anything lower than a B in grade school,” Clark said.
“Whatever she did, she did it to the fullest.”
Clark said that when she and Marks were children, her sister was no more than private than other girls her age. Though they were only a year apart in age, they were never close, keeping different circles of friends, she said.
“She had friends, but not a great quantity,” she said. “She wasn’t a cheerleader or a social butterfly.”
The Clarks and about 50 friends, neighbors and acquaintances attended a silent memorial service for Marks Oct. 5 at Trinity Episcopal Church, 40 E. Kirkwood Ave.
Wiping a tear, Clark expressed gratitude that Marks had friends to fill the void her family couldn’t.
“She could have ended up in lots worse places,” she said.
