He couldn't have her going off in God's house.
Her memorial was a joyous gathering, with people sharing their humorous and poignant recollections of a woman they loved but not always understood. There were tears, too, as they agreed that Marcy's departure leaves a hole in their lives.
When a microphone shorted out and an ear-shattering buzz disrupted friend Glenn Bonner's eulogy, he waited until it stopped. Then he looked out into the pews and deadpanned: “I told you Marcy was here.”
Beyer told the crowd that Marcy had pleaded with him months ago to help her start a group to bring awareness to the homeless people being killed while walking or bicycling in the streets.
“All my friends are dying,” she said. People like her, with backstories and challenges, needed advocates who cared and watched over them. “Something has to be done.”
They never got to put together that group.
Business owners and residents say they still look out their windows, expecting to see Marcy walking purposefully down the sidewalk, clutching her big bag in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
If she was shaking her fist at some imaginary enemy – Gail Dee Russ called it “Marcy directing traffic” – all they needed was to call out her name sharply.
Marcy! No need to do that!
She would turn slowly to the voice and when she recognized the face, the anger and tenseness would melt away. She would smile broadly and give a vigorous wave.
“How ya doing?” she'd yell back. “I'll be good now. I promise.”
Tampa's Marcy Moore led many lives