Rochelle Tyl

Rochelle Eileen Meyerson Wolkowski Tyl, born April 25, 1941 in Connecticut, died peacefully on March 21st.

Shelley was a brilliant spitfire of a child, fearless and attention grabbing. Her father, Phil, told me that when she was 4 or 5, he would stand her up on a crate at the local grocery store and she would belt out the song “Pistol Packin’ Mama,” complete with choreography of her own design. She loved reading and learning, and through her entire life, she was never shy about sharing her knowledge. Her sister, Joanie, remembers that once their mother, Ann, had to go speak with the elementary school administrators because Shelley was so excited she would shout out all the answers in her classes. As an adult, she was truly terrifying to play trivia games with.

As a young adult, she believed strongly in civil rights, environmental causes, and feminism, all informed by her voracious reading habits. She was a proud graduate of the University of Connecticut, Storrs (BA 1963 and PhD 1968), one of few women in her field of biological sciences at the time. She was told by a professor once to avoid her PhD and instead pursue her Mrs. Much to the chagrin of that professor, she did both. That Mrs. didn’t last, but the PhD did.

She met the love of her life, Thomas Wilson Tyl, in the early 1970s. They were married in 1976 and were together until his untimely death in 2011 at the age of 55. In those intervening 35 years, Shelley would go on to become a famous and world-renowned reproductive toxicologist, contributing her cutting intelligence to the field as a researcher, writer, peer collaborator, popular speaker, lecturer, and conference panelist. She would move from supervisor, to manager, to director of programs that changed the landscape of reproductive science, making pregnancy safer for women and babies healthier around the globe. If you were born in the last 40 years or had a baby then, please pause a moment and thank the scientists like my mother who dedicated and dedicate their lives to the unglamorous life of testing and approving drugs, pesticides, additives, preservatives, herbicides, and chemicals that our species endlessly creates but does not adequately fear.

She published over 85 articles, over 90 book chapters, monographs, and abstracts, and over 35 study reports. She was a wonderful colleague and co-author who was as professionally popular as she was charming.

She loved science fiction, almonds, her dogs, and Marlboros, sacrificing only the cigarettes once she hit 50. She had infinite wonder about the natural world, space, and science, and she was so genuine in that wonder that even as an adult, she could effortlessly charm you and teach you about bony fish evolution, the planets, or the ecosystem of a backyard stream.

Shelley had two children, Jenifer Lynn Wolkowski, and Jeffrey Thomas Tyl. She was a truly terrible cook, and, if it can be believed, an even worse housekeeper. The domestic word never interested Shelley at all, but she gave both of her children her most amazing legacies: an insatiable curiosity, a fantastic vocabulary, and a sharp wit.

Jenifer was born in 1970 and owes the greatest joy of her life – reading – to her mother, who with that early gift transformed her world and made her a teacher.

Jeffrey was born in 1981, married to Lesley Fair Tyl with three amazing children Braydon (17), Holt (16), and Levi (12) and Shelley’s only grandchildren.

Shelley was utterly devoted to her husband, Tom, and she lived for him and his adventures. Through them all – educational, employment, and travel – she was his unfailing support. Tom’s death broke Shelley, and she was never the same.

Her glorious brain, her biting sarcasm, and her infinite wonder were all robbed from her by dementia, but the 70 years she had with all her pistons firing were better years for all of us because of her presence. The 14 years she spent sliding into darkness were the worst of her life, chipping away and erasing utterly the person she was – all the good and the bad.

Her adorable, infectious laugh will be missed -- her mashed potato, canned pea, and tuna surprise, much less so. I miss you, Mom.