The Story
Ann Ipock has been called quirky, unusual, outside-the-box, and crazy-funny. She would probably answer, “Thank you,” then tell you about the mayor’s mustache, a bag of sawdust, or why Russell insists on driving.
Before the columns, books, and sold-out stage shows, Ann was already testing material on the neighborhood — sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident.
Age 3½
Ann came in from playing outside, sweaty and out of breath, to find Mama and Granny Pinky had moved her bedroom around for baby Steve’s crib. Hands on hips, she asked the question that still sounds like Ann: “Mama, who moved them windows?”
Age 5
A new subdivision left a tempting pile of sawdust a few blocks away. Ann scooped it into brown paper bags and went door to door selling it for a nickel. Mrs. Gladson next door became her first customer.
Age 8
She hauled her old ratty toys to the front yard, made a homemade “Toys for sale” sign, and cleared about $1.25 — proof that presentation, nerve, and a driveway can do a lot.
Age 10
Ann won her fourth-grade class spelling bee and made it to the school final. Her word was lose. The room held its breath. Ann narrowed her eyes and gave it her best shot: “L-O-O-S-E.” The buzzer blared.
Age 12
She learned to water ski before she learned to swim, which is a very Ann way to enter a lake — confident, underprepared, and absolutely committed to the bit.
Shoes, teeth, telecom, transcription, columns, books, community theater — Ann kept finding new ways to talk to people, make them laugh, and turn a living into material.
At fourteen, Ann began selling shoes in the family stores, The Bootery and The Shoebox. She found her niche fast: talk to people, make them laugh, and make money. Fifty cents an hour was like a drug. By fifteen she was riding The Bootery Christmas-parade float down New Bridge Street in a peau de soie gown, dyed-to-match shoes, long white gloves, big hair, and the full beauty-queen wave — early proof that a good story and a great pair of shoes can carry you just about anywhere.
As a young dental hygienist, Ann managed to tangle the mayor’s handlebar mustache in her polisher. She and the mayor sat shocked, tears running down their faces, until the boss came in, gently took the prophy polisher handle, and hit reverse.
After six years of marriage, Ann and Russell moved to Myrtle Beach, then Pawleys Island. A five-year stretch as a sales support analyst with GTE ended in a layoff, then came twenty years as a home-based medical transcriptionist — other people’s words by day, Ann’s own stories gathering speed after hours.
In South Carolina, Ann joined a writers’ group that met around the library’s big round table. The five of them called themselves The Scribblers. Ann’s lane was humor — the kind that worked for twenty-somethings, eighty-somethings, and everybody sitting between them.
Ann became an original writer for Sasee Magazine, received the Sasee Hat and plaque, wrote a weekly Georgetown Times column for sixteen years, and published What Was It I Was Saying? Then came theater: Truvy Jones in Steel Magnolias, Bea Sullivan in Other People’s Money, and her own three-act play, Life is Short…, performed to sold-out crowds in Georgetown and Jacksonville.
Ann and Russell have been married for 46 years, beginning with a small Methodist church wedding in Jacksonville, North Carolina. That very morning, Russell was making finger sandwiches with his mama Mary and cousin Jimmy for the reception. Today their family includes two daughters and four granddaughters.
After years in Myrtle Beach and Pawleys Island, they now live in Wilmington. Ann calls herself a Snorth Carolinian — and she means it.
Russell, whom Ann calls Oscar the Grouch, calls her Prissy Pollyanna. He often drives her around town and says he feels like Hoke from Driving Miss Daisy. Ann can drive, naturally — though Russell’s nervous twitch may have a different opinion.
Currently plotting: a Viking world cruise, because a lifelong schemer needs a horizon.
On stage
The dream never really left
Ann grew up on I Love Lucy, Carol Burnett’s Mama’s Family, and Lily Tomlin’s Edith Ann — she still has a very good “My name is Edith Ann.” Today she folds those rhythms into Roseanne, Roseanne Roseannadanna, physical comedy, and her own Southern timing.