Marion “Sister” Van Zant, matriarch of the legendary Van Zant musical dynasty, died suddenly on Saturday, April 9 (2000). She was 70.

Her death took family members by surprise, as she appeared to be in good health. But she seemed to sense that her time was up, and she had recently alluded to her impending death, a family member said. She even bought a new dress—in which she intended to be buried—only days before her death from cardiac arrest.

Born Marion Virginia Hicks in Lakeland in 1930, she was nicknamed Sis by her grandfather. The name stuck with her all her life. “I always knew her by that name,” said Lacy Van Zant, her husband of 53 years. “It kind of raised a few eyebrows,” he joked, “when I used to introduce my young wife as ‘Sister.’”

Lacy Van Zant, who is of Pennsylvania Dutch ancestry by way of Nassau County, was stationed at Pearl Harbor near the end of World War II. Home briefly on an emergency leave, he couldn’t help noticing his neighbor’s granddaughter, he said. When he left the navy two years later and returned to Jacksonville, he and Sister Hicks began dating. He was 32; she was 17.

Discovering a mutual affinity for music, one of Lacy and Sister’s favorite pastimes was singing together. Their idea of a hot date was to sit in the car and sing along with the radio, he said.

A year or so later they married, and together they raised five children, two girls and three boys. All three boys, led by eldest brother Ronnie, became successful rock singers. Their grandson, Robbie Morris, became a notable drummer.

I happened to meet Sister in 1978 at Dunkin’ Donuts on Cassat Avenue. I was my way to work at Phil Driscoll’s Jacksonville Beach recording studio, where I served as “production coordinator”—actually my job was to try to bring in business. I had become a caffeine addict in the studio, and spending an hour at Dunkin’ Donuts had become my morning wake-up ritual. Little did I know this daily pit stop would introduce me to some serious clients as well as to a dear friend. I was sipping my black coffee when the old gal at the counter came up to me with the coffee pot in her hand.

“You ‘on’t know who I am, do ya?” she said in her slow, Southern drawl.

“Yeah,” I replied. “You’re the donut lady.”

“I’m Ronnie’s mutha!” she exclaimed.

“Ronnie who?”

“Ronnie Van Zant!” she said, looking at me as if I were some kind of ignoramus.

I was never a Southern rock enthusiast, but I knew who Ronnie Van Zant was [this was approximately a year after he had been killed in a plane crash]. When she ascertained that I was in the music biz, we got to talking on a daily basis. She soon invited me over to the family home on Woodcrest Avenue, where she introduced me to Lacy as well as to her other sons Donnie and Johnny.

Both Donnie and Johnny were in working bands, Donnie in .38 Special, which had been signed to A&M Records, and Johnny in the then-unsigned Austin Nickels Band, which would later sign to Polydor as the Johnny Van Zant Band, which also included Johnny’s nephew Robbie Morris on drums.

I can’t recall ever being in a more polite household, where all the children—even those well into their 20s—heeded and respected their elders. Maybe that was because, unlike many parents of musicians, Lacy and Sister actively supported children in their unusual career choice. In fact, Sister had the knowledge—and the contacts—to manage a major-label band herself, if she had wanted to.

“Sister was the glue that held it all together,” said Ronnie Van Zant’s widow, Judy Jenness, who now operates the Skynyrd-themed Freebird Café in Jacksonville Beach. “She loved to help people. She regularly took in [her son’s musician friends], fed them and generally looked after everyone. She was a real special person.”

Above all, Sister was fair. She would be the first to tell someone if he or she went off on a wrong tangent—she even took up for me when I had a falling-out with Lacy and his business partner Sydney Drashin, who became my managers at one point in my own musical career, such as it was. She was a simple, forthright person who spoke her mind and stood up for what she felt was right, even if it went against the grain. I adored her.

In addition to Lacy, Donnie and Johnny, Sister is survived by two daughters, Marlene and Darlene, 12 grandchildren, nine great-grandchildren and numerous nieces and nephews [Lacy Van Zant died in August 2004 at 89]. She will be sorely missed by scores of people: family, friends and musicians whom she helped, myself included.

Sister’s last project was helping Aslan House, a Jacksonville hospice, fulfill the dying wish of would-be musician Brand Savage of Connecticut. Savage, 21, who has terminal brain cancer and is already paralyzed on one side, had always wanted to be a musician but never had the opportunity. Sister was in the midst of helping Aslan House arrange for Savage to be transported to Florida so he could meet and hang out with the guys from Skynyrd.

Marion Vanzant