Harriet Levy Mullen

Beloved Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Great-Grandmother, Cook, Baker, Entertainer, Storyteller, and the Life of Every Room She Ever Walked Into

November 9, 1932 – May 4, 2026

Harriet Mullen, 93, passed away peacefully on May 4, 2026, leaving behind a family that is louder, funnier, better fed, and more deeply loved because of her.

Born and raised in New York City, Harriet was a Jewish girl from the borough, raised with grit, glamour, and a sense of bold humor that would stop a room. She began her early career modeling for prominent clothing houses, which, knowing Harriet, she did with full confidence and a choice word or two.

Then her life took a turn she never saw coming. She met a Navy sailor from a small farm in Mississippi at a bar, and nothing was ever the same. A Jewish New Yorker and a Southern Christian boy from the Deep South; their union was the kind that attests that God has a sense of humor and a very long plan. Oliver “Moon” Mullen was larger than life; a blackjack-playing, hunting, golfing, family man with a personality that filled every space he entered. Harriet matched him beat for beat. They couldn’t have been more different, and they loved each other with full force. She was faithful to him for the rest of her life, never remarrying after losing him in 2004.

On her first visit south to meet Moon’s family in rural Mississippi, Harriet made a discovery — there was no indoor plumbing. And as the story goes, within minutes of meeting her future mother-in-law, she found herself squatting in an outhouse right beside her. That story tells you everything you need to know about Harriet. She met every twist and turn life ever threw at her with unflappable spirit and a laugh; gritty and gracious, fearless and warm, fiercely independent and endlessly giving, with a generous sprinkle of spitfire and sass that kept everyone on their toes and in stitches.

For decades, Harriet held open-door Wednesday lunches; no appointment, no notice, no exceptions. Every Wednesday, she cooked a full meal, courses and all, always ending in dessert (non-negotiable), and any child, grandchild, partner, or stray friend who could make it was welcome at her table. The noise was magnificent. Conversations crashing into each other from every direction, laughter bouncing off the walls, and at the center of it all, Mawmaw, with a delighted smile, chiming in here and there, taking in her full house with a happy heart. She didn’t just feed people. She gathered them. She kept them.

She kept your kids when you needed her. She cared for her parents. She welcomed her children’s partners like her own and made them feel it. She did the laundry off your back, literally. She took people in and made them family, because that was simply what you did when you loved people, and Harriet loved fiercely.

She was also, it must be said, absolutely hilarious. Harriet swore like a sailor, fitting given whom she married, and her commentary was sharp, out-of-pocket, and perfectly timed. She had sayings that her family could quote in their sleep. One of her favorites, deployed with complete sincerity when someone complained about hypotheticals: “If, if, if… if I was a man, I’d have a penis.” Hard to argue with. Nobody tried.

She laughed constantly. She made everyone around her laugh. And somehow, she also managed to encourage each of her four spectacularly different children to become exactly who they were meant to be, seeing them clearly, championing them fully, without trying to make any of them into someone else. That is not a small thing. That is, in fact, everything.

As her grandchildren grew, Mawmaw grew with them, becoming not just a grandmother but a confidant, a source of wisdom, a companion, and a bottomless source of entertainment. She traveled with her family. She helped with the babies. She showed up. She delighted in her life in a way that was rare and contagious and genuinely wonderful to witness.

Alzheimer’s disease began to take its toll eight years ago, slowly changing the seasons of her life. But that chapter does not define her. Harriet will be remembered for the life she lived, for her strength, her selflessness, her humor, and the love she poured into every person she claimed as her own.

Her children are deeply grateful for the years they were given to care for her, just as she had so faithfully cared for all of them. Serving her family was one of her greatest joys, and she did it beautifully, with cooking, with laughter, with laundry, with presence.

She is survived by her four children; Guy (Kelly), Tami (Grady), Glen (Charlene), and Helen (Tod); nine grandchildren; and thirteen great-grandchildren and her sister, Myrna Levy McCrummen (Cliff).

The room will be quieter without her. The Wednesday table will never be quite the same. And somewhere, we’re certain, she has already sized up the whole situation and has thoughts.

Harriet Mullen was one of a kind. She knew it. Everyone who loved her knew it.

Hell of a life, Mom/Mawmaw ❤

In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations made in Harriet's name to Beloved and Beyond (https://belovedandbeyond.org/) and/or to the Wounded Warrior Project (https://support.woundedwarriorproject.org/)

Thank you for visiting this memorial web page.  Please sign the online guest book to let the family know you were here thinking of them.