'Baron's' youngest daughter and all those fond memories Her childhood homes would be called mansions today. Her father was a powerful man, politically,and socially, and the people who weaved in and out of her home included the rich and famous, the sharpies on the way up, the hustlers on the way down and enough characters to fill a movie. Her name is Margaret Stull and she is the youngest of nine children born to James F. and Mary Dougherty. If the name James F. doesn't ring a bell, try "Baron" Dougherty. The Baron, as he was dubbed by the great writer Damon Runyon, presided over the Colonial Hotel in Lieiperville, a Mecca for the bright and not.so-bright lights from Broadway and the wonderful world of boxing. The Colonial Hotel is gone, ravaged by fire, as are the luxurious mansions she once called home, the last one a sacrifice to I-95 near Stewart Avenue in Ridley Park. Today, Mrs. Stull lives in a comfortable condominium, surrounded by memories of a golden age the likes of which will never be seen again. The memories alone make her a rich woman. The great champion Jack Dempsey was a star boarder. Boxers like the handsome Irishman, Billy Conn and the tough Italian "Two Ton" Tony Galanto, trained there, as did the colorful Popper Stopper. Governor William Sproul and the Baron were on a first name basis. She was practically adopted by Runyon, a unique truly American writer, who wrote "Little Miss Marker" while staying at the Colonial. "He drew his characters from the people who came to Daddy's bar," Mrs. Stull said, "He kept his dogs at our place, and he loved to, go to the Tinicum marshes and shoot reed birds. Then mother would cook them. I loved him; he was a real doll baby. He was married to a showgirl, absolutely gorgeous. One Christmas he called and said, "Honey, what do you want for Christmas?" I told him I'd like a Wristwatch, and that's what he gave me." Money was never a problem. Mother would tell me that during World war I, with all those Baldwin workers practically across the street, Daddy made so much money he didn't even bother to count it." she said. "Mother said they'd just scoop up the day's receipts and put everthing in bags and take them to the Chester Cambridge Bank. The bankers did all the counting." Mrs. Stull still admits she was spoiled rotten. "I was the last child and there was nine years between me and my next older sister, Mary, so you can. see why Daddy called me the apple of his eye," she said. "I easily could have walked to school but Daddy insisted that Mary drive me to and from, every day. Believe me Mary hated that." By the way, Mary now Mrs. Joseph D'Amico.is widowed and still driving at age 92, She lives in Ocean City, NJ, and despite pleas not to drive anywhere "off the island," drives pretty much wherever it pleases her. Margaret went to Ridley Park High (Class of '41) where she met and eventually married William Stull. He fought with the Army in Europe in World War II, then came home to raise his family. The Stulls had two sons Jeffrey, who works for US Airways, and William, the highly successful girls track coach at Sun Valley High. Mr. Stull became borough manager in Ridley Park, and retired as administrator at Haverford State Hospital. Today, Margaret stays busy keeping up with her four granddaughters, 14-year-old twins Krista and Jessica, who are Jeffrey's daughters, plus Sara and Mollie. Some of Margaret's most vivid memories are of the ferocious-looking black heavyweight contender, George Godfrey. He was a giant of man, universally feared in the ring for his awesome power. Little Margaret Dougherty turned him into a pussycat. "He trained in a ring in Daddy's garage, and he was always in our house," Mrs. Stull said, "He'd come in every morning for breakfast before his training run. He'd take two eggs and crack them and then swallow them. It used to make me sick. "I'd play school with him. I'd ask him to spell a word and he would misspell it on purpose. Then I'd say, 'Now you have to stand in the corner,' and this great hulking man would do it, I just adored George. "One day he took me to the circus, and he carried me on his shoulders ... this little. red-headed child on the shoulders of this huge black man. There had been a kidnapping about that time and the police stopped us, I guess to make sure George hadn't kidnapped me. "I really loved George. Years later, I heard that he died alone and penniless in a hotel room in California. It almost broke my heart." Memories. Many are golden. Some like those of George Godfrey, are simply bittersweet. ' Ed Gebhart is a retired public relations executive and works part-time writing for the Delaware County Department of Public Relations. His column appears Friday and Sunday.