Could you meet your friends every week for 68 years?

MARLBORO, N.J. — Pick any random Tuesday night or Wednesday afternoon in the past six decades, and around a kitchen table somewhere in New Jersey The Wippities were sitting down for coffee and cake.

For 68 years, four lifelong friends — Millie Coughlin and Anne Tomaro of Manasquan along with Terry Perna of Marlboro and Rosalie Petoia of Newark — have been meeting once a week, every week, without fail.

“Nothing ever stopped us from having our meeting,” Tomaro said. “You have to die to leave this club.”

Until now.

Founded in 1947 when the women were still in high school in Newark, the club initially had more than 20 members before eventually settling on eight. To get a name for the club, the girls took out a dictionary and looked at animal pictures to draw inspiration. They came across a beautiful wapiti, another name for an elk, and turned it around to get “The Wippities.”

Despite marriage, children and career obligations, the women managed to find a few hours every Tuesday night to gather at the kitchen table at one of their homes to sip coffee, snack on pastries and keep The Wippities together.

Four members have died. And for the past 13 years since retiring from daytime jobs, the four remaining members switched their club meetings to Wednesday afternoons, taking turns hosting.

“Our conversations have changed,” Coughlin said, “It started off in high school we talked about boys, then after high school we started talking about getting married, then after marriage we started talking about our children and now we talk about ailments.”

Millie’s daughter Nancy described the women as “pistols.” They all come from Italian and Catholic backgrounds, and their meetings are lively and boisterous affairs.

They also share that stubborn perseverance so characteristic of the greatest generation.

“Can’t take away my freedom,” Coughlin said, “Just can’t do it.”

But nothing lasts forever.

Age has made weekly travel difficult for the four women, now all in their 80s. When Perna decided to move in with her son in Sussex County at New York-New Jersey northern border, the group decided weekly meetings no longer would be feasible.

So, on July 1 the group held for its final time, lunch at Burger Brothers here followed by coffee and dessert at Perna’s home.

Fittingly, the women did not cry nor have drawn-out displays of affection and sorrow. The women just did what they always had done — talk, a lot.

“We have big mouths,” Tomaro said, “When we meet, we don’t have one second of quietness. We yell at each other: ‘Wait a second.' 'No, I’m talking now.’ ”

No subject is off limits at a club meeting. The group frequently debates politics, religion and the changing morals and attitudes across the USA.

A question about the past brought forth a 10-minute soliloquy lamenting the American education system for not teaching enough American history. The women ranted about how children are raised today and their incessant use of smartphones.

Sixty-eight years ago, the club came together after Perna’s mother suggested they start a club with their friends. The next morning, Perna and Tomaro went door to door during homeroom at Barringer High School in Newark asking everyone they liked to join.

“Some said yes, some thought we were crazy and others just ignored us,” Perna said.

The self-professed “good girls” had rules for their club. If you were caught chewing gum, you had to pay 10 cents. Cursing cost you 25 cents. And if you missed a meeting, you were out.

They met once a week at each other’s houses and frequently went out for dinner in New York.

The group fondly recalled one of their first club meetings, a dinner in New York City. Many members ordered the cheapest item on the menu, steak halibut, thinking it was red meat.

Needless to say, they were surprised and a little repulsed when eight plates of rubbery fish were brought to their table.

Despite the lighthearted nature of The Wippities, the group is no stranger to tragedy.

They have lost their own group members, three have lost their husbands, Tomaro dealt with the loss of a child and Petoia lost her twin sister and lifelong roommate 13 years ago.

“I found her on the side of the bed, dead,” Petoia said, “That’s the way it goes. You miss them, but life has to go on.”

The women all said having their friendships with each other made the lowest moments of their lives more bearable.

“None of us ever needed a psychiatrist because we discussed everything,” Coughlin said.

After 68 years together, they finish each other stories and almost seem to read each other’s minds.

But don’t think they don’t fight.

The Wippities aren’t ones to shy away from an argument:

• How old were we when we went to the burlesque?

• What was the name of the animal that inspired the club’s name?

• Is that cannoli cream in that pastry?

Petoia is particularly feisty, a trait she explains by saying, “I’m small and short, but my mouth is the same size as yours. I used to try to be quiet, but now I let them have it.”

Coughlin plays peacemaker usually with a remark like, “At this point, what difference does it make?” and then then all is forgotten.

“I argue, and they forgive me,” Petoia said, “We walk in happy and out happy.”

What has kept them together for so long and through so many changes?

Tomaro said it was that Italian-Catholic upbringing.

“We were all the same, We all had the same background,” she said, “We didn’t have to explain ourselves because we all just understood.”

And even after 68 years, that fabric still connects the group and keeps each meeting new and lively.

“We never run out things to talk about,” Petoia said, “We always say when we get bored we’ll stop, but there’s never any boredom.”

If you ask them, the Wippities would tell you theirs is a story about the value of friendship, of the people who can pick you up when you’re having a bad day, celebrate your greatest achievements, laugh at inside jokes no one else would understand and always stay by your side.

But while these four lifelong friends will miss their weekly meetings — and each other — they won’t wallow over the loss.

“Everyone should be able to have the kind of fun we’ve had,” Perna said.