OAK HILL FARM, South Hiram, Maine

Donald Montgomery Chaffee, 59, passed away October 10, 2005 while in hospice care at EPOCH in Weston.  Mr. Chaffee succumbed to cancer. Donald was the son of Robert and Anne (Getchell) Chaffee.  He grew up in Wellesley, attending Wellesley public schools and graduating with the Class of 1964.  He graduated from Tufts University receiving a bachelor of arts degree in philosophy. He was a member of the Tufts Mountain Club, the WTUR Radio Station and head manager for the wrestling team. Later he received a Masters degree in Education from UMASS Amherst.  He joined the US Navy after graduation. Eventually he went on to teach at the J. Turner Hood Elementary School in North Reading. After that he became a free-lance technical writer, writing computer manuals and book indices. He was especially proud of the work he did indexing Jane Goodale's "Gorillas In The Mist".  Mr. Chaffee enjoyed a
broad range of musical interests, sang and played the trumpet. He was also fascinated with history.  He grew up in the house at 19 Columbia Street, which had been the stationmaster's home when the train came into Newton Lower Falls. He was a past officer of the Wellesley Historical Society. His family was very active in the Labor Day Conference at Geneva Point Conference Center on Lake Winnipesauki. He was also an active member of the Wellesley Hills Congregational Church and sang in the choir for over 30 years. His passion, at the time of his passing, was genealogy.  He had been tracking down his ancestors and  "fleshing out" their vital statistics with vignettes and personalized memories.  During his lifetime Don cherished stimulating conversation, crossword puzzles that he would do in ink, long standing friendships, exotic orchids, Vivaldi's "Gloria", anything from Que Brada bakery, the poetry of ee cummings and the companionship of his Siberian Husky, Chukie. His sister, Elsa Chaffee Distelhorst and her husband, Daniel, of Spokane, WA and two nephews, Nathan and Jeffrey Distelhorst, survive Mr. Chaffee. A memorial service will be held at the Wellesley Hills Congregational Church on Saturday, October 22 at 1:00 PM.

Sue Chapman Melanson, Lisa Durrell and Tim Brainerd reading for Archie Campbell delivered the eulogy at Don’s memorial service:

My name is Susan Melanson. Once I was Susan Horn. But when I met Donald Chaffee I was Susan Chapman and we were 5 years old. He was my equivalent of The Kid Next Door (with two blocks in between). The direct route between 12 Glen Road and 19 Columbia Street was straight across the parking lot that now services St. John's Church. A less direct, but far more interesting route was by way of the Brook that runs between Miss Putnam's Pond on Glen Road and the Charles River. Along the way we could find salamanders, huge dangerous mushrooms that we suspected were the variety that did in Barbar's elephant king father and we always came home with wet feet. The Chaffees lived next door to the Nuzzis who had a large Italian garden. When Don was quite young he came into their garden and thought he was getting a tomato but instead took a big bite of a jalapeno pepper and went home screaming. We spent our allowances at Dan Ward's Drug Store splurging on penny candy - Don liked Walnettos and would always buy those paraffin teeth, moustaches and lips at Halloween. We enjoyed five-cent cokes at the counter, and Popsicles so cold they'd stick to your tongue. Don's childhood bedroom was wallpapered in maps. There was a National Geographic map at the foot of his bed that encompassed the Baltic States and part of Russia. He told me he was going there someday. And eventually he did. Don and I began first grade together at the Annie F. Warren School. In second grade President Eisenhower approved a change to the Pledge of Allegiance adding "under God" to the text, and there were four or five of us that just couldn't quite seem to catch on to the new wording. There were two brothers who delighted in hip-chucking kids like me into traffic on our way to school. Don became my protector and although he was slight of stature, the brothers never seemed to bother my sister and me when Don was with us. Years later I figured out that it was more likely his father's special police uniform that saved us rather than Don's presence. There was an unusual bond amongst the youngsters who went through the Warren School together. There were always two classes in each grade. When we hit fifth grade the administration decided to try an experiment and keep 20 of us together through fifth and sixth grades. Mr. Reynolds taught us "Love Me Tender" to his guitar accompaniment, taught us how to cut out block letters and took the class to Sturbridge Village. Miss Mackie staged an imaginary multi-disciplinary class trip to Nova Scotia that most of us never forgot. She helped us put on "Why the Chimes Rang" in the days before Christmas was eradicated from the schools. And under the tutelage of Mr. Balitsos we became fanatic about German Dodge Ball. When we finished the Warren School in June 1958, it was as if we were all blood brothers and sisters. But Don was already my blood brother. Our families looked forward to Labor Day Weekend at Geneva Point Conference Center on Lake Winnepausaki. After dinner on Friday night of Labor Day Weekend Don and I would seek each other out to catch up on the adventures of the summer as we strolled through the piney woods on our way to vespers. After we passed a certain landmark everyone walked in silence. We sat on the mossy rocks at the edge of the lake with the mountains rising on the other side and listened to John Ed or Mazelle Thomas read familiar Bible passages. We sang old familiar hymns. It may have been in that pastoral setting that we both recognized that we had been blessed with the gift of voice - of song. Then, over one summer, Don's voice changed and I teased him mercilessly, convinced that he would no longer be able to sing. But I was wrong. His voice deepened into an exquisite instrument. Being blood brother and sister had other advantages. In the Wellesley of the late 1950s there was an institution called Mrs. Ferguson's School of Ballroom Dance -- commonly referred to as Fergie's. When Don and I were old enough to attend, our mothers decided we would go together. Fergie's was held at the Maugus Club on Tuesday afternoons. The girls wore party dresses and the boys wore suits and white gloves. The white gloves were to prevent their sweaty hands from soiling our party dresses. Fergie…Mrs. Ferguson…was an imposing figure that struck fear into the hearts of her many students. Between dances we would sit in tidy rows around the dance floor with our ankles crossed. I was always watching out of the corner of my eye like a nervous rabbit, making sure I knew just where Don was sitting, in case Fergie declared a ladies' choice. We were exceptionally blessed with the childhood we enjoyed. When we entered junior high both Don and I became involved in band and orchestra. We had the commonality of music…. and the commonality of church. We had always attended Sunday school here and we sang in the Choir under Don Hicks. Every service ended with the congregational benediction "Grant us thy peace upon our homeward way". We also joined the Youth Fellowship, which became our second family throughout high school. We participated in car washes, square dances, pancake breakfasts, exchange trips with North Thetford VT and Fort Skylar NY. We went to see "West Side Story" in Boston and attended the Worlds Fair in NY. After fellowship meetings we always had to have Fribbles at Friendlies. During high school a bunch of us used to hang out near the musical instrument storage closet back stage. It was our first stop upon arriving at school to drop off our instruments. Our love of music forged friendships for a lifetime. Girls, however, seem to generate a special bond and there were a half dozen of us who were inseparable…as our parents phone bills could attest… My girlfriends were enjoying a sleepover at Gail Harvey's house one weekend. Sleepovers involved munchies, make-up and hairstyles, teenage magazines, secret stories and 45 RPM records. There was a knock at the door when we were at our most glamorous and there was Don and Peter Kelley. They had figured out where the best snacks in Wellesley were and showed up. Mrs. Harvey was reluctantly responsive and allowed them to sit in the kitchen for a brief time, fed them and then sent them on their way. As we approached graduation from Wellesley High in 1964, Don surprised me with an invitation to the senior prom. The 1964 Senior Prom was an altogether different experience than today's proms. It was held in the gym, committees transformed the room with streamers, twinkle lights and a throne for the king and queen. Limousines were unheard of. I felt like Scarlett O'Hara in my white gown with its lavender sash and three-tier bustle all elegantly hung over a massive hoop. Sitting down gracefully in such a get-up was not easy. A group of us had dinner at the Pillar House before the prom. Once seated, I slipped my shoes off under the cover of my massive skirt. Somehow Don and Bruce Meyer noticed what I had done and together slipped my abandoned shoes to the far end of the table. When it was time to go, I was barefoot. In an attempt to turn the tables on them, I simply proceeded down the stairs, which sent Don scurrying back to our table to retrieve the stolen shoes. After the back stage group graduated we were scattered to a variety of colleges who were lucky enough to have us. Don went to Tufts University. While he was there, we engaged in long philosophical discussions and talked about the good old days back stage. During his college years Don became very esoteric and often shared poetry or quotations from books or essays. I remember quite clearly a poem written by either Ferlinghetti or ee cummings that asked: "Who are these people who write the indices for books?" The answer eventually became: Don Chaffee. He was especially proud of the work he did on Jane Goodale's "Gorillas in the Mist". Not only did he write book indices, he wrote computer manuals. More recently he concentrated on organizing a lifetime of genealogical notes into a publication format. Don was a wordsmith. He loved vocabulary and was impatient with misuses or mispronunciations of words. If you were to do a Google search you might find a 1994 chat room entry from Don that reads: "It's "jigabyte," dammit, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise! I am not making this up. This reminds me of arguments about the pronunciation of ".gif". All the documentation states it's pronounced with a soft g, but I've only ever heard one person pronounce it that way. Ah, well, _clearly_ ".gif" is of Germanic etymology and should be pronounced the way a four-year-old pronounces things on birthdays and at Christmas and/or Hanukah. See, the Franks and Huns, Alans, and other tribes, heard how all those effete Greco-Romans talked and decided to do it differently, kind of like Ross Perot. I am not making this up." Don and his older sister, Elsa, were very close when they were growing up. He was thrilled when she married Dan Distelhorst, but a little sad that they chose to live so far away, first in Hawaii and later Spokane, Washington. When their two sons, Jeffrey and Nathan, were born Don was the proudest uncle one could imagine. Over the years we shared our emotional ups and downs and over-analyzed the breakups after they happened. Former relationships did not stand a chance under the microscope of Sue and Don. Then came Meg. Don met her in college and was totally smitten. They were married in an historic church in East Greenwich, Rhode Island one sweltering August day in 1970. A reception in an equally historic house with gorgeous gardens followed. But the marriage did not last. Only once more during his lifetime did Don find someone he felt he wanted to marry. He shared his plans for the big New Years Eve proposal. He had worked it out carefully…and either she rejected him, or he never gathered the courage to ask. He was never entirely clear about that. One of the extraordinary things about our high school crowd was that we stayed in touch. In the early days, after college, there would be parties or chance meetings. We stayed in touch through Christmas cards and showed up for each other's weddings, and the funerals of our parents. Don's father, Bob Chaffee, died in October of the year he was 56. And today we are beginning a new tradition - we are showing up for one another's services. Eventually we established an annual tradition we called 'The Carol Sing'. It was always in early December and did not necessarily involve carol singing but we would gather for a potluck supper, to catch up and to reaffirm our bond. Don could always be counted on to bring dessert. Once, at Tim Brainerd's house, he brought an entire ice cream sundae smorgasbord. Don lived in the western part of the state while he was earning his masters degree in education at U Mass Amherst, and then in a cozy little studio on the backside of Beacon Hill. Eventually Don moved back to Wellesley and bought a mini-farm on Meadow Lane off Beechwood Road. He loved the uniqueness of the property, his apple trees, his woodworking studio, the bright red countertops in his kitchen and his state-of-the-art stereo system. When his mother, Anne Chaffee, decided to move to North Hill she offered to sell the Columbia Street family home to Don. They agreed. She moved, then he moved in. It was around this time that Don became interested in exotic orchids. As soon as he was ensconced at Columbia Street he added a large greenhouse window to his kitchen for the orchids. But they did not seem to flourish, so he had the gas stove replaced with an electric version and that did the trick. Orchids, apparently, don't like even the faintest wisp of gas. I was amazed that the orchids could survive the culinary vapors when Don made his famous Firehouse Hot Chili. People deal with mid-life crisis differently. Don bought a white Mazda Miatta and a dog. He had a host of allergies and researched what kind of dog was non-allergic. Siberian huskies were on the list. Chukie Shaman, a copper and white Siberian husky, was born in our kennel and became Don's companion for the rest of his life. The Columbia Street house had once stood by the tracks in Newton Lower Falls and served as the stationmaster's residence before it was moved. Don was fascinated with history and loved living in a piece of it. He became an officer in the Wellesley Historical Society. He insisted that it was not because he was the popular choice; it was rather because no one else wanted the job. In time the Columbia Street house began to deteriorate and, as happened with so many of our childhood homes, the house required new blood, new vision and new money to bring it back to life. Don and Chukie moved to a loft on D Street in South Boston where Don hired a dog walker for his energetic puppy, while he was at work, and eventually turned to doggie valium to try to preserve his slippers, furnishings, woodwork and doors. But Don never complained, he rather related -- with a big grin and a laugh -- stories of Chukie Destruction. Don and Chukie's final legal residence was in Merrimack, NH, within walking distance of Dunkin' Donuts in one direction and an Italian restaurant in the other. He continually stressed that his needs were few: just a good meal in his belly, his dog at his feet and good friends in the neighborhood. But Don missed the activities of the suburbs, missed seeing his mother at North Hill, but most especially he missed Wellesley. He missed his church and singing in the choir. He sang with the choir for 30 years. So our conversations, when he was in Merrimack, were always focused on schemes to come back home. This however was not one of the schemes we discussed, but he is now "back home".

Quack! Some of you know that "Quack" was Don's signature greeting for decades...and somehow it always made me smile. My name is Lisa Durrell. Unlike Sue who knew Don about 60 years, I knew Don for merely 50 years. I believe we met in elementary band. Our friendship continued through high school, college, and after college. In 1973 when I was teaching elementary school in North Reading, a grade 4 position opened up in the room next to mine. I suggested it to Don---and he jumped at the idea. His warmth and his love of learning must have impressed the principal for Don was hired--without any teaching experience (except at Walpole State Prison) or certification.

Don and I combined our 4th and 5th grade classes and ran a child centered, flexible, interesting program, which we loved--and so did the kids. He taught reading and social studies to both classes. His love of books and of ideas ---and his gentle, open way with children--were a highly successful mix. I can picture the twinkle in his blue eyes as he delighted in the discussions with children. We were a good team. His laid-back style pushed me into the role of disciplinarian and organizer. (You are so damned focused he would say to me with a smile.) The students called him "Don" and me "Miss Durrell". But it worked and worked well. I know we taught more than subject matter. We modeled the fact that men and women could be good friends, longtime friends, who could laugh and work through differences. I remember one day we decided, just for fun, to come to school really dressed up. (We usually dressed VERY casually.) I wore a long dress...and Don wore a suit.... albeit a bit out of date.... with his rather wild beard. This type of whimsy delighted the children (and us!) and didn't interfere with the excellence of the educational environment of our classroom. When our students were in high school, they had a mini-reunion of their elementary class and invited Don and me... a statement of the sense of family we all felt. During the past week I spoke with one of those students, Karen Sotiropoulos, now 40 something and a PhD college professor. She recalled fondly our double-class morning gatherings during which Don would raise "philosophical" questions--big ideas. She said that even at that time, she realized Don was something special, not the standard elementary teacher, that he opened up a world bigger than North Reading, and that the year with us was key in her education and future direction. The former principal of our school, Paul Perry recently commented, Don was a bright man who cared about people and enjoyed his stint at teaching. He was insightful toward the students and truly cared about them. The death of his Dad resulted in Don's leaving teaching. However, the bookshelves he built and books with his name in them followed me through my years of teaching...carrying happy memories. Don and I remained in touch in the years since, though mostly by phone. We shared the stories of our lives and, for many years, said that in our dotage, if we were still single, we should get a place together. The last time I saw Don was in the nursing home. I stopped in without warning. I hadn't seen him in some time. He was talking with the nurse with his little notebook in hand. I touched his shoulder. He turned and smiled broadly and politely excused himself from the medical conversation by saying that a big hug was in order. It was good to feel once again the warmth of his smile and see the twinkle in his blue eyes. I will always treasure the time Don and I taught together, for although it was long ago, it deepened our friendship, which lasted over half a century.

Read by Tim Brainerd: ARCHIE CAMPBELL IS ONE OF THE "KEEPERS OF DON". HE IS ALSO THE PRINCIPAL OF THE CROTCHED MOUNTAIN SCHOOL IN NH WHERE HE LIVES. HE IS IN IRELAND TODAY AND WAS SORRY TO HAVE TO MISS THIS SERVICE BUT HE DID WRITE THE FOLLOWING:

I was not close to Don in our growing up year...more of an acquaintance, actually, but we shared A love of music, A Church, A high school and a way of life, growing up in Wellesley. I am not quite sure just how Fridays with Don came about for me (sometimes it was Wednesday or Thursday), but we began to have dinners together about once a month, frequently on Fridays. I would drive to Merrimack; pick Don up and off we would go to a nearby restaurant. Don would be waiting for me, book in hand, ready to talk about his latest read with me. I didn't have to worry about topics to share because once started………Don would share with me…adventures with Chukie, his day in intimate detail, his latest book, of course, or highlights of the past (a summer in Newport with Elliot Childs was a favorite topic!). I heard family chronicles, fascinating genealogical tales Don had discovered, or comments on the political status in NH…There were always those! And Don enjoyed every meal even when I was thinking a particular repast was only mediocre. When we, his friends, grew concerned over Don's health, I would message Sue and Lisa and Tim and Helen on how he was doing. You know, Don had a surprising resiliency even when he would develop a new condition. I always knew when it was time for one of our meals as the switchboard operator or my administrative assistant would relate a long message Don had left for me! Even now a switchboard operator will ask me…. How's Don? I have not yet been able to share the news of Don's death with them for some reason. Don didn't tire of me during all of those meals…. I was surprised at that actually. And so it went - I worried and fretted about Don and we, his friends, worried and fretted together about Don…………mostly about his health…we worried much more than Don seemed to worry about himself, actually. And so I remember our friend Don………musician, teacher, historian, genealogical specialist, dog lover, social commentator, friend and faithful dining companion for Archie. Rest well. My friend, I will miss those Fridays with Don.

Memorial donations may be made to the Special Music Fund at the Wellesley Hills Congregational Church, UCC, 207 Washington Street, Wellesley Hills, MA 02481.

Condolences to Don’s sister, Elsa Chaffee Distelhorst, can be sent by contacting Sue Chapman Melanson.

Maureen O'Donoghue, 59, a lifelong resident of Kingsbury Street, Wellesley, died suddenly on Feb. 25, 2005. She was 59. Born in Natick, she was the daughter of the late William and Bridget (Duffy) O'Donoghue. She graduated from Wellesley High School, Class of 1964. Ms. O'Donoghue was a financial analyst of CCS of Newton and a former employee of the Town of Wellesley. She is survived her sister, Sheila A. Howe, and her husband, John, of Newton, and her brother, Kevin L. O'Donoghue, of Wellesley. Interment was in St. Mary's Cemetery, Needham.

Condolences to Maureen’s family can be sent by contacting Sue Chapman Melanson.

Wendy Callahan, 57, of Boston, formerly of Wellesley and New York City, died Aug. 14, 2003, in Needham, after a four-year battle with breast cancer. Born in Boston, she grew up in Wellesley and graduated from Wellesley High School in 1964. In 1968, Ms. Callahan graduated cum laude from Vassar College, where she studied history and French. She was awarded a fellowship to study uropean history at the University of Strasbourg in France. Ms. Callahan served in several positions over a 12-year period in the administration of the City University of New York, including director of Administrative Services. While working at CUNY, she earned a master's degree from the Harvard Graduate School of Education. Following her tenure at CUNY, she pursued a law degree at New York University Law School, where she was articles editor of the Law Review before graduating in 1984. She was law clerk to the Hon. Charles E. Stewart Jr. of the United States District Court in Manhattan and then practiced law at Patterson, Belknap, Webb & Tyler in New York City from 1986 until 1993. Ms. Callahan returned to Boston in 1993 to pursue a private law practice and to assist in the care of her father, who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. She continued to pursue her longstanding interests in genealogy and gardening while remaining an avid Red Sox fan. She is survived by her mother, Jacqueline Callahan of Needham; two brothers, Mark and his wife, Allyn, of Sherborn, and Chad and his wife, Shelly, of Wellesley; and a sister, Nancy Treves, and her husband, Ted, of Wellesley; and by five nieces and nephews, Cole, Ross, and Deanna Callahan of Sherborn, and Blake and Olivia Treves of Wellesley. A funeral Mass was celebrated Aug. 18 at St. Paul's Church in Wellesley. Burial was in Woodlawn Cemetery, Wellesley.

Memorial donations may be made to the Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center, in care of the Wendy Callahan Breast Cancer Research Fund, P.O. Box 55, Wellesley, MA 02481.