On Saturday, January 12, 2008, several hundred people journeyed to the small Long Island village of Sea Cliff to attend a memorial service for Frank O. Braynard, who had passed away December 10, to honor his life and distinguished career. One by one, as they filed into the United Methodist Church – a crowd so large that many were left standing two deep around the walls – each was greeted by the shocking news: that Doris, Frank's beloved wife of 58 years, had suffered a sudden heart attack and passed away the night before, after overseeing the preparations for this loving tribute for her husband during the preceding weeks. Doris was 85 years old.
The news was of course stunning. Yet, in a deeper sense, perhaps remarkably apt, for seldom have two people seem more right for each other than Frank and Doris. They had spent, not merely nearly six decades as husband and wife; they had lived that marriage, as a partnership, a life truly as one, intimately involved with one another's pursuits. More than with most couples, it was almost impossible to contemplate Doris without Frank, or vice versa. Doris's passing, on January 11, barely a month after Frank's, seemed almost right -- fitting, anyway. Sad, and hard, of course, for their family, and for their friends, the very suddenness of Doris's loss as difficult to cope with as its timing. Yet over and over, at the service, with which the family decided to proceed as a tribute to both members of these wonderful couple, one could hear the sentiment expressed that it was a kind fate that had reunited Doris with Frank after but the briefest separation; and that Doris was really there, her spirit infusing the proceedings as they would had she been present in body. Yes, it might be just a common and sentimental thing to believe, or to have hope or faith in, but if ever there was occasion to think it really might be so, that brisk winter afternoon in Sea Cliff was certainly it.
Doris Shelland was born in Queens Village on August 14, 1922, the daughter of Harry E and Ella V Shelland. She grew up in Bellmore, New York, a seaside village, where Doris, like her future husband, grew up with an abiding love for the sea…which would certainly stand her in good stead during Frank's long career in maritime affairs. Doris was graduated from Mills College, a teacher's college in Manhattan affiliated with Adelphi University, after which she became a kindergarten teacher in Sea Cliff. That choice of profession typified the person Doris was -- unfailingly kind, patient, generous, thinking first always of others, and someone who, all her life, loved children and young people.
A cousin introduced Doris to Frank and the couple was wed in 1949. Sea Cliff would be their home for the rest of their long lives together. While Frank rose to a position of world renown in his chosen field, Doris kept their home running smoothly, pursuing her career while raising their children, David and Noelle. At the memorial service, while most spoke primarily of Frank, many also took time to relate how generous Doris was, how often she had helped or encouraged them to broaden their horizons and pursue their own dreams, to realize their potential and have faith in themselves. Doris seemed not to have a selfish thought, ever. She was generous and helpful to all, and a loving and dedicated wife and mother. Few people can go through life and remain truly, and universally, loved. Doris had that gift, or perhaps, that magic, about her.
Less well known even to many of their friends was the fact that Doris was not merely an opera lover, but something of an opera expert – informed and qualified enough so that she fashioned a second career out of giving talks on the subject of the great operas. When she would accompany Frank on his many voyages aboard the great liners and cruise ships each year, Doris would give her own lectures on opera while Frank attended to his specialty elsewhere aboard ship. Doris shared her love and expertise for opera with the North Shore branch of the American Association of University Women, serving as its program vice president as well as being active in the organization's music study group.
Doris was equally a familiar and welcome presence in Saltaire, where during her many decades in residence she made her house a welcoming home, participated in all the things our village has to offer, and was, especially in later years, Frank's seemingly inseparable companion. Companion – never his shadow.
But again and again we must return to Doris Braynard, a woman of such inherent, indeed reflexive, goodness and graciousness, or warmth and heart, that it's at least arguable who was the more beloved half of the duo that was Frank and Doris. Frank was ever agreeable and kind-hearted, yet Doris, you always sensed, was his rock, the one who kept life going so smoothly. Married to a famous man, Doris simply was not overshadowed – not due to any competitiveness, but because her own wonderful nature could not be contained. Had Frank been a difficult person, Doris might have been seen as the one who softened his rough edges. Of course, Frank was as kind and warm a human being as you could find – which only served to enhance Doris's own sweetness, her own love of and genuine concern for her family and friends. Frank's decency, his own innate goodness, was magnified by Doris's unfailing (and unflappable) kindness of heart and soul, complementing her husband's and adding immeasurably to the aura of warmth, hospitality, generosity, and honest regard that the Braynards – both of them, separately and as one – genuinely felt and conveyed to every one who knew them. The crowds that turned out to celebrate Frank's life that January day found themselves also commemorating Doris's – yet the comments about either could have easily been applied to the other, and had Doris lived to appreciate that day, and her time come later, one could be quite certain that as many people would have met to mark, with joy and thanks, her life as they had for Frank's.
This is why it was peculiarly fitting that Doris should so soon join her husband in death. Not that the rest of us wouldn't have wanted to have her with us for many years more; but that would have been a wish thoroughly uncharacteristic of Doris, and therefore, unworthy of her memory: it would have been an act of selfishness. There was, that day, little to mourn and much to treasure; and in its own way, the sadness we all felt for Doris's sudden passing notwithstanding, deep down, I believe everyone knew that there could not have been a finer final act in the life – life: singular – of Frank and Doris Braynard than the gentle confluence of the memorial service for the one partner, and the swift and easy passing of the other, at just the precise and perfect nexus. Death comes to us all; would that it come so well, so becomingly, for all of us, as it did for Doris, and for Frank.
Doris is survived by her son David and daughter Noelle, by their families, and by her sister-in-law, Nancy Wait. And, not least, as that memorable service gave proof of, by hundreds of people from all walks of life, whom she touched, inspired, listened to, helped out, educated, cared for and loved throughout her long and admirable life. Some may chase flashy careers and notoriety, and mistake this for greatness. Others understand the important things in life, and that the most important thing in these our lives is not fame or money, but people, and what you can do for them. That was one lesson Doris Braynard had no need to give a talk on; it was the modest, cheerful, immeasurable example she set, every day of her 85 years…an influence that lives on far beyond her allotted span, in the lives of so very many whom she loved, and who in turn love, and will ever cherish, Doris.
God rest Doris and Frank…still among us, we're all quite sure.
The news was of course stunning. Yet, in a deeper sense, perhaps remarkably apt, for seldom have two people seem more right for each other than Frank and Doris. They had spent, not merely nearly six decades as husband and wife; they had lived that marriage, as a partnership, a life truly as one, intimately involved with one another's pursuits. More than with most couples, it was almost impossible to contemplate Doris without Frank, or vice versa. Doris's passing, on January 11, barely a month after Frank's, seemed almost right -- fitting, anyway. Sad, and hard, of course, for their family, and for their friends, the very suddenness of Doris's loss as difficult to cope with as its timing. Yet over and over, at the service, with which the family decided to proceed as a tribute to both members of these wonderful couple, one could hear the sentiment expressed that it was a kind fate that had reunited Doris with Frank after but the briefest separation; and that Doris was really there, her spirit infusing the proceedings as they would had she been present in body. Yes, it might be just a common and sentimental thing to believe, or to have hope or faith in, but if ever there was occasion to think it really might be so, that brisk winter afternoon in Sea Cliff was certainly it.
Doris Shelland was born in Queens Village on August 14, 1922, the daughter of Harry E and Ella V Shelland. She grew up in Bellmore, New York, a seaside village, where Doris, like her future husband, grew up with an abiding love for the sea…which would certainly stand her in good stead during Frank's long career in maritime affairs. Doris was graduated from Mills College, a teacher's college in Manhattan affiliated with Adelphi University, after which she became a kindergarten teacher in Sea Cliff. That choice of profession typified the person Doris was -- unfailingly kind, patient, generous, thinking first always of others, and someone who, all her life, loved children and young people.
A cousin introduced Doris to Frank and the couple was wed in 1949. Sea Cliff would be their home for the rest of their long lives together. While Frank rose to a position of world renown in his chosen field, Doris kept their home running smoothly, pursuing her career while raising their children, David and Noelle. At the memorial service, while most spoke primarily of Frank, many also took time to relate how generous Doris was, how often she had helped or encouraged them to broaden their horizons and pursue their own dreams, to realize their potential and have faith in themselves. Doris seemed not to have a selfish thought, ever. She was generous and helpful to all, and a loving and dedicated wife and mother. Few people can go through life and remain truly, and universally, loved. Doris had that gift, or perhaps, that magic, about her.
Less well known even to many of their friends was the fact that Doris was not merely an opera lover, but something of an opera expert – informed and qualified enough so that she fashioned a second career out of giving talks on the subject of the great operas. When she would accompany Frank on his many voyages aboard the great liners and cruise ships each year, Doris would give her own lectures on opera while Frank attended to his specialty elsewhere aboard ship. Doris shared her love and expertise for opera with the North Shore branch of the American Association of University Women, serving as its program vice president as well as being active in the organization's music study group.
Doris was equally a familiar and welcome presence in Saltaire, where during her many decades in residence she made her house a welcoming home, participated in all the things our village has to offer, and was, especially in later years, Frank's seemingly inseparable companion. Companion – never his shadow.
But again and again we must return to Doris Braynard, a woman of such inherent, indeed reflexive, goodness and graciousness, or warmth and heart, that it's at least arguable who was the more beloved half of the duo that was Frank and Doris. Frank was ever agreeable and kind-hearted, yet Doris, you always sensed, was his rock, the one who kept life going so smoothly. Married to a famous man, Doris simply was not overshadowed – not due to any competitiveness, but because her own wonderful nature could not be contained. Had Frank been a difficult person, Doris might have been seen as the one who softened his rough edges. Of course, Frank was as kind and warm a human being as you could find – which only served to enhance Doris's own sweetness, her own love of and genuine concern for her family and friends. Frank's decency, his own innate goodness, was magnified by Doris's unfailing (and unflappable) kindness of heart and soul, complementing her husband's and adding immeasurably to the aura of warmth, hospitality, generosity, and honest regard that the Braynards – both of them, separately and as one – genuinely felt and conveyed to every one who knew them. The crowds that turned out to celebrate Frank's life that January day found themselves also commemorating Doris's – yet the comments about either could have easily been applied to the other, and had Doris lived to appreciate that day, and her time come later, one could be quite certain that as many people would have met to mark, with joy and thanks, her life as they had for Frank's.
This is why it was peculiarly fitting that Doris should so soon join her husband in death. Not that the rest of us wouldn't have wanted to have her with us for many years more; but that would have been a wish thoroughly uncharacteristic of Doris, and therefore, unworthy of her memory: it would have been an act of selfishness. There was, that day, little to mourn and much to treasure; and in its own way, the sadness we all felt for Doris's sudden passing notwithstanding, deep down, I believe everyone knew that there could not have been a finer final act in the life – life: singular – of Frank and Doris Braynard than the gentle confluence of the memorial service for the one partner, and the swift and easy passing of the other, at just the precise and perfect nexus. Death comes to us all; would that it come so well, so becomingly, for all of us, as it did for Doris, and for Frank.
Doris is survived by her son David and daughter Noelle, by their families, and by her sister-in-law, Nancy Wait. And, not least, as that memorable service gave proof of, by hundreds of people from all walks of life, whom she touched, inspired, listened to, helped out, educated, cared for and loved throughout her long and admirable life. Some may chase flashy careers and notoriety, and mistake this for greatness. Others understand the important things in life, and that the most important thing in these our lives is not fame or money, but people, and what you can do for them. That was one lesson Doris Braynard had no need to give a talk on; it was the modest, cheerful, immeasurable example she set, every day of her 85 years…an influence that lives on far beyond her allotted span, in the lives of so very many whom she loved, and who in turn love, and will ever cherish, Doris.
God rest Doris and Frank…still among us, we're all quite sure.
On Saturday, January 12, 2008, several hundred people journeyed to the small Long Island village of Sea Cliff to attend a memorial service for Frank O. Braynard, who had passed away December 10, to honor his life and distinguished career. One by one, as they filed into the United Methodist Church – a crowd so large that many were left standing two deep around the walls – each was greeted by the shocking news: that Doris, Frank's beloved wife of 58 years, had suffered a sudden heart attack and passed away the night before, after overseeing the preparations for this loving tribute for her husband during the preceding weeks. Doris was 85 years old.
The news was of course stunning. Yet, in a deeper sense, perhaps remarkably apt, for seldom have two people seem more right for each other than Frank and Doris. They had spent, not merely nearly six decades as husband and wife; they had lived that marriage, as a partnership, a life truly as one, intimately involved with one another's pursuits. More than with most couples, it was almost impossible to contemplate Doris without Frank, or vice versa. Doris's passing, on January 11, barely a month after Frank's, seemed almost right -- fitting, anyway. Sad, and hard, of course, for their family, and for their friends, the very suddenness of Doris's loss as difficult to cope with as its timing. Yet over and over, at the service, with which the family decided to proceed as a tribute to both members of these wonderful couple, one could hear the sentiment expressed that it was a kind fate that had reunited Doris with Frank after but the briefest separation; and that Doris was really there, her spirit infusing the proceedings as they would had she been present in body. Yes, it might be just a common and sentimental thing to believe, or to have hope or faith in, but if ever there was occasion to think it really might be so, that brisk winter afternoon in Sea Cliff was certainly it.
Doris Shelland was born in Queens Village on August 14, 1922, the daughter of Harry E and Ella V Shelland. She grew up in Bellmore, New York, a seaside village, where Doris, like her future husband, grew up with an abiding love for the sea…which would certainly stand her in good stead during Frank's long career in maritime affairs. Doris was graduated from Mills College, a teacher's college in Manhattan affiliated with Adelphi University, after which she became a kindergarten teacher in Sea Cliff. That choice of profession typified the person Doris was -- unfailingly kind, patient, generous, thinking first always of others, and someone who, all her life, loved children and young people.
A cousin introduced Doris to Frank and the couple was wed in 1949. Sea Cliff would be their home for the rest of their long lives together. While Frank rose to a position of world renown in his chosen field, Doris kept their home running smoothly, pursuing her career while raising their children, David and Noelle. At the memorial service, while most spoke primarily of Frank, many also took time to relate how generous Doris was, how often she had helped or encouraged them to broaden their horizons and pursue their own dreams, to realize their potential and have faith in themselves. Doris seemed not to have a selfish thought, ever. She was generous and helpful to all, and a loving and dedicated wife and mother. Few people can go through life and remain truly, and universally, loved. Doris had that gift, or perhaps, that magic, about her.
Less well known even to many of their friends was the fact that Doris was not merely an opera lover, but something of an opera expert – informed and qualified enough so that she fashioned a second career out of giving talks on the subject of the great operas. When she would accompany Frank on his many voyages aboard the great liners and cruise ships each year, Doris would give her own lectures on opera while Frank attended to his specialty elsewhere aboard ship. Doris shared her love and expertise for opera with the North Shore branch of the American Association of University Women, serving as its program vice president as well as being active in the organization's music study group.
Doris was equally a familiar and welcome presence in Saltaire, where during her many decades in residence she made her house a welcoming home, participated in all the things our village has to offer, and was, especially in later years, Frank's seemingly inseparable companion. Companion – never his shadow.
But again and again we must return to Doris Braynard, a woman of such inherent, indeed reflexive, goodness and graciousness, or warmth and heart, that it's at least arguable who was the more beloved half of the duo that was Frank and Doris. Frank was ever agreeable and kind-hearted, yet Doris, you always sensed, was his rock, the one who kept life going so smoothly. Married to a famous man, Doris simply was not overshadowed – not due to any competitiveness, but because her own wonderful nature could not be contained. Had Frank been a difficult person, Doris might have been seen as the one who softened his rough edges. Of course, Frank was as kind and warm a human being as you could find – which only served to enhance Doris's own sweetness, her own love of and genuine concern for her family and friends. Frank's decency, his own innate goodness, was magnified by Doris's unfailing (and unflappable) kindness of heart and soul, complementing her husband's and adding immeasurably to the aura of warmth, hospitality, generosity, and honest regard that the Braynards – both of them, separately and as one – genuinely felt and conveyed to every one who knew them. The crowds that turned out to celebrate Frank's life that January day found themselves also commemorating Doris's – yet the comments about either could have easily been applied to the other, and had Doris lived to appreciate that day, and her time come later, one could be quite certain that as many people would have met to mark, with joy and thanks, her life as they had for Frank's.
This is why it was peculiarly fitting that Doris should so soon join her husband in death. Not that the rest of us wouldn't have wanted to have her with us for many years more; but that would have been a wish thoroughly uncharacteristic of Doris, and therefore, unworthy of her memory: it would have been an act of selfishness. There was, that day, little to mourn and much to treasure; and in its own way, the sadness we all felt for Doris's sudden passing notwithstanding, deep down, I believe everyone knew that there could not have been a finer final act in the life – life: singular – of Frank and Doris Braynard than the gentle confluence of the memorial service for the one partner, and the swift and easy passing of the other, at just the precise and perfect nexus. Death comes to us all; would that it come so well, so becomingly, for all of us, as it did for Doris, and for Frank.
Doris is survived by her son David and daughter Noelle, by their families, and by her sister-in-law, Nancy Wait. And, not least, as that memorable service gave proof of, by hundreds of people from all walks of life, whom she touched, inspired, listened to, helped out, educated, cared for and loved throughout her long and admirable life. Some may chase flashy careers and notoriety, and mistake this for greatness. Others understand the important things in life, and that the most important thing in these our lives is not fame or money, but people, and what you can do for them. That was one lesson Doris Braynard had no need to give a talk on; it was the modest, cheerful, immeasurable example she set, every day of her 85 years…an influence that lives on far beyond her allotted span, in the lives of so very many whom she loved, and who in turn love, and will ever cherish, Doris.
God rest Doris and Frank…still among us, we're all quite sure.
The news was of course stunning. Yet, in a deeper sense, perhaps remarkably apt, for seldom have two people seem more right for each other than Frank and Doris. They had spent, not merely nearly six decades as husband and wife; they had lived that marriage, as a partnership, a life truly as one, intimately involved with one another's pursuits. More than with most couples, it was almost impossible to contemplate Doris without Frank, or vice versa. Doris's passing, on January 11, barely a month after Frank's, seemed almost right -- fitting, anyway. Sad, and hard, of course, for their family, and for their friends, the very suddenness of Doris's loss as difficult to cope with as its timing. Yet over and over, at the service, with which the family decided to proceed as a tribute to both members of these wonderful couple, one could hear the sentiment expressed that it was a kind fate that had reunited Doris with Frank after but the briefest separation; and that Doris was really there, her spirit infusing the proceedings as they would had she been present in body. Yes, it might be just a common and sentimental thing to believe, or to have hope or faith in, but if ever there was occasion to think it really might be so, that brisk winter afternoon in Sea Cliff was certainly it.
Doris Shelland was born in Queens Village on August 14, 1922, the daughter of Harry E and Ella V Shelland. She grew up in Bellmore, New York, a seaside village, where Doris, like her future husband, grew up with an abiding love for the sea…which would certainly stand her in good stead during Frank's long career in maritime affairs. Doris was graduated from Mills College, a teacher's college in Manhattan affiliated with Adelphi University, after which she became a kindergarten teacher in Sea Cliff. That choice of profession typified the person Doris was -- unfailingly kind, patient, generous, thinking first always of others, and someone who, all her life, loved children and young people.
A cousin introduced Doris to Frank and the couple was wed in 1949. Sea Cliff would be their home for the rest of their long lives together. While Frank rose to a position of world renown in his chosen field, Doris kept their home running smoothly, pursuing her career while raising their children, David and Noelle. At the memorial service, while most spoke primarily of Frank, many also took time to relate how generous Doris was, how often she had helped or encouraged them to broaden their horizons and pursue their own dreams, to realize their potential and have faith in themselves. Doris seemed not to have a selfish thought, ever. She was generous and helpful to all, and a loving and dedicated wife and mother. Few people can go through life and remain truly, and universally, loved. Doris had that gift, or perhaps, that magic, about her.
Less well known even to many of their friends was the fact that Doris was not merely an opera lover, but something of an opera expert – informed and qualified enough so that she fashioned a second career out of giving talks on the subject of the great operas. When she would accompany Frank on his many voyages aboard the great liners and cruise ships each year, Doris would give her own lectures on opera while Frank attended to his specialty elsewhere aboard ship. Doris shared her love and expertise for opera with the North Shore branch of the American Association of University Women, serving as its program vice president as well as being active in the organization's music study group.
Doris was equally a familiar and welcome presence in Saltaire, where during her many decades in residence she made her house a welcoming home, participated in all the things our village has to offer, and was, especially in later years, Frank's seemingly inseparable companion. Companion – never his shadow.
But again and again we must return to Doris Braynard, a woman of such inherent, indeed reflexive, goodness and graciousness, or warmth and heart, that it's at least arguable who was the more beloved half of the duo that was Frank and Doris. Frank was ever agreeable and kind-hearted, yet Doris, you always sensed, was his rock, the one who kept life going so smoothly. Married to a famous man, Doris simply was not overshadowed – not due to any competitiveness, but because her own wonderful nature could not be contained. Had Frank been a difficult person, Doris might have been seen as the one who softened his rough edges. Of course, Frank was as kind and warm a human being as you could find – which only served to enhance Doris's own sweetness, her own love of and genuine concern for her family and friends. Frank's decency, his own innate goodness, was magnified by Doris's unfailing (and unflappable) kindness of heart and soul, complementing her husband's and adding immeasurably to the aura of warmth, hospitality, generosity, and honest regard that the Braynards – both of them, separately and as one – genuinely felt and conveyed to every one who knew them. The crowds that turned out to celebrate Frank's life that January day found themselves also commemorating Doris's – yet the comments about either could have easily been applied to the other, and had Doris lived to appreciate that day, and her time come later, one could be quite certain that as many people would have met to mark, with joy and thanks, her life as they had for Frank's.
This is why it was peculiarly fitting that Doris should so soon join her husband in death. Not that the rest of us wouldn't have wanted to have her with us for many years more; but that would have been a wish thoroughly uncharacteristic of Doris, and therefore, unworthy of her memory: it would have been an act of selfishness. There was, that day, little to mourn and much to treasure; and in its own way, the sadness we all felt for Doris's sudden passing notwithstanding, deep down, I believe everyone knew that there could not have been a finer final act in the life – life: singular – of Frank and Doris Braynard than the gentle confluence of the memorial service for the one partner, and the swift and easy passing of the other, at just the precise and perfect nexus. Death comes to us all; would that it come so well, so becomingly, for all of us, as it did for Doris, and for Frank.
Doris is survived by her son David and daughter Noelle, by their families, and by her sister-in-law, Nancy Wait. And, not least, as that memorable service gave proof of, by hundreds of people from all walks of life, whom she touched, inspired, listened to, helped out, educated, cared for and loved throughout her long and admirable life. Some may chase flashy careers and notoriety, and mistake this for greatness. Others understand the important things in life, and that the most important thing in these our lives is not fame or money, but people, and what you can do for them. That was one lesson Doris Braynard had no need to give a talk on; it was the modest, cheerful, immeasurable example she set, every day of her 85 years…an influence that lives on far beyond her allotted span, in the lives of so very many whom she loved, and who in turn love, and will ever cherish, Doris.
God rest Doris and Frank…still among us, we're all quite sure.
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