Obituary of David Tysen Nutt
A perfect day for Dave Nutt was an early morning ski run on fresh snow, a crisp round of 18 holes of golf, or a dip in the ocean at the Jersey shore where he loved to spend time with his wife and large extended family. Mr. Nutt died yesterday at his home in Watchung, N.J. after a brief illness. He was 92.
David Tysen Nutt was born in Staten Island, New York, on June 1, 1923, the oldest son of Henry and Frances Tysen. He was a graduate of The Pingry School, Dartmouth College and Columbia Law School, and was a 2nd lieutenant in the Army Air Corps during World War II.
Mr. Nutt was a reporter at The Staten Island Advance before embarking on a career in advertising. At the time of his retirement he was a Vice President at U. S. Trust in New York City.
Mr. Nutt is survived by his wife, Grace, of 65 years, children David Tysen Nutt Jr. (Jane), Eva Nies (Robert) Amy Ellis Nutt, Cora Chemidlin (David) and Kate Barry (Patrick); and grandchildren Brendan, Rachel, Evan, Conor, Cullen, Madeline, Jordan, Blair, Grant, Bridget, Reid and Patrick.
Viewing will be held Tuesday, May 24 from 4-8 pm at Higgins Home for Funerals, 752 Mountain Blvd., Watchung, NJ. Funeral service will be Wednesday at 10 a.m., St. Mary's RC, 224 Mountain Blvd., Watchung.
In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Atlantic Home Care and Hospice: 465 South St., # 2, Morristown, NJ. 07960
Eulogy by Eva Nutt Nies
Good morning, Monsignor, Mom, family and friends.
Many of you have heard the story of how, in 1954, my father saved my young life.
For those who haven’t...It was a warm, early fall day and Dad was just
finishing a spin around the block, proudly showing an uncle and my older
brother his brand new Dodge station wagon (the first of many such cars). As
he pulled to the curb in front of our house on Norden Street, he saw, in horror,
(thanks to bit of maternal distraction) his diaper clad daughter dangling from
the second story window box he’d recently constructed and installed above
the concrete driveway. Because of his fleetness of foot, steadiness of hand
and steely concentration, I stand before you today.
Though Ty was traumatized by what he witnessed I, of course, have no memory
of that day. But I do have many other childhood memories in which my father
plays a large supporting role.
Our loving family was a traditional one. Dad commuted into New York while
mom, for the most part, stayed home raising us five children. The caring and
warmth and love of our mother was a day to day given, a constant support.
She was, is, our bedrock. She wove the fabric of everyday life for us. Time
spent with Dad was more limited - evenings and weekends - so it took on a
special quality and the memories are keener for me. I can still feel the special
thrill as a very little girl of standing on his loafered feet while he danced me
around the living room - part of the designated play hour we got alone with
Dad - pony rides on his back, tickling games, dancing - while mom stole
away for solitude and peace at Sunday mass each week. And there was
story time at night - the Oz books, Wynken, Blynken and Nod, and Jerry the
Squirrel, the story he created for us and told and retold, details of which are
still vivid in my mind - impending weather, a task and a water journey, a boot
for a boat and love, of course love, found and sealed.
As we grew older the weekend memories became mostly about what he
taught us. I can feel his arms cradled below teaching me to swim, and to
dive, holding me up to skate and to waterski. I can feel his hands on the seat
of my bike, freshly shorn of training wheels, steadying and then gently
launching me across the front lawn into the thrill of two wheeler
independence. And I can feel the sting of countless early morning rousings to
get us to the slopes to teach us on the freshest snow to become the skiers we
are today. He taught all of us practical things as well - how to mow a lawn,
rake an acre of leaves and clean out and paint a swimming pool once a year.
Dad loved this role because he loved being outdoors - in the yard or woods,
at the ocean, on a snowy mountain. He adored skiing, was in the surf
everyday of our shore vacations, regardless of the water temp, loved golf and
was an accomplished equestrian in his youth. He wind surfed and water skiied.
He was born and raised in a house built for his parents on the wide, open,
hilltop estate of his grandfather where his childhood was filled with ponies and
ponds, berry picking and tree climbing. He retained that boyhood sense of
outdoor adventure and wanted to nurture that in his children. To that purpose
he built us wonderful backyard playthings - a hugely high rope swing, a full
sized playhouse (“the Hut” we called it), a wooden rocking boat that flipped
over to become a stage or a bridge (this from a simple sketch he’d seen in a
magazine) and a wonderfully large, tremendously high, screen windowed tree
house - a litigant’s nightmare and later, unintentionally, a perfect, private spot
for teenage romance.
I don’t remember him ever taking much credit for any of these constructions.
He was rarely a showoff. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a snob about some
things - his old New York family’s pedigree, The New York Times, his
graduation from Pingry (where he still holds a tennis team school record), his
degrees from Columbia Law and, especially, from his dearest alma mater,
Dartmouth college. His love and devotion to Dartmouth and his Class of ‘44
was deep and true and also amazing, considering that his time on campus
was interrupted and abbreviated by the war.
My father had a strong, protestant work ethic. He approached every day off
with a to-do list. I never heard him complain about a burden. I never knew
him to sleep late or be late. He died wearing his wristwatch. He loved
reading and wordplay and was a keen grammarian. Just a few months ago he
insisted on pointing out to the dermatologist that, rightly, the sign on the
back of the exam room door listing “things to consider at your doctor’s visit”
was missing a crucial apostrophe. They reprinted their signs.
In retirement he and mom watched many grandkids from the sidelines and
flew or drove across the country to visit others. They travelled to Europe
several times and Bermuda many. He took up painting, taught college
marketing courses, and had several newspaper and magazine stories
published. For one he toured the White House grounds to interview the official
arborist; for another he dug through letters and researched the WWI aviation
stories of his father and uncle. He played bridge and scrabble with mom for
so many years - until all their favorite partners passed away and then too, the
focus of his mind.
As a measure of his life, my father died with very few regrets. Few and small.
● He wished that another child or grandchild after Ty had made it to Dartmouth.
● He felt cheated that after 18 months of training in the Army Air Corps
the second world war ended just as he and his crew were headed to the Pacific.
● He trained many long hours as a bombadier in B24s and in glider
planes, but somehow he was never taught to jump out of either. After
several grandsons reported thrilling parachute jumps he became
obsessed for several years with the idea of doing the same. He had
the will and the heart for it but just not the legs. Too bad, Dad, looks
like the boys and I (back on Norden Street) beat you on that freefall
thing.
● It bugged him that he’d been to all but one of the 48 contiguous United
States. Inexplicably, though his college years were spent in New
Hampshire, Maine had eluded him.
● He was a lifelong golfer and a very fine one at that but he never had
a hole in one. This was unfinished business that stayed with him to the
very end. Several months back he woke from an afternoon nap and
reported with wonder and delight that the most fantastic thing had just
happened to him - he’d had not one but TWO holes in one in the same
round of golf! “Imagine!”, he said, with utter joy. It was a wonderful
hour or so until he realized he’d been dreaming.
● Ever the liberal, he was hoping to see the first woman president inaugurated.
● And he had his fingers crossed that he’d maybe see a great grandchild.
Regarding these final two regrets: sorry, Dad, maybe next year.
For most of his life My father was not a religious man. Not even an especially
spiritual one. He was more a humanist who put his faith in the basic
goodness of man, the principles of hard work and fairness, the splendor and
awe of nature. These and an overall optimism about life were enough for
him. So it was a moving surprise to us that toward the end of his long life,
without much effort, he slipped back into a quiet, uncomplicated faith in god.
It seems likely that this renewed faith was at the heart of the serenity and
acceptance my father had as he approached his final days.
The day before his stroke two weeks ago, still in near perfect health for his
age, he casually told my mother that he believed he was going to die now.
That this would be a good time. It was a calm, almost matter of fact
observation. She tried to dissuade him but he simply smiled and went back to
his cocktail. He was practical and completely comfortable with his own
mortality. Life had been good and it had been lived.
One day a year and a half ago he remarked to me, “I don’t like one” Excuse me dad.
“I don’t like one. I like two” What do you mean? “I don’t like 91. I prefer 92. It’s a
better number. I want to make it to 92. I don’t have to go any further. Just 92.” He
smiled when I suggested that 100 was also a nice number. And 102. But he
was comfortable in his preference, stuck by his plan, and died 10 days shy of
his 93rd birthday.
Gathering here today, we thank you, Dad, for being the man you were, for
showing us by example how to live a good and true life, how to perform
honorably as a father, a grandfather and a husband, how to die with grace
and on your own terms. Thank you for cherishing our mother with all your
heart and to the very end. And for loving us so well. Finally, thank you for
always being there, Dad, steady and strong, underneath the window box for
all of us, for all these years. We love you and will miss you everyday.
Eulogy by David T. Nutt, Jr. (“Ty”)
Dave, Uncle Dave, Dad, Granddad
How do you paint a portrait of a man in 3 to 5 minutes? I don’t think it’s possible. So this will be more of a sketch. I hope our sharing of memories with each other, last night, after this Mass and in the future will fill in all the color and detail.
A son, a brother, a friend, a husband, a father, an uncle, a grandfather – and a parent of generations to come because his spirit, the essence of who he really was, is in us who knew him well and will be handed down by us.
A few things he loved to say, in recent years:
“I’d like to propose a toast.” We never knew what was coming next. Thankfully, it was always something nice about the family.
“Have you ever tried Sprite?” He thought it was new, I guess.
“Have I shown you my painting of the Lake - Tysen house?” He had great pride in his family history.
“Did any of your children apply to Dartmouth?” Yes, Dad. More about his alma mater later.
“Why don’t you do what I do? One drink a day.” No, Dad. Not anymore.
A few things he loved:
He loved to be first in the ocean, no matter how frigid it was
He loved to be first on the lift line at Camelback or Killington or any other ski area
He loved being up first and got us up at 6 or 6:30 on ski vacations
He loved Mom, no matter how many spats they had
He loved Dartmouth College
He loved life and talked about how great it was recently just to sit on the driveway in his wheelchair
Did I say he loved Dartmouth?
A few of his qualities:
Intelligence – he was a voracious reader and life-long learner
He had an immense vocabulary
Creativity – he was a very fine writer and loved painting in his later years
Hard work
Optimism
Modesty – he never needed the flashiest cars or clothes or anything else,
although he did have the flashiest wife
Dependability – he was a rock – especially in times of crisis. Examples would be the many times Mom crashed a car.
Emphasis on family time and vacations
Love of his family of origin
Love of his mother-in-law and father-in-law
Love of his children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren
Love of his friends – and of animals – He loved Amy’s dog Virgil – but he did later say our dog, Seamus, was the nicest dog he ever met. Sorry, Ame.
Acceptance as he grew older and faced physical limitations
A few notes about his life:
He was born on Staten Island, New York, June 1, 1923
The second of three children
The family lived on Todt Hill
I remember hearing often that it was the highest point on the Eastern Seaboard
He had an older sister, Mary, who was later a psychiatrist and professor
His younger brother, Bo, became an ad man and writer
He was born to a family of means that lost just about everything in the crash of 1929 and economic depression that followed
His Dad was an Army Air Corps fighter pilot in WW I, an entrepreneur and later a banker
His Mom was a homemaker, horsewoman and dog trainer.
She worked in a factory during World War II to support the war effort and was later a novelist and playwright
He loved riding horses
And playing in the woods. I remember him telling me about riding down trees. He said he would climb a small to medium sized tree to the top and allow his weight to bend the tree, riding it back to earth. I thought that sounded so adventurous.
He loved playing on the pond. My mother remembers driving by when she was very young and seeing the boy playing on the pond.
His family always had dogs
In high school, he went to Pingry, where he played football and tennis – he played soccer too
He played golf from a young age and was a member of the Richmond County Country Club
He was runner-up Club champion one year, missing by one stroke in the very late going
He attended and graduated in 1944 from Dartmouth
It was truly his alma mater, his nourishing or fostering mother
The words from the song that was then called “Men of Dartmouth” go like this:
“Though round the girdled earth they roam,
Her spell on them remains.”
He stayed active in his class and in touch with many classmates
He served as a lieutenant in the Army Air Force
He flew on B-24s as a bombardier but wasn’t sent overseas
He earned a law degree at Columbia – but never practiced law
After a long wait, he received a commission from the FBI
But he’d already begun a career as a journalist at the Staten Island Advance, so he turned down the job
He spent 25 years as an ad man on Madison Avenue in New York
I can remember him working at night in our family room, with his briefcase resting in his lap and a long yellow legal pad on his briefcase (there were no PCs in those days). He’d be writing ad copy or material for a presentation
For the final 15 or so years of his career, he served as Director of Marketing for U.S. Trust in New York
A few anecdotes:
The first was a conversation with my father on May 17, 2015, the Seventh Sunday of Easter:
He’d slept well the night before and awoke from a nap, clear-headed. Because his hearing was so poor, I communicated with him by writing on a wipe-off board.
DAD
I’m glad you’re here. I want to have a serious talk with you. I know I haven’t been to church in a long time. Your mother and I haven’t been able to go. But will you please make sure, when I go, that I have a traditional send off?
TY
Yes. I will definitely make sure of that. I’m very happy to hear you say it.
DAD
…I guess other people have come to God late in their lives.
TY
God’s been very close to you all along. This is your saying YES – that you want to be close to him too.
He nodded and smiled. Or, he may have said yes.
TY
How long have you felt this way? What made the difference?
DAD
Oh, two questions. I guess several months. I don’t know…maybe the fact that my 92nd birthday is coming up soon.
TY
You’ve had a lot of love in your life. And you’ve loved all of us so well. That was God’s presence.
DAD
Thank you for that.
He often smiled during this exchange. He said he thought it was a good idea to talk about life and death, even though some people avoid it.
Several months ago, my wife Janie and I went up to Mom and Dad’s to have dinner with them. I gave Dad a small holy card with the Lord’s Prayer on it. He smiled, seemed very pleased and put it in his breast pocket. As all of our family members know, his short term memory wasn’t the greatest – so I was very surprised when he pulled out the card at the end of our visit and said, “Thank you for this.” As I backed our car out of the parking lot, Mom shouted down from their kitchen window, “He’s practicing the prayer out loud!”
The day before he had his stroke, Dad said to Mom, in a very lucid moment, “I think I’m going to die now. I really think it’s time.”
Finally, after Dad had come home and was receiving hospice care, I had this exchange with him:
TY
I’ll be back tomorrow.
DAD
I won’t be here.
TY
You won’t be here?
DAD
No. I’m going away.
A son, a brother, a friend, a husband, a father, an uncle, a grandfather – and a parent of generations to come because his spirit, the essence of who he really was, is in us who knew him well and will be handed down by us.
We love you, Dave, Uncle Dave, Dad, Granddad. And we thank you.
